Every now and then I get a mail saying ‘Hey Ben, so I wrote something and I’m wondering if it’s ok to share with everyone?’ I filter a lot of those because I know you and your very tiny tolerance. Immediately you cant see the head or tail of something pe you cant hide it. Why? Why kraa are you like that?

Lol, but it’s good, because it puts Tele, Ewuraesi and I on our toes, but it also sets a standard on what we share from guest bloggers like Sally here today. Sally is a doctor in training and a writer at heart and she brings a very beautiful story.

I am so excited about this piece because it’s such a true reflection of reality captured by putting two extremeties together in a relationship. She starts a conversation that I cant wait to hear your thoughts on. Enough of me, have Sally.

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The first time I encountered the word ‘boyfriend’ in human form, it was Ato, Esi’s boyfriend. He would bring her roses when he came to see her every week. A single pink or white one for a normal day, and a huge red bunch for her birthday or, on any other occasion he deemed special. I thought, it must be nice to have a boyfriend. Or maybe, in retrospect, Ato was just sweet.

Thirty-two months later, I’m staring at the three letters- b.o.o- on Caller ID as the operator informs me for the sixteenth time that i have reached your voicemail. I’m desperately wondering why you’re not here already when you said you were on your way three and a half hours ago, and on about a hundred other occasions. As usual, I’m thinking of coming to look for you, genuinely out of concern, but I remember the first time this happened and i walked forty six minutes and three seconds in the rain, only to find you sprawled across your carpet playing scrabble with that girl from your office-what’s her face? Read More Where Are The Roses? – Guest Blogger Sally Boateng

Blog

bismarkYou know how you can be so sure that you don’t want something? That you’re better off without it? and then the second it slips through your fingers, you feel the emptiness, and in just an instant you are so absolutely certain that that’s all you ever wanted and can’t imagine how  you could have been how you were when you were wishing it were gone? Well it happened to a friend of mine…her boyfriend,and I’m gonna let her tell you herself.

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So I’m 13 years old and my cousins are having a party, my cousins are twins, and I too have a twin. We were like quarters of each other, but my sister was the bigger half of us two; has always been, is and always will be. At this party there was a boy. I’ve always known whassup, right from my Morning Star days, I found it rather awkward that this gorgeous guy would shut me out totally. Beyond the time when my cousin introduced us, he didn’t so much as ask my surname. So it’s pretty strange that he remained on my mind over all the other guys I had bugging me even at that age.

We met once or twice afterwards within that year, he didn’t change, never made an attempt to know me better. I was disgusted, romantically disgusted, I concluded he was a pushover, he pushed my heart over, but I was a child, I had my whole life to live, and in a matter of time he faded out of my heart, and then my mind and then my life and then I grew up. Read More Too Late To Love Me Back.

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A committed girl finds her mind wandering further than it should, about another boy who’s supposed to be just her friend. Deep inside, she nurses the thought of being with him, but too much stands in their way. She knows how complicated emotions can make things. So amidst light flirts and ‘just kidding’ advances, the lines are well defined, the limits are clear. Then one day she wakes up, with her defenses breached.

breachedBreached.

You were supposed to be just a friend

What’s your business this side of my heart?

This was a stick and stone fight

So what’s that grenade doing in your hands?

You turned a thin line into a clean slate

And now I’m not sure, was I the catch or the bait?

You laced my days with so much of you

That your absence feels like me gone commando.

Read More Breached.

Poems

I drive a wine 2005 model Corolla. I call her Nikki because her physique brings Minaj to mind. Living at Haatso and working at Airport residential has grave traffic implications. Every morning like clockwork, I’d turn Nikki on and set off before 6:15. Over time I realized that, for every five minutes I delayed, I wasted an extra fifteen minutes in traffic, so I was as punctual as a hawker.

girl in pontiacI drive through Westlands, GIMPA then past Fiesta Royale. My office is on the lane behind Nyaho clinic. I hardly give lifts because of a bad experience I once had; the elderly woman asked me to make three inconvenient stops en route. I figured she was a caterer because on the third annoying stop right after the Fiesta Royale traffic light, she collected a tray of rice and another of stew from a person whose gender I was too bored to notice. Minutes later, half the stew spilled onto my spotless cream upholstery! Anyways, that’s a story for another day, this is about the Pontiac girl.

I was making a right into the Westlands road one morning when right in front of me, a silver Pontiac tried to make a 3-pointer, in the T-junction! She was either a learner or a cra-azy driver. Her windows were rolled down, so I could see her face. I call it face because English restricts me. Her eyes hid behind stunning black sunglasses, but her smooth dark chocolate skin with a soft sheen, even, white teeth, delectable pink lips and Rihanna haircut deserved a better description than…face. Read More The Girl in the Silver Pontiac.

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