My only issue with cinemas and movies shown on TV is that I’m not in control. I like being in control when I’m watching a movie. If the dialogue starts feeling too long, I like to just skip to where the next action is. Today I have an action film to gbaa you, and right about now I’m skipping to where the action is.

Rewind to B.C era. The Israelites are a few years from the promised land. They’ve walked across dry sea land and conquered many many nations, trampling any resistance in their path. But there’s a king who wont have none of that; Balak. He’s the last don. The Mugabe who doesn’t hear. The ogboro who wont idle while a bunch of excons with some invisible God who calls himself almighty come and take his land. He has the perfect plan to destroy them. How? (You’re not reeeaadayyy for this) How?

He sends gift bearing messengers to a prophet who serves the same God as these guys and says; “Yo Baalam, what’s good? Check out these fine clothes I brought for you. You like these gold coins too? It’s nice huh? Okay, how about you curse the Israelites for me. Just finish them with your mouth. I know that those you bless are blessed and those you curse are cursed.” Read More How To Spoil Yourself Well Well

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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;

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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.

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2nd semester, level 200, Legon. I was in a room with my percher (I’m dead if he sees this) and a certain fine lady we shall caaalll… Esmeralda. We’d all been childhood friends so we were cool like that. But she was closer to him because he was some sort of voice coach to her and could also play the piano.

I’d come in from a 5:30 lecture to meet them voice training. We’d all gotten into laughs and she made a joke about how kissable

my lips are. Now if you know me a little you’ll know that I bark like an Alsatian, but bite like a puppy. So the Alsatian in me goes “Herh! Don’t bring yourself. Don’t start something you cant finish!”

Then she goes “What? You think I cant kiss you?”

I look up to the concrete ceiling, shaking my head “Hmn hmmmnn hmn, someone is playing with fire oo.”

Heerrhhh, dont try me oo!!
Heerrhhh, dont try me oo!!

“Ben don’t try me oh”

“Oh puh-lease! See, I just have a leash on o. You don’t wanna take it off #dogSnarl”

All this while my percher is sitting in-between us, looking left then right like he’s about to cross the motor way. Before anyone could say Jack! Esmeralda pulled me in and gave me what in fairness to her I shall duly describe as a disorienting kiss.

In between trying to collect myself and determining if the last five seconds actually happened, the following words came out of my mouth, only this time in a hushed shaky voice; Read More My 1st Random Kiss.

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Judah ronning Tamar
Judah ronning Tamar

If you think sex for money or favors is a recent development, you obviously haven’t heard about what happened between Judah and Tamar. This senior son of Jacob and the founding father of one of the 12 tribes of Israel was so into this ‘ashawo’ fiesta that he gave his rod and signet as collateral to get his freak on. Many years later, of all the places Joshua’s spies could dodge when they snuck into Jericho, it was a prostitute’s apartment they found refuge in.

So you see, commercial sex has been a hot commodity waaay before Happy Socks and Crop Tops ever came in vogue. Only difference is back then, you could spot a prostitute by how she’d covered her face. Now their butt-cracks are as displayed as their cleavages, which is as displayed as their cheap chewing gums and bulging tummies –O wait, I’m being too narrow-minded! That stereotypical description accounts for just the minority of today’s prostitute community.

We’ve made prostitution exclusive to girls, even though there is such a word as gigolo. Ignore its fancy sound, a gigolo is nothing but a male prostitute. Truth is, anyone who pays for sex is as much a prostitute as the person he’s paying. You don’t get off ‘hooker status’ just because you have the money. We are more tolerant of the tycoon who picks up the hooker, because technically he isn’t the prostitute, but actually he is also prostituting, because if sex binds two together then everything one person is, the other becomes an equal partaker of, no? By this realization, it’s safe to conclude that there’s at least one prostitute in every office in Ghana. Take a break and spy around 🙂 Read More The Evolution Of Prostitution.

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The reeeaalll reason I was in SA was for this fancy marketing conference that brought together the keenest practitioners from across the continent. On day one I spotted her at a morning workshop. Later that afternoon we happened to sit beside each other at another. We spoke for minutes, but surely if Indomie can be ready and served in five, Chemistry should be discernible in less time.

I learned a while back that you’re more attractive to female company if your first few conversations are pleasant, interspersed with a giggle or two, and you end it. I don’t get why guys linger till they’ve run out of jokes and smart comebacks. Boxing fights have rounds for a reason; you need to regroup and re-launch. So I did like a baller and politely excused myself just when the sizzle was kicking in.

On the last day, after the last seminar, Read More SA Sins -About the Girl, the Vodka and the Club

Blog travel

From Sandton, South Africa is more beautiful than all those places newly weds in Ghana scavenge to take pictures at on Saturday afternoons. High rise buildings are being demolished at alarming rates. In their wake, more dignified ultramodern ones rise. My escort repeated countless times “Don’t confuse the opulence in Sandton for the standard; it’s not. Don’t form an opinion of an entire country from the extravagance of a single city.”

I was most impressed by the Michel Angelo. To call it breathtaking … I don’t knoooww, I don’t think you paused your busy day to read about buildings and bland tourist impressions you can find on Google maps, did you? Especially since I have juicier gists I’m itching to teeelll!!

Screen Shot 2014-10-23 at 3.56.23 PMEheeh, so I stayed at the Maslow. It’s the ultimate residency! You don’t stay at the Maslow and return to your boys’ quarters the same man. It ignites in you dreams and ambitions and gives you the taste of a life only grace can enable. If I described the room to you, I’d be doing you an injustice. It’d be as unfair as Megan Goode’s husband describing the intricate contours of her body to students of an all-boys boarding school. So rather, I’d just tell you about the bathroom.

The shower was, it was, it was an addiction. It was like Read More My Sins In S.A.

Blog travel

I saw a meme last week I still haven’t recovered from. It was of a very hot, curvaceous woman who looked like she only ended up on earth because she got lost on her way to heaven. It was captioned; “If babe like dis gets Ebola, see my broda, in dis life, somtin must kill a man!”.

It reminded me of times in the past where I’d been in similar positions. Like that moment when I entered the kitchen and the lightsoup was just there cooling down on the stove and the sexiest chicken parts were just islanding and flaunting their tender deliciousness and I heard mum laughing on the phone outside, about to wrap up the conversation and I said to myself “See my broda, in this life, something must burn a man’s hands.” Or that time when I returned from town, thirstier than a humpless camel and there’s a chilled coke in the fridge I knew belonged to by brother. I started off with a gulp and diluted it a little, but the chilled fizzy sensation just worked me and I was like “See my broda, in this life, your brother must fight with you at least once.”

Or that time in Presec when I fell head-over-heels in love with that AGISS hottie, who Read More ‘Somtin’ Must Kill A Man!

Blog Inspiration

5 inchyBehold, I lifteth up mine eyes after a heated ‘Father Forgive my sins’ session, and there coming from my extreme right was one adorned in a garment that covered her completely, but only from waist downward. Waist upwards was a nearly naked story. The cut at her back went so low I counted twelve spinal columns, only four remained hidden. The sparse clothing upwards allowed her hefty bosom to give me a five-inch smile. And there, nestled between those two outdoored twins was a symbol of Calvary.

Who? Who was there to save the Savior? Certainly not me, because moments after I had to repeat my ‘Father Forgive my sins’ session.

Sometimes I feel we have a misguided sense of what pleases God and what He’s cool with. We’re like the eager 5 inchhtoddler who drags his mother to come see all the Picasso-level multicolored crayon drawings he’s done on the white sitting room walls. “Mummy, mummy, you see I can draw?” he asks eagerly. Her dilemma is between murder and disinheritance. In the end she smiles weakly before reaching for a cane (I’ve just revealed to you a snippet of my childhood).We discolor and disfigure so many precious gifts from God and march into His presence with blind boldness. O forgive!!

But back to the cleavage business Read More 5 Inches of Cleavage & a Rosary.

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