I’m unmarried and I’m a guy so maybe I can’t understand why some women are so desperate to be Mrs. I can’t get how the sister doesn’t care that the man she’s calling ‘Baby’ has two teenage kids and a baby that’s still on breast-milk.

People like that see marriage as some sort of new beginning that forgives and forgets what you destroyed and who you crushed to get into it. As if once you walk down that aisle, everything else that isn’t adding up in your life will suddenly come together.

“I’m done with Uni, I just finished my National Service…I think the next major thing I have to do is to get married…latest by June next year.”

How can you give it a deadline like it’s some school admission date? It’s those kind of deadlines that make you desperate when you should be waiting on God. The fear of not meeting them drives you to make compromises you otherwise wouldn’t have…then playing foul to get him becomes okay…acceptable.

The shame with that is, you spend too much energy looking over your shoulders. Every house help, his female friends, even his pretty 3rd cousin is a threat. Read More The Husband Snatcher’s Nightmare.


The first part of this story endangered my life. I couldn’t tell for sure if the threatening whatsapps and emails or comments with knife, gun and needle emoticons were sent in jest or there was some seriousness to it. Since I’m not curious enough to find out, I have completed the story. Many people had predictions on how it would go, let me know if turned out as you thought.  Oh, and there’s a surprise waiting for you at the end. 

 Ok so enough of my blabbering. Taking off from where Mandy stepped into Mr. Crentsil’s office, ready to demonstrate Krobo Sutra…if it came to it. Here goes;

*          *          *


His office was a sight for sore eyes. A framed quote hung on the wall; “Simplicity is the ultimate form of sophistication”.

If that needed proof, well you just had to take a look around you. His desk was like the African cousin of The Resolute Desk. The only things on it were a statuette of a black jaguar about to leap and his 13” Mac Book Air. He got up from his black Nightingale chair smiling. She was surprised he wasn’t turned around looking through his floor-to-ceiling glass windows. Read More Mistress Of My Life II [Krobo Sutra]

short story

When she was in JSS, Mandy’s PE teacher took more delight in watching her play ampe than in organizing extra classes. She had always been irresistible to men. If she stepped out to get a cab, she’d end up in a Range with a wad of cash for airtime. It had always amused her ‘who buys airtime with GHC 500?’, but it never overwhelmed her because men had given her crazier things just for being hot.

One time as she waited along the road for Joe –her side boo- to pick her up after church, a matt-black Porche Cayenne screeched to a stop inches from her. He lowered his tinted windows as he reversed and wasted no time.

“Pretty girl, wherever it is you’re going, that’s my new destination.” Then he let out a funny unrhythmnic ‘Master Richard’ laugh. He looked mid-fifties, a little plump, clean-shaven, white Hackett Polo shirt, expertly manicured nails and a thick gold ring on his right middle finger. He sat in the brown leather seat like it was a throne.

“No thank you” she said politely “I’m fine.”

“O cammon, don’t be like that. See, these young boys, they’ll just waste your time. They’ll go plenty rounds and give you nothing. Me, after one round p3 I’ll be tired, but I’ll spend on you till the IMF notices it.”

She laughed so hard. That man wasn’t that dated, but she didn’t even hop in, and now she was about to do a lap dance for this man, this Mr. Crentsil. She was making the moves. She wanted him. Read More Mistress of My Life.