tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-55619159045461093102024-03-21T22:55:35.956+00:00deeptotsmy take on issues...and some writing
or more appropriately, some writing....and my take on issues!seyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06320352458205057597noreply@blogger.comBlogger28125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5561915904546109310.post-87649298264536377542015-12-16T21:01:00.001+00:002015-12-16T21:01:49.100+00:00Closed to business?<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
I've so many things
I want to write about and that's beginning to limit me as I don't know where to
start...I was in Zambia recently and the whole trip can write me a book!</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
I think I'll start
with the my most recent interesting experience right here in Ghana...<br />
<br /></div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
So yesterday, I was
to meet some people at the Accra Mall. The plan was for me to use the ATM
before we set out on our mission for the day - which was not centred around the
mall.</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
I was surprised to
encounter a plastic barrier at the Spintex road entrance. The security guard at
post told me the mall opens at 9am for which reason I would not be allowed
entry. I found this especially strange as I could see cars moving up and down
within the mall. I mean, how did they get in?</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
I asked the security
guard why this directive. I don't know what it was about me that made him act
someways ( how else can I put this? Haha) towards me.</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
I suspect it had
something to do with the car I was driving, the English I was speaking and my
size....Who is this small girl who is feeling so cool riding ( I wasn't feeling cool o, I was just being me) her sugar daddy's
car (I was driving my dad's car) and thinking she has a right to understand why
she cannot be allowed to park. </div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
Anyways, his answer
to my question was that it was an order from above and he was only doing his
work. All this while, I noticed he signaled any car that lined up behind me to
use the motorway entrance. At a point in time, he shifted another of the barriers
to allow another car inside. The whole thing was like he had something personal
against me.</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
I asked why he was
directing other cars to the other entrance and asked if it was open. He said he
could not tell me whether or not it was open, but I could go check....which
didn't make sense. I told him I needed a definite answer from him as that road was
a one-way and encountering a closed gate might mean I'll have to take a longer
route to get back to where I wanted to be. His attitude was very appalling...It
was like he had meant me and wanted to teach me a lesson.</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
When I heard him
speak Ewe to the occupants of the car he allowed in, I got down from my car,
and gave him a nice lecture on humility in Ewe. On how he should not create
impressions of people based on prejudice and what he sees and then go on and
use that to decide how to respond to them. I told him this world is very small,
and he has no idea where he'll meet me and need my help just as I have no idea
where I'll meet him and need his help for which reason I'm being polite with
him. I told him not to allow the English I speak cause him to feel intimidated
and respond the way he did. He tried arguing that he never insulted me and I
made it clear to him I never said he insulted me, but that his attitude towards
me was just wrong. In the end, he apologised. I could see the pain in his eyes
as he said he was sorry which to me was evidence that everything I said was
true.</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
By this point, one
of the people I was to meet, who had entered the mall through the other
entrance walked down to the Spintex entrance and expressed surprise as the
other gate was open to all cars.</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
We drove in through
the other gate and one of the people I was going to meet, was parked inside the
mall although I arrived at the mall about 20 minutes before her!</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
As we talked about
this encounter, another security guard heard us and invited himself to be part
of our conversation. He said the rule was to prevent people from using the mall
car park as a car park....I'm tired of saying "this doesn't make sense"
but it really made no sense to me.</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
How would closing
the Spintex road entrance and opening the motorway entrance stop people from
parking their cars in the mall and going off elsewhere to carry out their
business? When I said this kind of thinking was backwards, he took offence and
said I'd insulted him...I explained to him that wasn't in reference to him, but
to the givers of the directive. </div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
To cut a long story
short, I went into the mall building which to my surprise was open. If a mall
has functioning ATMs which are accessible before 9am, why do you prevent access
to the mall car park because the shops are not opening?</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
I remember Logical
Reasoning was a topic taught as part of Core Maths in SSS....hehehe. I'm just
saying. </div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
We have a long way
to go in this Ghana o. God have mercy on us!</div>
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
End of story one :)</div>
<br />
<div style="font-family: Calibri; font-size: 11.0pt; margin: 0in;">
<br /></div>
seyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06320352458205057597noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5561915904546109310.post-20176746761235829402015-10-17T10:59:00.001+00:002015-10-18T22:16:56.827+00:00First Aid<p dir="ltr">Sometime in early August, I was called back to the office in the middle of conducting monitoring visits. Reason - I'd been selected to undergo first aid training at the West African Rescue Association.  I liked the idea and I must say I enjoyed the training. I came back feeling ready to save any life especially through CPR. <br>
A little over two hours ago, on my way back from the same monitoring visits I'd been recalled from, somewhere before Nkonya in the Volta Region, there was this gentleman dressed in Electricity Company of Ghana overalls by the side of the road. He was furiously flagging down our car. We stopped. He was standing by an ECG truck. He managed to tell us that two of his colleagues had been electrocuted and will need assistance in being conveyed to the hospital.  The fact that their own company had turned the power on while they were working is worth mentioning.</p>
<p dir="ltr">I was scared. As he went to bring them, we began to make room in the car. I was seated alone behind. I was getting more scared.  I kept wondering if I was going to end up having to be in such close proximity with someone who's probably already dead. I however knew there was no way we could drive away because of <u>fear</u>. Earlier in the trip, we'd been stopped by a man who wanted a lift as part of his journey to Hohoe. We told him we were on official assignment and so couldn't offer him a ride. I felt so terrible as we drove off, but there was not much I could do about that. <br>
This situation was however different. It'll take the devil himself to drive away from such a situation with the excuse of being on official assignment.</p>
<p dir="ltr">The first of the victims was responsive as I could tell he was aware of his surroundings. The second, was unresponsive. As the guy struggled to get the second unresponsive victim into our car, I knew his chances of making it alive to the hospital were dwindling. I asked him to put the guy down on the ground and I jumped out to start giving chest compressions. I hadn't even thought about the fact that I'd have to give mouth to mouth resuscitation to someone I didn't know. By the time I was nearing 30 compressions,  another gentleman was by my side whom I think was part of the ECG team. I instructed him on how to do the mouth to mouth which he did. I continued with the compressions but I was getting scared and I felt my compressions were not strong enough although I noticed a little responsiveness as the compressions went on. I showed my boss how to do it and handed over to him as I reached for my first aid handbook from my bag, flipping through to see if there was any other thing I should be doing. <br>
By this point, I was a bit in shock myself at this unexpected situation. I flipped through so many times but couldn't figure out what I was looking for. <br>
I rushed back to continue CPR when I noticed he'd been left unattended for a second. I was praying,  compressing,  giving instructions and confused all at once! An empty taxi turned up by this time and the people who'd turned up at the scene all felt we should be transporting him to the hospital. I asked if they were sure he was breathing and the guy giving the mouth to mouth was certain of that. I, because of fear didn't want to to look too closely at the one I was trying to save. I didn't want to find out if he was dead or alive. I felt the best option was to go on with the CPR until he came around fully but I also wanted him to be with the experts within the shortest possible time as I knew there was nothing like an ambulance going to turn up with paramedics. I advised the men to continue attempting CPR in the taxi though it wouldn't be as effective. They sped off to the hospital and we continued our journey. </p>
<p dir="ltr">The first victim had already been sent to the hospital while we were attending to the second. <br>
When we got to a filling station to top up,  a taxi driver approached to ask "what happened to the other guy?" <br>
Apparently, he was the one who transported the first victim. <br>
I kept praying for this guy through the journey till I was confident God had heard and would answer. <br>
I didn't take anybody's contact because I didn't want to hear bad news.... I must confess. I would rather work on the assumption that he made it than face the opposite fact. </p>
<p dir="ltr">We'd planned to set off on our journey at 6am, we ended up leaving around 6:30am. We made an unplanned stop over in one of our intervention communities as well. I've been asking myself if it was all part of a divine plan for us to be at that spot at the time we were because one minute could have made a difference in us missing the guy who flagged us down. </p>
<p dir="ltr">After this experience,  I came out with three resolves:<br>
1. I'm going to make sure my company gets an AED as part of our first aid kit. I'll also look into getting one for personal first aid use. <br>
2. I'm going to work on keeping fit so I wouldn't need a stronger person to assist me if I have to do CPR <br>
3. I'm going to advice all I <u>know</u> to learn the basics of first aid </p>
<p dir="ltr">This experience has shown me how fickle this life is. One minute, you're here going about life. The next, you're <u>treading</u> that thin line between life and death...... Another reminder to live each day as if it were my last. Another reminder that this life I live here is just the dress rehearsal for the real deal - ETERNITY. The big question is, are you reading this, ready for eternity? </p>
seyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06320352458205057597noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5561915904546109310.post-80489488535499763712015-09-15T15:45:00.000+00:002015-09-15T15:45:45.892+00:00Disbelieving faith?This is going to be short....I still don't know how to title it yet. Hopefully a title will come to mind by the time I'm done writing.<br />
So I was just listening (yes, listening) to the book of Acts as I worked (multitasking is my thing ;P ) Acts 12 caught my attention. That's the chapter where King Herod Agrippa began to persecute believers in Christ....So our very own Peter was caught and thrown in prison...<br />
Acts 12:5 says "But while Peter was in prison, the church prayed very earnestly for him."<br />
I am certain they were praying for his release...<br />
Now, let's jump to verse 15...<br />
What was the reaction of the people who were earnestly praying for Peter's release when Rhoda opened the door, saw Peter, closed it in his face and excitedly ran back to tell the church that their prayer had been answered?<br />
<br />
"You're out of your mind!"<br />
<br />
They concluded she was crazy.<br />
Now, Rhoda knew what she'd seen and she wasn't going to be convinced that she was crazy (some people can make you doubt what you know to be true and I believe the church could have easily had some of us...)<br />
Anyways, so Rhoda wasn't going to have her mind toyed with so she insisted. And what was the church's reaction to her insistence?<br />
Rhoda was no longer out of her mind. They now believed...but,<br />
"It must be his [Peter's] angel"<br />
Now, I don't know if that meant they assumed Peter dead and had taken the form of an angel...All I know is, they were certain it was not Peter in the human form standing at the door....and this is what got me.<br />
How many times have I not been like the church which was earnestly praying for Peter?<br />
How many times have I not earnestly prayed to God on a subject, have Him answer me and then express profound surprise at the result I'd been praying for? It's not as if I do not have the faith required to see my prayer answered.<br />
It is more like surprise at having God answer a faith based prayer. Sometimes, it's got to do with the speed with which God answers. Other times, it's as if I was just praying out of duty and was not expecting God to answer (which is is not the case) in the way in which He did answer.<br />
Anyways, got to go back to work.<br />
Just some running commentary on what was going through my ears :) ... and a good way to update my blog :)<br />
seyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06320352458205057597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5561915904546109310.post-7361803136245834542015-06-15T14:16:00.001+00:002015-06-15T14:16:04.092+00:00Sobering Reminder<i>I don't know why I feel like it's morally wrong to be posting part 5 of the story seeing as we're in a state of mourning here in Ghana. Mourning the lives of scores of people who began the week having not the faintest idea they were going to end up not just dead, but burnt beyond recognition....</i><br />
<i>This is a reminder to me that this life we live is but a vapor. Here today, gone tomorrow.....</i><br />
<i>A reminder to live each day as if it were my last. A reminder to not hold grudges. A reminder to not keep putting off what I know needs to be done because a time will come when my maker will call me home....And I might end up in the wrong home if I lose sight of the fact that home could be eternal life or eternal damnation....sobering but important reminder these few days have been.</i><br />
<i>Even as those of us who count ourselves lucky go on and on about how God saved and delivered us from the floods or whatever form of death could have had us mute by now, I find myself asking myself this - Are we implying by our gratitude for life that those who died did something wrong? And what about those of them who have been called to eternal life? Why do we always look at death from the lens of negativity?...It's a question I've asked myself many times. I guess I'm rambling now. I'll just end it here... </i><br />
<br />seyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06320352458205057597noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5561915904546109310.post-20851466773337962452015-04-07T16:52:00.000+00:002015-04-07T16:52:08.829+00:00Every disadvantage has an advantage...or so they say..Ok, so sometime last week, I saw an email from the Commonwealth writers in my inbox and my heartbeat rate quadrupled. I knew it had something to do with the short story I'd entered into their 2015 competition. I wasn't really expecting to go far when I entered it, but I was still bummed to see the words "We regret that your story has not been successful on this occasion..."<br />
Anyways, I've been thinking, and I think I'm going to self publish that particular short story. That might just be what will get me to get started on the sequel seeing as I've not written a single sentence since I entered the story in November last year....To whet your appetites, I'm going to post the first few paragraphs (or more appropriately, pages) as my next post to see if anyone will be interested enough to want to read on.<br />
I'm really hoping everyone reading will be excited enough to buy the book when I share the link....No worries, it will be very affordable ;)<br />
Oh, and please note this is a totally random post. I had no plans to put up a post today neither did I have any plans to share part of the story when I started this post. That idea popped up as I typed :D<br />
Let's pray I don't change my mind!seyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06320352458205057597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5561915904546109310.post-25577437044725607312015-02-23T18:51:00.000+00:002015-02-23T18:51:37.562+00:00on being nappy haired<br />
A few days ago, I walked into a certain high commission's offices to submit a visa application. The receptionist took my passport, looked at my data page, raised her head up to look me in the face and this (to the best of my recollection) was what ensued:<br />
<br />
Receptionist (R): Is that your own hair? (pointing to my picture in the passport)<br />
Me: Yes<br />
R: Are you sure?<br />
Me: Yes.<br />
R: You looked nicer like this (pointing to my picture in the passport) than now.<br />
I must say at this point that now was me in a natural haired pony.<br />
I only smiled and willed her to go on with the reason why I was standing in front of her. She got the hint and got on with her job - which was to review my documents ( why does that have to be the job of the receptionist though?) but it seemed like my present looks were haunting her and she couldn't hold it in any more. So the dialogue restarted.<br />
<br />
R: I'm sure other people have told you same.<br />
Me: Told me what?<br />
R: That you looked nicer with your hair like this ( referring to picture in passport)<br />
Me: No, no one has. ( I still managed to have a genuine smile on my face)<br />
R: Why? Have you gone to join some church? (implying that I was wearing my hair in it's natural state as a result of religious compulsion)<br />
Me: No I haven't.<br />
<br />
This was when she resolved to get back to her work.<br />
When all was said and done, she handed my documents back to me and repeated something along the lines of<br />
"You looked nicer with your hair permed"<br />
I replied "I wish I had the time to show you all the pictures of me in my natural hair for you to decide yourself", thanked her and walked away.<br />
<br />
The week before this encounter, I had another natural hair dilemma. I was to be a bridesmaid for a very dear friend. When she told me that she wanted us (the bridesmaids) to wear a certain kind of hair weave, I told her NOTHING was going to make me wear a weave and that I intend to wear my hair natural. She accepted my decision. My interaction with one of the other bridesmaids however confirmed my suspicion - that they were all worried I was going to "spoil" the day with my hair. No, she didn't say this in plain words but she was making snide remarks like "Madam NATURAL Hair" "So what are we going to do to our NATURAL Hair for the wedding?"<br />
<br />
All this just made me ask myself - when are we going to accept ourselves as we were made? I have said it and I'll say it again, that I have no issues with perming one's hair or wearing weaves. I wore my hair in perms for 5 years and I've worn weaves a few times and will wear if I FEEL LIKE wearing. That means I'm not a natural hair nazi. But when I have permed hair and weave nazis acting all superior, then I feel like tutoring them on self acceptance. I do not need straight hair to look and feel beautiful!!!!<br />
In fact, I'm going to attach a picture of me in my natural hair to this post :p ...make that 2!<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIONl8PSTy2Uj0ER8Ne5VZxTmu4LUruuAXfjr23l8TRPzZukbVvR830bPzgsT1gA7xwOOQXj_Wzx-refvU1Tof_-jz2tpMqJfMRynkn7Ej43abckJnOKIm9M0bYzfJKp4Xj5t3TFIkbBs/s1600/IMAG0336%5B2%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiIONl8PSTy2Uj0ER8Ne5VZxTmu4LUruuAXfjr23l8TRPzZukbVvR830bPzgsT1gA7xwOOQXj_Wzx-refvU1Tof_-jz2tpMqJfMRynkn7Ej43abckJnOKIm9M0bYzfJKp4Xj5t3TFIkbBs/s1600/IMAG0336%5B2%5D.jpg" height="320" width="193" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGYoht5o5bdlpEYhHGOKKsa-8zWaX3yi4rpExztNZsPP8YQs7TqD6uRMHckXQ42hl_o2kP5bwt77B4GI_x9nyFTnydxz4-Kif_6QoURYd65RWXJ6Kp42AxbkFnjCZC0sWB7fWPSZon_Ro/s1600/IMAG0344%5B1%5D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGYoht5o5bdlpEYhHGOKKsa-8zWaX3yi4rpExztNZsPP8YQs7TqD6uRMHckXQ42hl_o2kP5bwt77B4GI_x9nyFTnydxz4-Kif_6QoURYd65RWXJ6Kp42AxbkFnjCZC0sWB7fWPSZon_Ro/s1600/IMAG0344%5B1%5D.jpg" height="320" width="193" /></a></div>
Anyone who thinks I'm not beautiful enough wearing my natural hair can go burn the Atlantic for all I care :pseyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06320352458205057597noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5561915904546109310.post-54637314307266441142015-01-28T09:25:00.001+00:002015-01-28T09:25:39.264+00:00Devoted things...<i>I know anyone who's looking forward to a post from me will be expecting me to finish "Bill's Story" and get it done and over with...sorry to disappoint.</i><br />
<i>Sometime in December last year, I was having my quiet time and I decided to share my journal post for that day. After typing it up, I changed my mind. I just came across it this morning and I feel like sharing it so here goes :)</i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This post is me sharing my quiet time. I’m using the 2014
Our Daily Bread. I was reading today’s
Bible reading which was taken from Joshua 7:1-13 and before I got to the end of
the reading, I knew I had to share my thoughts on it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As I read, I asked myself, “what are the devoted things?”
since they are what caused the Lord to be very angry with the Israelites. I
didn’t really stop to research around what they consisted of, but when I got
to verse 4, a light bulb went off in my
head, and I started to relate some things in my life as being equal to taking
stuff which should have been devoted to God and turning around just like the
Israelites did when things went wrong as a result of this to ask God “why?”.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
How many times have
we not as Christians gone before God to ask him “Why?” just like Joshua did? He
went before God, and asked him “Why?”. I
mean, God is sovereign. He knows everything and Joshua just didn’t get it! Why
will this sovereign God allow his people to be defeated and to run away from
their enemies? I cannot even begin to recount the number of times I’ve asked
God “Why?” questions. My journal will be a testimony to that fact...but reading
this today, I realised that just like the Israelites, I took stuff I should
have devoted to God, made them mine and when things weren’t going as planned, I
began to question God.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Sin is not only about the big things. Sin also consists of
me refusing to completely hand over the reins to God. Choosing what I devote to
him and what I do all by myself without his involvement....and choosing to
bring him in later. </div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
God’s reply to Joshua is so telling! He said they have
devoted themselves to destruction! I don’t know if it was a play on words, but
it’s poignant to note that taking God’s devoted things amounts to devoting
myself for destruction. When instead of devoting my time to loving my Heavenly
Father, I devote it to pleasing myself, I am devoting myself for destruction. I
know it sounds so basic, but there is so much truth behind those words. The
solution was for the Israelites to take away the devoted things from amongst
them. God said they could not face their enemies until they did that. Father,
my prayer is for your Holy Spirit to open my eyes to the things in my life that
make it impossible for me to face the enemy so that I can take them away.</div>
seyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06320352458205057597noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5561915904546109310.post-38728162284987498372014-11-14T15:32:00.001+00:002014-11-14T15:32:36.472+00:00ForgivenessThis is an apology from the depths of my heart to everyone who's been waiting on me to finish Bill's Story.<div>
Life got busy as usual. But in the midst of it all, I managed to convince myself to enter a story into a short story competition which closes tomorrow!</div>
<div>
As I type, I'm yet to enter the story I've spent time writing over the last few weeks. The logical side of me is telling me there's no way I'll so much as get shortlisted. But there's this "you never know" side which is what is going to get me to upload that story and hit the enter button.</div>
<div>
I let in on this because I know it'll help in the forgiveness process.</div>
<div>
I sign out of this post knowing I've been forgiven.</div>
<div>
Thanks Guys :)</div>
seyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06320352458205057597noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5561915904546109310.post-45872991125113745582014-08-27T14:41:00.001+00:002014-09-03T11:19:50.713+00:00Bill's Story 7.5<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Let's call this "Bill's Story 7.5, not 8 as it is shorter than usual. I figured posting whatever I have written is better than waiting for it to get longer. I hope I wasn't wrong.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>And pleaaaasssse I want feedback! I need to know if I'm boring you to death or not. I don't want niceties...just facts and constructive criticism. I know you're reading cos I check my hits :)</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What do you mean by “knowing Berth”?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, she was my roommate back in uni.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I looked at her with disbelief, wondering whether or not to believe her. She
had this look on her face. It was halfway between mischief and excitement.
Before I could find the right words to express my surprise, she went on,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’d always pictured the woman you intended to marry as a
church girl. But no, I was wrong!” Who would have thought Berth would make the
cut for you who thinks kissing someone who’s not your girlfriend is a crime?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What are you going on about Amy? You’re not making sense to
me.” My understanding of her words was that Berth had a side I didn’t know
about.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She rolled her eyes and only said, “Bill, not wanting to
believe what you’re hearing is not the same as not understanding it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Ok, so are you saying that my Berth has a side I don’t know
about?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She only clapped and gave me a thumbs up. I was curious to
know what more she had to say, but I only heard myself say,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“We’ve all got history. What’s more important is what we are
now - the present. Now, do you want me to finish that massage or what?” I
didn’t know why, but I was beginning to get angry. I sat on the bed, and not
being one to give up, she placed her feet on me and said, “Yes please. I need
it.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I continued from where I left off in silence, thinking about
whatever it was Berth had in her history books.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Look Bill,” she broke the silence. “I’m not saying Berth
has done anything in particular. For all I know, she’s born again.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What at all did she do that makes you sound like she is not
the same person you knew? How long have you known me to even be in a position
to be judging me and my girlfriend?” I pushed her legs off me and got up so I
could glare down at her as I asked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Her mouth dropped open at my outburst.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“How did I judge you?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You judged me by assuming my Berth has a past I know
nothing about.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“But you were the same person who said we’ve all got history
a few minutes ago, Bill.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“And how does that prove that I don’t know about whatever it
is that Berth has done in the past?” I countered.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Bill dear,” she got up, walked to me, cupped my face in her
palms and continued, “You know deep down that you want to know what I know
about Berth. The truth hurts. Are you really ready to know?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I pushed her hands off my face “I asked what makes you think
I do not know whatever it is that you know about her? I didn’t ask you to tell
me anything.” I felt I had to stand up for my woman.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I do not think Bill, I know that you do not know. You
wouldn’t be with her if you did.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She found her shoes, angrily wore them, reached for her bag
and without a backward glance at me, stepped out. I was fuming at this point. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I reached for my phone and called Kwadwo. His groggy voice
reminded me I was 5 hours behind Ghana. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Sorry for disturbing your sleep, but we need to talk.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
"What is it mate?" I mentally pictured him sitting up as he sensed the urgency in my voice.</div>
seyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06320352458205057597noreply@blogger.com10tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5561915904546109310.post-48637889356568312182014-08-05T14:14:00.002+00:002014-08-05T14:14:49.306+00:00Bill's Story 7<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Looks like I had a relapse....lol But thank God for recovery. Life got extra busy after my last post, but I managed to make time to continue with the story. Apologies for keeping you waiting....and please don't give up on me :) I promise to get better at writing and posting regularly.</i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I don’t know what it is you’ve been inhaling since your
arrival, but you definitely are hallucinating”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
So, the logical explanation to this was that I was the one
hallucinating huh?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What do you mean by that? I’ve given you my timeline. How
does hallucination play into this?” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was looking at her waiting for an answer. I think
something I said gave her an idea because she jumped to her feet, and raised
her hands to her puckered lips, signalling me to keep quiet.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“For starters,” she
began, “You mentioned that you’d been asleep for 30 minutes. I think you should
make that 24 hours and 30 minutes because today is Monday!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She asked for my phone and showed me the time. It really was
Monday.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I let out a sigh of relief, reached for the desk chair and
sat down shaking my head, surprised at what I’d just put myself through. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Is it medically possible to sleep for 24 continuous hours?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You mean 24 hours and 30 minutes?” She asked with cocked
eyebrows. “Even if it wasn’t, you’ve just proven it is.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She got up from the bed and walked towards me, beckoning
with her index finger. “Now, get up and give me that hug. You can’t say you are
not excited to see me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Truth was, I did not even know how I felt about her
presence. I had a foreboding about it. I
still walked into her open arms and gave her a hug. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So, tell me what you are doing here. Where is Ralph?” I sat
on the bed and she sat by me.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Instead of answering me, she scooted away from me, propped
the pillow against the wall, leaned against it and said,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“My legs are killing me. Mr. Daniels did not try at all!
Aaaba!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I didn’t see the connection between my question and her
statement. I did not even see the connection between her two statements!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What has Mr. Daniels got to do with your legs Amy? And how
does that answer my questions about why you’re here instead of Ralph?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
If she heard me, then she showed no sign she did. She lifted
her feet off the floor, placed them on my thighs and with a dramatic wince,
requested of me,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Bill dear, could you please massage my feet for me? They
are killing me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I wanted to protest, but it looked like such a harmless
request and she seemed to be in genuine pain. I only wondered how she managed
to walk in with no limp in those 6 inches if her feet were really killing her
as badly as her pained face implied. I figured some things could only be
understood by women.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I felt obliged to apologise for my poor massaging skills
before I even touched her feet.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m really sorry for the torture I’m about to subject your
feet to in the name of a massage.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She cooed at my touch, “oooo, this torture is going to be heavenly”.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I laughed not because I found it funny, but because I was
beginning to feel tense and I had to find a way of letting it out. I felt I
really should not be doing this. The “ooo” and “aaaa” sounds she was making
with each stroke of my fingers was disconcerting. Sending my mind places I’d rather
not have it go. On remembering I had some deep heat in my bag, I began to
gently set her feet aside to go for it.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Are you done already?” She did not hide her surprise. Her
eyeballs looked like they were going to fall out of their sockets.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No, I’m just picking something to help me in my job as a
masseuse.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Alright then.” She lifted her feet off herself. I noticed
there was no wince of pain this time.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“My massage seems to have already started working”, I teased
as I headed towards the wardrobe to search for what I needed from my bag. I
heard my phone ring as I searched. It was Berth’s ringtone. I stopped searching
and turned around to go answer it but Amy had already picked the phone from the
bed and was just staring at the screen, I figured she was “admiring” Berth’s
picture. She didn’t notice me at the foot of the bed waiting for her to hand
over the phone to me. With her eyes still fixed on the screen, she called out a
little too loudly,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Bill! Berth is calling!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Stop screaming Amy, I’m right here.”, I whispered to prove
to her she really was screaming.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, my bad.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She seemed to have
taken offence. She handed the phone which had stopped ringing by this time to
me and made her way to the bathroom. I knew it was an attempt to give me
privacy to talk. This time, she walked with an exaggerated limp with each step
accompanied with a groan. I waited for Berth to call back and was greeted with,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What took you so long to answer? I was beginning to get
worried,”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was no way I was going to answer that question. I
replied with my own question,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Why are you now calling? I was beginning to get worried too
but didn’t have enough credit to call you!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well, you asked me not to waste my credit calling because
you were going to get a call card and call me from the hotel landline. Have you
forgotten already? Ei, who have you used up all the credit on?” I knew she was
only joking so I only laughed in reply.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well, the MTN lady has just given me my warning! Can you
imagine I bought 5 cedis worth of credit and i’m being told this after less
than 2 minutes of talking? She didn’t wait for me to respond. I’m going to ta-“</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The line went off and I knew her credits had run out. I
called her back.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Ei, I thought you said you did not have enough credit to
call me Bill”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Oh no! What was i supposed to say to this? Fact is I had
credit but did not call her earlier as promised because I had company, but I
knew better than to tell her that.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’ve some credit on my phone. I was going to use the call
card so we could talk for long. I only called back to let you know I’m in a
short meeting with my colleague going through our presentation for tomorrow and
I’ll call back after that.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, that’s fine then. I was going to ask if Ralph was able
to make it. Let’s talk later then. Love you”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Same here”, I replied. “Let’s talk later.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As if on cue that I was done talking, Amy stepped out, took
her position on the bed and said,</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Next time, feel free to reply “I love you too” in my
presence. Knowing Berth, she’s going to pick up on why you said “same here”
instead of that.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was confused. What did she mean by "knowing Berth?" Where did she know her from?</div>
seyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06320352458205057597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5561915904546109310.post-23632297921798493632014-06-27T16:19:00.002+00:002014-06-27T16:19:59.221+00:00Bill's Story - 6<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i>Looks like I'm winning this battle against "writing laziness". Here goes part 6...and please don't get tired. It'll soon be brought to an end ;)</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i>For a recap, click on the links below</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://sey-deeptots.blogspot.com/2012/08/ideas-for-title-are-welcomehaha.html">Bill's Story - 1</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://sey-deeptots.blogspot.com/2012/09/berth-was-up-waiting-for-me-when-i-got.html">Bill's Story - 2</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><a href="http://sey-deeptots.blogspot.com/2012/09/bills-story-part-3.html#.U62XmPl_vEY">Bill's Story - 3</a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i><a href="http://sey-deeptots.blogspot.com/2012/10/bills-story-part-4.html#.U6gBkPl_vEY">Bill's story - 4</a></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><a href="http://sey-deeptots.blogspot.com/2014/06/bills-story-5.html#.U62XYfl_vEY">Bill's Story - 5</a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I had an uneventful journey. Uneventful in
the sense that for once in my air travel history, I did not find myself seated
by a chatterbox who would not shut up for a second or a weirdo who repeats
every single action I make. Prior to the trip, I helped Berth move her stuff to
her end before she dropped me off at the airport. She was being
uncharacteristically emotional about the whole moving out and my travelling
thing, I almost asked her why she was doing it if she didn’t want to do it. I
stopped myself because I knew it was only going to result in a lengthy talk
about “this situation” in which she’s found herself. I let it pass.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I’d checked in, ordered my lunch through
room service and was ready to sleep my jet lag off by 5pm after I’d called
Berth to let her know I’d arrived safely. The meeting was planned to start on
Tuesday. Enough time for me to get over this trans-atlantic flight. I jumped
into bed ready to catch up on my missed hours of sleep.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I was woken up by a knock on the door. I
groggily reached for my wristwatch from beside my pillow to check the time. It
was 5:30pm. “That’s not possible”, I muttered to myself as I dragged myself
towards the door, making a mental note to have the battery changed.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Who’s there?” I looked through the
peephole but only saw a mass of dark hair. Whoever it was had her back facing
the door. She most likely thought she was knocking on the right door and was
just waiting to be let in. I considered ignoring the knock and heading back to
bed because I was expecting no visitors. I had not even informed my <i>Yankee</i>
friends I was coming to town, and none of the people I know lived in Seattle. I
went ahead and cracked the door open and the neck bearing the mass of dark hair
turned around with a smile, waiting for me to let her in. I blinked and
screamed my heart out.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Noooooo!!!!” This could not be! I slammed
the door shut and backed away from it. The knocks started again. This time,
accompanied with mentions of my name.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Bill, Bill, Bill?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I remained silent, seated on my bed and
staring at the door in disbelief.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"> “Bill,
are you not going to let me in?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Go away. I do not communicate with the
dead.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"> I
had heard so many stories of the dead appearing to people who were not yet
aware of their passing. I had never for a second stopped to think if these
stories were true or not. No one told me she was dead. That was just an
assumption I was making. But going by all logic, </span>that had to be the only explanation for how
she could turn up in front of my hotel room when she was supposed to be in
Ghana. How did she even know the hotel I was to be lodging in and my room
number? She must be a ghost.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">She snorted with laughter.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Okay, Bill, I was looking forward to your
surprise at seeing me turn up at your door, but I was not expecting this!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I was not going to communicate with a dead
person. No way. I remained silent.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“It’s been one long flight. I’m heading
over to my room to rest. I’m in room 27, up on the next floor. See you later.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I did not hear her retreating footsteps so
I knew she was still waiting to see if I would change my mind. I remained
silent and seated on the bed, still staring at the door when I sensed she’d
turned to leave. That was when I called for her to wait while I tentatively
headed to the door. My heart was racing with every step I took, and I didn’t
know I’d been shaking until I touched the door knob. When I opened it, she
looked straight into my eyes and asked with flames darting from her eyes,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Do I look like a ghost?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I was very confused. She did not look like
a ghost. I did not even know what ghosts are supposed to look like.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“No”, I said with a vigorous shake of my
head.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“So what was all that about?” The anger in
her eyes gave way to concern. I was still rooted in position. She reached out
for the door, opening it wider and making enough room for her to let herself
in. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I closed the door, turned and watched her drop
her handbag on the desk, kick off her shoes and make herself comfortable on my
bed. All this while, she held my gaze, waiting for an answer.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“I’m confused.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Why?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“I am confused because you’re not supposed
to be here. I am confused because I only got in a few hours ago, had a late
lunch and fell asleep for about thirty minutes and here you are in front of me
when I know very well you were in Ghana when I was leaving. And you don’t
expect me to be confused?” I was incredulous!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">She only laughed, patted a spot by her side
on the bed and beckoned for me to come take a seat. I shook my head and opted
for the desk chair which only made her laugh harder. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“So now, I’m a ghost and you’re afraid to
sit by me. I’m not a ghost.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">She got up and did a twirl as if that was to disprove her being a ghost. Whatever fears I'd had of her being a ghost had subsided at this point. I knew there had to be a logical explanation for this.</span></div>
seyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06320352458205057597noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5561915904546109310.post-68621546218644909202014-06-23T10:49:00.000+00:002014-06-23T10:49:31.169+00:00Bill's Story - 5<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i>Ok, so I know I started this story way back in 2012 but I'm just not ready to let it die and become a story I started but never ended. So, as part of my repentance as a lazy writer, I made time to continue with it. Unlike me, I'm very sure it'll be hard for anyone to still remember what the whole story was about in the first place so I'm going to put up links to the first four parts before I continue. And oh, I did realise some mistakes while re-reading the older parts...When I initially started the story, Bill wasn't called Bill. He was called Jay. Please don't ask the reasoning behind the choice and change of names because I truly have no reason. Anyways, I came across a number of Jays in the first two parts I think. I'll be changing them though but if you read before the change happens, don't be too confused. Just take it as his second name ;)</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i><br /></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i><a href="http://sey-deeptots.blogspot.com/2012/08/ideas-for-title-are-welcomehaha.html">Bill's Story - Part 1</a></i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><a href="http://sey-deeptots.blogspot.com/2012/09/berth-was-up-waiting-for-me-when-i-got.html#.U6gAqfl_vEY">Bill's Story - Part 2</a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<a href="http://sey-deeptots.blogspot.com/2012/09/bills-story-part-3.html#.U6gBI_l_vEY">Bill's Story - Part 4</a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><a href="http://sey-deeptots.blogspot.com/2012/10/bills-story-part-4.html#.U6gBkPl_vEY">Bill's Story - Part 4</a></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">It was already Friday. Saturday was virtually here! Marianne had
sorted out all our travel issues. Both Ralph and I did not need visas. I, because
of my dual citizenship and Ralph, because he had just returned from studying in
the States and still had a valid visa. I however had to leave a day earlier
than Ralph because he had some personal issues to attend to before travelling.
I passed by his work station on my way out at the close of the day.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Ralph, see you in Seattle on Monday.
Marianne just told me you’re on a different travel itinerary because you have
some things to sort out before travelling.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Yes o my guy. Charlie, my kid sis dey
come do engagement this Saturday wey I for wait den take my “akunta sika” before I
leave. The way I take good care of am for e husband, I for wait then take my
money myself.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I found what he was saying funny but he had
this all too serious look on his face which stopped me from bursting into
laughter. I had to agree with him.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Charlie, what you talk be true. E be very
important say you take the money yourself. Anyways, we go crush when you drop.
Make sure you take the hotel details and ticket from Marianne before setting
off.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I patted him on the back and turned to head
out the door when I remembered I had not informed Amy of my trip. I wasn’t
obliged to, but I felt common courtesy required that of me. True friends had to
keep each other in the know of things like this right? I dragged myself back to
her work station and heaved a sigh of relief when I was met with an empty desk.
I picked a bright pink sticky note and pen from the table and left a message on
her monitor. That will surely get her attention.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB">Hi
Amy, I stopped by to let you know I’ll be out of the office for two weeks with
Ralph. Bill.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">That was all I wrote. I didn’t see the need
to give her any more information than that. I called out to Ralph on my way
past his work station the second time,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Don’t forget to have a look through the
presentations I sent to you. I’ll really appreciate your comments and input on
how to make it more interesting.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Make you no worry my guy. I go search time
do that give you.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB">I
just hope you don’t make any insertions and comments in pidgin.<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Now, I wasn’t sure if what was supposed to
be said in my mind came out loud. I panicked at the thought that he’d heard me,
and laughed at my paranoia.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“E go dey your mail inside by Sunday gbeke”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Now, I knew he hadn’t heard me. He wouldn’t
have continued in pidgin if he had heard me. Would he? Ah well. There are
better things to wrap my head around than this. I picked up my ticket and hotel details up from
Marianne on my way to Mr. Daniels office to say goodbye. He was on the phone
when I went in. I’d braced myself for a minimum of 30 minutes wait, and was
surprised when he ended the call and decided to give me a brief lecture on how
to go about representing him well. I was grateful for the coaching though.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Berth was all dressed up looking like she
was waiting for someone to pick her up for an outing when I got home. I could not hide my surprise. She was
in this floral print strapless dress that flowed from her waist to her ankle.
She had on no jewelry save for a pair of tiny gold studs in her ears. The
only hint of make-up I caught on her face was clear lip gloss but she looked
stunning! The sight of her made me feel weak in my knees. I don’t know why I
still feel that way after all these years. It has been three good years since I
first set sight on her and felt the very same weakness I was feeling in my
knees on that day. Up until that point, I wasn’t a believer in love at first
sight. It took Berth to convert me.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“What’s up? Where are you going?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Where are we going?” She corrected me with
emphasis on the “We”.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“That’s for me to know and you to find
out.” The twinkle in her eye as she said this was unmistakable. “Hurry up and
change into something more casual.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I was tired and had really been looking
forward to rest, but whatever plans she had for the evening had got her on a
high. I wasn’t ready to burst her bubble, plus I knew I was going to miss her
for the next two weeks. I was out in less than 5 minutes after I changed into
the first pair of jeans and polo shirt my hands touched in the dark of my
wardrobe.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">She opted to drive us in my car. When I was
seated she turned to me, a mischievous grin slowly spreading across her face.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“You have two options. I either blindfold
you till we get to where we are going, or you promise to keep your eyes closed
from now until we get there.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I opted for the latter. All I had to do was
rest my head against the headrest and take a power nap. I explained that much
to her – that I would use the opportunity to take a nap that will make me a
very fun companion for the night. She didn’t seem bothered by that. She had her
jazz to listen to.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I jolted out of my sleep screaming “Jesus
Jesus” when the car screeched to a halt. My screams for divine intervention
were met with laughter from Berth. It took a few seconds for me to realise that
was how she’d planned to wake me up from my nap and that all was safe. I looked
around but could not make out where we were. It looked as if we had just driven
into the centre of a movie set up on a Caribbean island!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Where are we?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">She just looked at me with a knowing smile and said, "It takes
a few minutes to take it all in.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">That did not answer my question. But I
nodded in earnest agreement. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“This is out of this world.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I could hear the sound of music from a
distance and could smell khebabs on fire though I hadn’t seen any other human
since we’d arrived. We stepped out of the car. Berth took off her slippers,
holding them in her left hand while wrapping her free arm around my waist. We
walked towards the ocean and sat in the sand to watch the sunset. She picked
her phone from her dress pocket and turned it off. I also picked mine to do
same. I noticed I’d received a message from an unknown number but decided to
not ruin the lovely moment with the love of my life. I turned it off and placed
it back in my pocket. She rested her head against my shoulder and I reached for
her hands. We were both content to just
sit in the silence and watch the sun in all its splendor take a bow
down the horizon. Except for the occasional sound of music that was carried
towards us by the winds, the only other sound I could hear was the roar of the
Atlantic and of the waves crashing against the rocky sections of the beach. I
turned to kiss her just as the space which was filled with the bright orange
sun was now nothing but clouds that still had orange hues race across the sky.
I swear I would have gone on kissing her till daybreak had she not reluctantly
broken it off and asked that we go have dinner. I turned to look around but
could not sight any restaurant. She held my hand and walked me towards what
appeared to be a forest of coconut trees to the right of where we had parked,
giggling in excitement at my apparent daze in taking in how the evening had
turned out. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Nestled in the middle of the forest of
coconut trees was this cozy restaurant with an ambience which cannot be
explained. It can only be felt. We made our meal selections – I went for banku
and spicy grilled tilapia with green pepper sauce. That was what the menu said.
It was just “kpakposhito” which must have been ground in heaven because I’ve
never had hot pepper that tasted so heavenly with banku and tilapia. She opted
for Rice and beef sauce which she swore was nicer than my option even though
she left half of it and joined me to eat the banku.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We took a walk along the moonlit beach before going back to the spot where we had been sitting before dinner and talked the night away. I did not want the night to end, but I knew
full well I had to get ready for my trip the next day. Berth read my mind.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“We should be heading back. You need to
rest before your trip.” </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">The ride back home was tranquil and silent.
It was a comfortable silence. It wasn’t until I entered the bedroom that I was
reminded of the fact that Berth was really moving out the next day. Her packed
bags were lined at the foot of the bed. They seemed to be taunting me. Telling
me to hurry up and marry their owner If I didn’t want them out. I shook my head
and said to them,</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Oh shut up! Would you?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Who are you talking to?” Berth was perplexed
as she walked in and caught me speaking to myself.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“I was just silencing the voices in my head
telling me that I’m going to lose you if I allow you to move out tomorrow.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">When did I get this good at fabricating on
the spot lies that could go past any lie detector? This particular one was not
actually too far fetched from the truth though. Was that not the implication of
the conversation the bags and I were having? </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Sweetheart, thank you so much for tonight.
Your spontaneity in coming up with such plans is the definition of romance.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Awww, I’m flattered. The smile of gratitude on her face warmed my heart. Thanks for not
turning me down. I knew you were very tired coming back from work. But I also
knew we had to do this. I just wanted to prove to you that my moving out is not
because I do not love you. A woman’s got to do –“”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I did not let her end her statement. I
walked towards her and cupped her face in my palms. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“I’m going to do what I have to do as a
man. Do not worry yourself thinking about when. It’s going to be sooner than
you think.”</span></div>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I bent my head and planted a kiss on her
forehead. She released herself from my embrace, mumbling an excuse of needing
the washroom. I knew she was going to cry, but I did not stop her. </span></div>
seyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06320352458205057597noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5561915904546109310.post-40057962743540627122014-06-20T12:28:00.002+00:002014-06-20T12:28:43.327+00:00I'm back!<i>Ok, so my last post was on the 23rd of November last year! What excuse can be given and accepted for this? Don't say none because excuses always abound. I would love to say I've not been lazy. That I've been so busy you wouldn't believe it if I told you. That my life has been a roller-coaster between my last story (not post) and now. All those are true. But who says you can't write while on a roller-coaster? Before anyone asks me if I've ever been on a roller-coaster, yes I have! And writing is not always about putting pen to paper or typing out on a computer. You can write in your head and pour it all out when the calm which lazy writers like myself are always looking for comes around. I <strike>think </strike> No, I know I've just been plain lazy. And I would not give anyone the pleasure of telling me that to my face and having it hurt :p So i'll admit it so I can laugh at those who are unkind enough to agree with me :D</i><br />
<i>Of course there have been times when I'll start a post but lose interest by the end of the first sentence and never get around to posting it.Those are still there as drafts which I don't ever see myself finishing. I'd like to believe I have repented of my sins. I'm going to be serious from henceforth....but I'll perfectly understand your hesitance to trust me on this one. I'll just have to prove what I'm saying. Time will tell :)</i><br />
<i>I just think I've rediscovered my writing mojo. I just hope it sticks around for a longer while this time.</i>seyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06320352458205057597noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5561915904546109310.post-49759542812947899672014-02-14T12:58:00.002+00:002014-11-22T09:23:55.634+00:00What do Indiscipline and Corruption have in common?<p dir="ltr"><i>I just found this post which I'd been writing on 20th June 2014 in my drafts folder! I never finished it but I think it still makes for an interesting read. </i></p>
<p dir="ltr">Sometime in October last year, I was driving to work when I noticed a sticker behind the car ahead of me. It was at the Fiesta Royale traffic light on the N1. The light had turned red so I reached for my phone to capture what I thought was an interesting aphorism, but just before I could capture the shot, the driver changed lanes ;( . I cannot quote word for word what it said, but it was something along the lines of "I love my country. It's those in charge I have a problem with".<br>
So he loves his country but has a problem with those in charge. That's not a big deal. But it got me thinking and I must say it made me more aware of how almost everyone in Ghana is always whining about our leaders. I believe in constructive criticism. The kind which puts aside political party affiliation and objectively states ones views on how things are not being done right and how they could be rightly done.</p>
<p dir="ltr">What I've come to notice in recent days in Ghana is this. Almost EVERYBODY has nothing good to say about those we have elected to govern us. You log in to any social media for a maximum of 5 minutes and you're sure to be greeted with a tweet or status update berating the government. Now, I'm not saying everyone must sing the praise of government even when things are not being done right. I just think we seem to forget that the people in authority over us are a reflection of the people they govern. Corrupt deals are exposed or the price of fuel goes up and you get everyone commenting and using distasteful language on those in authority. The most recent one I sighted was on Facebook earlier this week when one of my social media friends said "We are being governed by a bunch of fools". My heart bled when I read this. I was like, "really?" It took Grace to stop me from commenting on that status.<br>
 And I wondered, where did these bunch of fools governing us appear from? Did those in authority who dabble in corrupt deals become corrupt upon assuming those positions?<br>
I don't think so. We are a bunch of undisciplined people. I use the pronoun "we" not because I believe every single Ghanaian is undisciplined, but because majority of Ghanaians are undisciplined. If you need evidence of the indiscipline I'm talking about, take a walk or drive, depending on your location to the Tetteh Quarshie interchange. The section opposite the Villagio apartments. What do you find when you get there? What used to be greenery is now some sorry looking bits of grass competing with dry patches of land. Don't for a moment think the dry patches of land you're seeing has anything to do with the dry season. Rather, it has everything to do with Indiscipline both on the part of drivers and pedestrians. Crossing the N1 onto the motorway during the evening rush hour is any driver's worst nightmare. Instead of all of us staying in line and slowly inching towards our destinations, we have these group of drivers who decide to race along the green grass and the end result is...<br>
ok i was just interrupted at work for some 45 minutes and the writing inspiration is gone. I'll save this and get back to it the next time it comes.</p>
seyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06320352458205057597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5561915904546109310.post-85871903162126694212013-11-23T11:32:00.001+00:002013-12-04T07:54:07.342+00:00Hair and beauty <p dir=ltr>So I just spent over 30minutes writing a post only for my phone to ring and for me to lose everything I wrote!! I'm going to start afresh.... <br>
I'm at this salon getting my hair braided, and there's this toddler here crying my ears off. This post is being written not because I can't stand crying babies. It is being written because I cannot fathom why for the life of me a less than two years old baby will be subjected to such torture! How can a mother seat her baby on her laps and hear her cry from the pain of having her hair being braided? <br>
I'm convinced this little girl is gong to grow up with a warped understanding of what true beauty is. She's most likely going to grow up thinking to look beautiful, she always has to cover her beautiful reddish brown kinky hair with fake hair. Her cries were so much tearing at my heart that I almost asked her mother why she was doing this to the girl. I stopped myself because I cannot speak twi well and knowing myself, I'll end up coming across as <u>j</u>udgemental (which I am on this issue by the way :D) <br>
I am braiding my hair because it is natural and knowing how busy I'm going to be in the next couple of weeks, I'm better of putting it in an easy to manage style. But this little girl here has short natural hair which only has to be trimmed in order for her mum to be able to pass a comb through it when it's messy. <br>
The crying got unbearable to the point where one other customer in the shop advised the mother to breastfeed the baby to sleep so the braiding can continue. She heeded to the advice and the baby is asleep now, but the whole situation has awakened in me something! It's got me asking myself what is wrong with us women? When are we going to get to the point where we understand that true beauty is not about how you look on the outside, but is something inside that radiates on the outside.  Of course that doesn't mean I agree with women who go about looking like they're crazy all in the name of keeping their hair natural. They twist their hair and keep it for weeks on end, making them look like they were crazy for real. This post is not even about keeping the hair natural. I have no qualms at all with whichever way one wants to keep her hair so long as the person understands that beauty is from within and not about what she adorns herself with. <br>
I think I'll end my post here before I digress. And next time,  I'll make sure to intermittently save as I write. O wow! Call it perfect timing.  The baby just woke up and is at it again! Mercy me. </p>
seyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06320352458205057597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5561915904546109310.post-42468732337732165912013-05-20T11:14:00.001+00:002013-05-20T12:27:13.684+00:00Christianity or Fanaticism?I've been wanting to write on this topic for a while now, but I kept holding back because I wasn't so sure it was a topic I should address seeing as I'm still a baby Christian. However, recent happenings here in Ghana have broken whatever it was that was holding me back, and I'm ready to speak up.<br />
<div>
Before I go further, let's get some basic definitions right. I am one who's been taught to never quote Wikipedia in any academic write up... I have since then always found myself unconsciously looking down on any article in which Wikipedia is referenced, although that's always my first point of call on any subject matter! Ironic isn't it? Anyways, as a Christian, I decided to put up my own definition of Christianity.</div>
<div>
What is Christianity?</div>
<div>
Christianity is the belief that there is one God who came down to earth many many thousands of years ago in the form of man. This same God we Christians believe is a three in one God (The Father, The Son and The Holy Spirit)....a concept that is difficult to understand if you want to use your human understanding to....So, God The Son came down to earth in the form of man, lived for some 33 years, and when the people of his time who had been awaiting the Messiah had had enough of him claiming to be the Messiah, they put him to death. Unknown to them, they were only playing a role in getting the prophecy around God The Son, "Jesus Christ" to come to pass....The prophecy was that He would be put to death, but would rise on the third day....Now, I wasn't there, and I can't say which side I would have belonged to... would I have believed that Christ was the long awaited Messiah? Or would I have been part of the crowd that was screaming "Crucify Him!"?</div>
<div>
I don't have an answer to that....all I know now is, I believe this story....and that makes me a Christian. And I try my best to live by what the Bible says.</div>
<div>
Ok, so now, what is Fanaticism? According to Wikipedia, "Fanaticism is a belief or behavior involving uncritical zeal, particularly for religious or political cause or in some cases, sports, or with an obsessive enthusiasm for a pastime or hobby." </div>
<div>
The same Wikipedia quotes one philosopher George Santayana as defining fanaticism to be "Redoubling your effort when you have forgotten your aim"</div>
<div>
Disclaimer: Although I love this definition, I'd never heard of this philosopher until today :) </div>
<div>
So where am I going with this my long talk on Christianity and Fanaticism?</div>
<div>
I'll go straight to the point here. Every Ghanaian who is on any social media, has a radio or a TV knows what's been going on in recent times regarding people flocking to the Synagogue Church of All Nations (SCOAN) which is headed by Prophet T.B. Joshua. As I said earlier, I am a baby Christian, so I'm in no position to say if this Prophet is true or false. The Bible I read says by their fruits you shall know them...the same Bible says in my name they shall cast out demons.....and he does cast out demons from what I see...The same Bible further says in Matthew 24:24-25 "For false christs and false prophets will rise and show great signs and wonders to deceive, if possible, even the elect. See, I have told you beforehand." These are Christ's own words!....</div>
<div>
I just want to say I'm not out to say someone is real or not real. I just want to say that Christians are missing the whole point of what Christianity is about. We are missing the point so much so that our belief seems to be now rooted in things such as holy water, holy oil, anointed handkerchiefs. </div>
<div>
I'm yet to come across a story in the Bible where Jesus bottled and sold his miracle making potions....take for instance when he spat and mixed it with clay (or was it sand?) and used it to make that blind man see....Why didn't any of his disciples take up the initiative to bottle and sell it? Is it that they just didn't have the marketing orientation?</div>
<div>
I was once dragged to a church service in London by my aunt...I don't remember the name of the church, but the pastor was called "Jesus Abrantie" I was disheartened when I saw people buying t-shirts anointed by the man of God for as much as 300pounds sterling! yea, you read me right! Give me that money and I'll get myself some Chanel purse ( I mean, a whole lady like me has not got one designer purse in her wardrobe!)...this shirt was supposed to be worn anytime the owner was in a difficult situation....one specific example i remembered was headache....</div>
<div>
You can blame it on my Deeper Life upbringing, but I've never believed in such stuff...I believe in miracles, but I don't believe in " I've prayed over this so do this and you'll be healed, and you'll get visa, naaaa" we've got to be real!</div>
<div>
I believe that If I have a problem, and I get down on my knees, and call on Jesus, He will come to my rescue. Let me also make it clear that I don't believe in living a reckless life and running to Jesus only in times of trouble. Being a Christian is an everyday walk. One day at a time. So when you live your life just any how, and you hear of a man of God who is distributing holy water somewhere,...even if it is God himself who asked him to do this, your going for that holy water is not what will save you....and this is where I like the definition of Fanaticism as "redoubling your effort when you have forgotten your aim"</div>
<div>
Is Christianity about living like Jesus and believing that your own belief in Him is enough to save you, or is it about believing that water prayed over by a man of God is what you need to solve all your problems? Is the aim about being more like Jesus, or is it about miracles? When you redouble your efforts to get holy water by getting to the church venue at 8pm saturday when the service starts at 9am sunday, then surely, your aim is to get holy water....but should your aim be to get holy water, or to get to know Christ better? If it is to know Christ better, then trust me, you could have done that in the comfort of your bed!.</div>
<div>
All you have to do is pick your Bible, ask God to through His Holy Spirit speak to you, and read it! It's as simple as that.</div>
<div>
Anyways, I think this is enough for now....I hope I did not miss my aim of trying to get we Christians to take a step back from being fanatics who double our efforts in search of miracles, while missing the point of what Christianity really is about....i.e living like Christ.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
seyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06320352458205057597noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5561915904546109310.post-36546749370226631042013-05-14T12:12:00.000+00:002013-05-14T12:12:15.819+00:00Baby on BoardI was driving home yesterday on the Accra Tema Motorway. I think I should at this point clearly indicate that I don't drive like a woman. I'm the kind of girl who honks at the car doing 80kph ahead of me in the inner lane and keeps flashing my headlights into your rearview mirror until you move to the outer lane..well, at least that's what i used to do until my car developed this problem where it starts to vibrate and shake between 80 and 100kph...strangely, it doesn't do that when i hit 100!<div>
So yesterday, whiles driving, I saw through my mirror this car coming at real top speed, so i changed lanes to give way. I was really surprised when i noticed it was a young lady driving the car.....and to add to that, there was this bright yellow "baby on board" sign hanging on her back windows!</div>
<div>
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh48dccPwIyOuH05fAWdFhKXc6XSfNCYp7xc0v0pUoVzl4YSNkcaHCKtswM-ehCxsYQbFVuHQmP2oYuyNuyUv1UTX9FyYk3VXW0w87-1h9Q2k5ksiwQ2lRGmiruOAxdwxq0kqcAaMx4F3A/s1600/baby+on+board.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh48dccPwIyOuH05fAWdFhKXc6XSfNCYp7xc0v0pUoVzl4YSNkcaHCKtswM-ehCxsYQbFVuHQmP2oYuyNuyUv1UTX9FyYk3VXW0w87-1h9Q2k5ksiwQ2lRGmiruOAxdwxq0kqcAaMx4F3A/s1600/baby+on+board.jpg" /></a>This sign got me thinking...why would I want to let the whole world know there's a baby in my car? I really don't get it! Is it something all would be mothers except me look forward to?</div>
<div>
I tried reading around the reasoning behind the sign, and what I found says "it is to encourage safe driving"!</div>
<div>
Oh really? That lady was certainly doing over 100kph, and the limit on the motorway is 100!</div>
<div>
I don't see anything safe in letting the whole literate world know that I have a baby in my car. It is even dangerous to me because you're probably making a baby thief's work easier! Telling him/her, "Oh, you've got a potential here"...</div>
<div>
Well, I just felt like putting what I'd been thinking into words.... no offence to readers who cannot wait to hang their "baby on board" signs in their cars some day...feel free to put up a post on how it amazes you why anyone would drive around with a baby in their car without warning to other road users....I just might get it after reading that...But until then, I stand amazed!</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
seyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06320352458205057597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5561915904546109310.post-6852751306870743722013-03-15T16:31:00.001+00:002013-03-15T16:31:59.370+00:00It's March Already?Wow! It's been five months since I last posted!....and already three months into the new year! There's no excuse for this...well, I've got loads of reasons and I could start typing away to explain my "laziness". But I'll spare anyone who cares to read the details....I figured I should just put up a post (even if it's just three lines) to help get me back into the writing and posting mood (the same one I found myself in about six months ago)....So, hopefully, I'll soon start writing and posting :). With this being my first post of 2013, let me wish anyone who finds him/herself reading this a happy new year....My new year resolution (which I JUST made) is to MAKE time to write instead of just WISHING i had time to write...So help me God!<br />
Maybe I should mention at this point that I actually made some time to continue the story I was working on before I took my hiatus...I've read through it a number of times, but it's not impressed me and that could explain why it's yet to see the light of day on this blog...seyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06320352458205057597noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5561915904546109310.post-87845939528787210892012-10-16T22:27:00.001+00:002012-10-16T22:40:34.981+00:00Bill's Story - Part 4<i>So it's been over a month since I last posted...I have a good excuse...WORK! Anyway, thanks to those who kept asking "when are you going to post part 4?" I managed to make time to pen down something. I hope it is worth the wait!...oh, and let me add this. I really do appreciate all your comments and constructive criticism, but could you pleaseeeee leave those comments as comments beneath the post instead of sending them through Whatsapp and so on? ;) A kiss for every comment that comes through here :* </i><br />
<i><br /></i>
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I was seated at my desk catching up on happenings around the
world when my Chief Executive Officer called for me. It was rare for him to ask
to see anyone in person. Being such an impersonal man, the telephone was his
best mode of communication. His secretary, Marianne, was on the phone when I
entered. With the phone wedged between her shoulder and neck, she signalled me
to go ahead in.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">He was at his desk, furiously typing away at his keyboard.
He offered me a seat, his eyes still fixed on his monitor. I greeted and took
the seat. It took him well over ten minutes to respond to my greeting. All I
did during that time was stare at my fingers, regretting that I had not carried
my phone along. I had the option of paying more attention to the pictures
hanging on his wall. But who would want to stare at pictures of his boss
speaking into different colours of microphones at different events? He finally
took his eyes off the screen, stretched his hand to shake me with a smile that
didn’t reach his eyes, and went straight to the point.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Mr. Mensah, I’ll need you to fill in for me next week at
the Annual Architect’s Conference. You’ll have to present a paper on my
behalf.” His huge voice belied his tiny structure. I always wondered how such
sounds could emanate from a man his size.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Wow”. That was all I could manage once I got my thoughts in
check. This was not the time to be analysing his vocals.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I know you are probably thinking this is above you, but
trust me, I thought long and hard about it before deciding on you.” He went
ahead, not giving me the chance to put my thoughts together to say something
sensible. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Jean, being the next in line should have been the one to
go, but there is another equally important meeting around the same time.” He
handed over a file to me. “This should help you prepare. Let me know if you need
further clarification. You can leave now.” He did not give me the chance to say anything.
I thanked him for the opportunity and hurried out.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">Marianne’s desk phone was ringing when I went past her desk.
Seconds later, she ran after me. “Mr. Daniels wants to see you.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">This time around, he did not offer me a seat. “I forgot to
mention that you will have to go along with one of the junior staff. The Human
Resource Manager will have to decide which of them goes with you. Speak with
him and let me know by tomorrow whom he decides on. That’ll be all”.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I made a beeline for the HR manager’s office. It took him
less time to make his choice than it took me to explain why he had to make the
choice. “You’ll have to go with Ralph”,
he announced. I heaved a sigh of relief. I’d been praying tongues in my head
that he’ll not choose Amy. My prayers had worked! I headed back for my desk,
and got so engrossed in getting myself ready for the trip I forgot to check on
Berth until close of work. I called her before leaving the office. From the look of things, I was very likely to
meet her at home since she was now going to start packing. I figured I could
try convincing her to reconsider her decision to move out. I stopped on my way
home and got some pizza with a double serving of her favourite topping. We’ve
been together for close to three years, but I was yet to wrap my head around
how she could enjoy pizza with pineapple toppings all in the name of Hawaii.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I let myself in and placed the pizza on the dining table. She
gave me a hug when she came out after I called out for her. Nothing looked
amiss. I started nurturing hopes that she’ll inform me of a change of mind, but
she didn’t. The look of delight on her face on sighting the pizza could not be
missed. “Oh darling! You got my favourite!”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">That got me a quick kiss on the lips. From what most guys
tell me, the only things that could elicit such delight from their wives or
girlfriends were usually presented in cute tiny boxes, not pizza boxes. I seem
to have found a different kind of woman for myself. One that would show
appreciation for the most mundane thing you got her!</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She went on, “I had wanted to eat after packing, but you
know I hate cold pizza.” She went ahead to open the box and took a bite.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“You can always heat it in the microwave later on,” I
suggested, and regretted the words once they were out of my lips.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">The next slice stopped midway to her mouth. “Do you want me
out that fast?” She laughed before I realised she was teasing, but I still went
on to let her know how I really felt. “Berth, you know I love you and would
move heaven and earth to get you to stay.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Bill, we already talked about this, and I’m not
backtracking.” She said it in such a gentle way, but the finality behind the
words was unmistakable. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Ok, whatever makes you happy dear.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Do you think I’m happy to find myself in this situation?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">I could tell she was slowly getting worked up. I had to
diffuse the situation.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“No, I know you’re not happy, and I’m really sorry. But
trust me, it won’t be long, I’ll get that smile back on your face.” I walked
towards her and kissed her on the forehead. With my arms around her, I looked
her straight in the eyes as I said, “I need one thing from you.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“What could that be?” She enquired.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Why don’t you stay till the weekend? It’s late tonight.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">She burst into a fit of laughter. “Nice try Bill!” She said
between her laughter fits. “I agree it’s late, so I’ll leave tomorrow
Wednesday.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I’m asking for you to stay till the weekend because I’ll be
going to the States on Sunday for the Annual Architects’ Conference and -”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“And you’re now telling me?” She cut me short.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“I only found out this afternoon. Why would I keep this away
from you?”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Ok, that is a good enough excuse. I’ll stay till Sunday
then.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: inherit;">“Aren’t you a darling?” I gave her a hug and went for a
quick shower. </span></div>
<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="line-height: 115%;">The rest of the evening went well. We spent
quality time together talking about anything that came to mind. When I asked
what I should get her from the States, all she said was “Anything, dear”. I
already knew what I was going to get her though. I </span><span style="line-height: 17.77777862548828px;">couldn't</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> wait for her to
fall asleep so I could measure her ring finger. We both fell asleep on the
couch in the living room, and it </span><span style="line-height: 17.77777862548828px;">wasn't</span><span style="line-height: 115%;"> until sometime after 2am when I woke up
to use the washroom that I woke her up and we moved to the bedroom. I did not
forget to take my measurements before waking her up though.</span></span>seyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06320352458205057597noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5561915904546109310.post-18153358544511031932012-09-13T17:11:00.000+00:002012-09-14T15:53:16.724+00:00Bill's story - part 3<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><i>I wrote this sometime last week,,,don't know why I'm now posting it!</i></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I managed to make it to the office in one
piece, and it wasn’t until I got there that I was reminded of the existence of
a being called Amy. I caught a whiff of the perfume she’d been wearing
yesterday immediately I entered the building. By the time I made it upstairs, it
was as if the whole hallway had been sprinkled with a bottle of her fragrance.
I pictured her getting into the building before anyone else to sprinkle the
fragrance there just to torment me. I laughed at the mental picture I created
of her doing it - Just like in the local movies where juju concoctions are
sprinkled in the corners of a room using some sort of broom. I was still
laughing when I stepped into my work station.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Looks like someone had a goodnight!”
Kwadwo observed as he made his way towards me. “Fill me in, man” He was already
perched at the edge of my desk with an expectant look in his eyes. I noticed
Amy from the corner of my eyes, and there was a battle going on in my mind as
to the approach I was going to use to handle her. She showed no signs that she
had seen me come in, but I swear I saw her ears perk up when Kwadwo asked me to
fill him in.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB"> “I
brought breakfast, are you interested?”, I lured him out to the kitchen.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Where’s the breakfast?” he asked when he
noticed I had nothing for him.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Berth is moving out”, I announced. He
forgot all about the breakfast.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“You must be kidding me! Did you cheat on
her?” He dragged out a chair and sat down, his eyes fixed on me all the while.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“My guy, I did not say she broke up with
me! I said she’s moving out.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“But what’s the difference? Trust me, the
probability of her moving back in is non-existent”, he sounded so sure of
himself.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“Well, she promised to move back on
condition that I marry her.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“That is blackmail! She never came across
to me as one capable of that.” He said this with a twinkle in his eyes. The
earlier despondency in his eyes, which I believe was borne out of pity for me,
was now turned into one of fascination. He was clearly fascinated with Berth’s
move.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">“It is not blackmail. She is just holding
me up to my own words.”, I jumped to her defence even though I was angry with
her. “I just have to put things in place and ask her to marry me.”</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">Our privacy was invaded by other colleagues
who had to use the kitchen. On our way back to the office, I flippantly asked
Kwadwo to remind me to tell him something later. Back at my desk, I figured an
email to Amy will be in order.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB">“Hello
Amy, I had wanted us to make time to talk about the happenings of last night,
but on second thought, we’re better off not talking about it in person. As I
told you yesterday, I’m going out with the woman I intend to marry, and no one
can come between us - not even you. Don’t get me wrong, you’re hot and all
that, but I’m sorry, I’m committed to someone else. The most I can offer you,
is nothing more than true friendship.”<o:p></o:p></span></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">A few minutes after I had hit the send
button, she walked up to my desk. I hadn’t read through the message before
sending it, I had just been typing whatever came to my mind. The sight of her
walking towards me caused my heart to beat faster. This surprised me because I
could not tell if this was because of the message I had just sent, or because
of something else I could feel but not explain. Maybe, this inexplicable
feeling had more to do with my notoriety with being drawn to danger.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">She offered herself a seat. “<i>Goodmorning Mr. Mensah. Forgive my bad
manners, I should have called to say thank you for yesterday. My supervisor
looked through the designs, and he was very impressed with my input.” </i>If
she read my message before walking up to me, she showed no signs up until this
point that she had. The perfume in which she had doused herself was too much
for me. I let out a loud sneeze.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><span lang="EN-GB">“I’m
glad I was of help.” </span></i><span lang="EN-GB">That was all I said back to
her while reaching for my handkerchief to stop the next sneeze.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">She made a show of walking back to her desk
with her heels loudly clicking against the tiles, before returning to add, “<i>I forgot to let you know I got your email. I
didn’t reply because emails are not my thing. I just use them for official
stuff – I like to discuss personal issues in person.” </i>Her voice dropped to
barely a whisper and then she said with a wink, “<i>I’m willing to take you up on that true friendship offer though.” </i> She offered her hands, and our <i>true friendship</i> was sealed with a
handshake.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span lang="EN-GB">I felt a sense of relief and trepidation wash over me when I let go of her hands. Relief f</span>rom the fact that the encounter I had been dreading was over. The feeling of trepidation had more to do with the inexplicable feeling her presence and that handshake had caused. I knew for a fact it wasn't love. Heck!, it wasn't even like! It was one of those things you could never quite place a finger on no matter how hard you tried.</div>
seyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06320352458205057597noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5561915904546109310.post-15404655949754951172012-09-03T01:50:00.000+00:002012-09-03T01:53:00.925+00:00Bill's Story....Part 2<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Berth was up waiting for me when I got home – I knew she
would. <i>“You must be tired”, </i>she said,
taking my brief case from me. “<i>Should I
warm your meal for you or you had something to eat already?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I had not eaten anything since my lunch at 1pm, and I was
starving! But knowing Berth very well, she would sit through supper with me,
engaging in little talk. I was not ready for that. There were too many things
going on in my head, and I’ve come to realise through living with her that you
don’t mess with anyone who took a short course in psychology. They are more
than professional psychologists. She thinks she has me all figured out although
I always tell her she is only right 10% of the time. Tonight however, my fear
of the probability of the 10% being right was 100%.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<i>I fed on some junk
whiles working, so I don’t feel hungry.” </i> That in itself was not a lie, and I made sure
to look straight into her eyes whiles saying it. Amy offered me some coke and
chips when she moved over to my work station. She had wanted me to look over
some calculations her supervisor had asked her to submit by the next morning.
That excuse sounded much more plausible when she said it to me then than now.
Looking back, I wonder why she had two packs of snacks with her.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Berth’s voice brought me back to the present “<i>Should you wake up hungry at 2am, it will be
in the fridge. I’ve to get to work early tomorrow so it’s an early night for
me.” </i>She placed the food in the fridge and headed towards the bedroom.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“I’ll soon join you. I
just want to listen to the late news.” <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This got her to stop in her tracks. <i>“Did you mean to say soccer highlights or late news?” </i> She teased. Shoot! I mentally kicked myself.
Everything was going fine up until now. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“I meant both. Is
there not a sports segment in the late news? Go on to bed love, It’s only the
highlights I want to watch”.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I turned on the TV,
and sat in the couch directly opposite it. My eyes were fixed on the screen,
but my mind was back on Amy, trying to figure out how to go about putting her
in her right place the next day. I’ll just tell her that Berth is not just a
girlfriend. She is the woman I plan on marrying, and therein lies the
difference. I almost jumped out of my skin when I heard laughter behind.<i><o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<i>Oh my God! Jay,” </i>Berth
managed between fits of laughter, <i>“since
when did Cartoon Network start showing the late news?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That was when I noticed I had been staring at cartoons all
this while. I laughed in spite of myself.
<i>“Work was so stressful today, I
figured I’ll be better off watching cartoons than filling my mind with all the
negative news going on around the world.” </i> This time, I patted myself on the back
mentally. That was such a smart thing to say! <i>“What brought you back here?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She ignored my question. “<i>Well, over an hour of cartoons doesn’t seem to have done the trick. You
still look stressed. Come on, let’s go to bed.” </i>She turned off the TV and I
followed her to bed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My heart literally skipped a beat when once I turned out the
lights and settled into bed, she mentioned my name. That was what she usually
did whenever we “had to talk”.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“<i>Yes dear?” I
squeaked. <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“My dad called me
today with good news. My kid sis got admission into the medical school”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I turned to face her “<i>That’s
fantastic!”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“There’s a little
problem,” </i>She went on. “<i>He suggested
she spends her first year with me as a day student.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I didn’t see the problem with that. <i>“And how is that a problem?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She let out an exasperated sigh. <i>“You seem to forget that I am no longer living on my own as I’ve got
them to think. They’ll kill me if they know I’m living with a man I’m not
married to.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“We’ll find a way
around it.” </i>I knew very well this would be a big issue with Berth and her
people, but I also knew it wasn’t the end of the world.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“Well, school starts
in 3 weeks for her so we’ve got to think fast.</i> <i>If Adwoa were one who knew how to keep her mouth shut, I wouldn’t have
been up thinking about this. But trust me Bill, I know my sister.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“Tell your parents you’ll
pay her boarding fees.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“And you think that
solves the problem? What happens when she’s on holidays?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I could tell the next form our discussion was going to take.
She was going to say something along the line of “<i>Why don’t you just man up, go see my parents and lets formalise this
thing?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My guess was right – the very same wordings.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“I thought you had an
early morning tomorrow? Why don’t we discuss this after work?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“That is what you
always say when you want to avoid an issue. “Why don’t we discuss this later?”
Well, today, we are going to discuss this now.” <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Wow, she was angry, I could tell from her tone. She turned
on her bedside lamp, and sat up in bed. There was clearly no running away from
this. I sat up and scooted closer to her, wrapping her in a hug. <i>“Listen to me love, you know you are the one
I’m going to marry. There’s no fear about that. We just-“<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She disentangled herself from my hug.<i>“Bill, you’ve been saying this to me for the past one year. I don’t doubt
you, but seriously, when is it going to happen?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“Sooner than you think.”
</i>I meant my words.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“Well, I’ve decided to
move out. I’ll only move back in as Mrs. Mensah.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She caught me off-guard. <i>“When
did you decide on this?” <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“Oh, just now. I
decided as I spoke the words.” <o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I could tell from the fierce look of determination in her
eyes that she was serious. <i>“Where are you
moving to?” </i>I managed.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“Have you forgotten I had
just renewed my tenancy agreement before you convinced me to move in with you?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“So when are you
moving out?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“Tomorrow, after work.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i> “What can I say to make you change your mind?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“You know what to do
Bill, not just what to say.” </i>She smiled, kissed me on the forehead and said
goodnight before turning off her lamp.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>"What a day!" </i>Yes, I actually said that out loud. She gave no sign she even heard me. She only repeated goodnight and went to sleep. <i>"Goodnight" </i>I replied.</div>
</div>
seyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06320352458205057597noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5561915904546109310.post-60556110067479030202012-08-31T22:57:00.002+00:002012-08-31T22:57:38.579+00:00Pursuit of love??<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
Ok, so i wrote this sometime early this year, but never had the courage to put it up...I seem to be on a high tonight (no, i don't do drugs), so i'm putting it up....Please let me know what you think when you're done reading. Thanks :)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
It all happened so quickly.
Before Nadia knew what was happening, she’d become the other woman in Bill’s
life. She was not happy about what was going on between Bill and her, but she
was also frustrated to realise she didn’t have the will power to put an end to
something she had such strong convictions about. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“What mess have I got myself
into?” She asked herself in the dark of her room. Bill had just called to say
he’ll be with her within the next hour. He was so excited at the prospect of
seeing her again that he did not notice the sadness in her voice. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Sweetie! Guess what?” He went on
without giving her the time to make her guess. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Akua just called to say she’s
going away on a field trip for the next two weeks. Can you imagine that? Two
whole weeks! As we speak, she’s at home packing!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Okay, Bill.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yea, very okay. So, see you soon
darling. Should I get you some of Aunty Ama’s
kelewele on my way? You should try it with the new ice cream from frosty
bite! It’s like going to heaven.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nadia rolled her eyes and feigned
excitement, “Oh really? I can’t wait to try out that combination. See you when
you get here.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Can you pick me up from the
station? I don’t want to drive over. Too many questions about what my car is
doing in your driveway from your neighbours who can’t seem to mind their own
business”, Bill laughed. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nadia did not find anything funny
about what he had just said. But she decided to let it go – at least, with him.
She would sort it out with herself later. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No problem, I’ll be there. Just
call me when you’re five minutes away from the station.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“See you soon dear, bye”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Six months earlier, she believed
she was the happiest girl on earth. She had just moved out of her parent’s home
into her own apartment. She still remembers Natalie’s reaction when she first
told her she was moving out. They had both met for lunch at a spot close to
Nadia’s office.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Natalie, guess what?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“My friend, if you have something
to tell me, tell me now ooo, I’ve got loads of work on my desk to finish up.
Kofi always puts up an attitude when I carry over work from the office home.
It’s almost as if I’m cheating on him with my work!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Holding up her hands to signal
her to stop, Nadia said, “Before this turns into a “marriage is not easy”
session, I was just going to let you know that I’ll need your help this
weekend.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, so that is what you wanted
me to guess eh?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Won’t you ask what for?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Why should I when I already
know? You need me to take you shopping for something to wear for another of
your friend’s wedding I guess. Who is it this time?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You’re wrong my dear sister. I
need you to help me pack into my own apartment! I’m moving out!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That’s a lie. We both know Mr
and Mrs Adams will never in a million years allow that to happen. Their anthem
has always been “Unless you’re moving in to your husband’s house, you’re going
nowhere”. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Well, let’s just say, between
the time you got married and now, a million years have passed.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Natalie had been so excited at
the news that she stayed an extra hour into her lunch break. She was fully
convinced that their parent’s change in stance on the issue of moving out was
because of her though she could not exactly point out the connection. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“See, when I got married and
moved out, it made them realise that we were no longer kids. It suddenly dawned
on them that we were adults who had their own lives to lead.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The ring of her phone brought
Nadia’s thoughts back to the present. Without checking the caller ID, she knew
it was Bill. She picked her keys and answered on her way out.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hi!, I’m on my way,” she told
him as she backed out of her driveway.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Ooops, I was hoping you’ll
answer before setting off, but never mind. I’d wanted us to pass by La Paillote
for your favourite.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Let’s make it tomorrow then,”
Nadia suggested. She was hungry alright, but was in no mood to eat out. “We’ll
find something to eat from my end.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Anything that makes you happy,
my dear, anything for you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nadia smiled to herself. This was
one of the things about Bill that so much endeared him to her. He virtually
lived to make her happy. Bill was already at the station when she got there. As
she eased her bright red Opel into the only available parking spot, she
wondered why there was so much activity in town this evening. Everyone seemed
to be headed somewhere. Bill spotted her and walked towards where she was
parked. He let himself in through the front passenger side and leaned in
towards her to plant a quick kiss on her cheek before she could protest.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Bill! I’ve told you time and
again I am not a fan of PDA! You never know w ho’s watching!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You don’t have to bother too
much about what people think sometimes, you know?” he chuckled as he fixed his
seat belt.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh really? Then why am I here
picking you up? I thought you were worried about my neighbours seeing your car
in my driveway”. Nadia could not hide her indignation.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Sweety, that’s a different
case.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You know what? Let’s just end
this before it turns into the topic of discussion for the night. I’m too
stressed out for that.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You definitely are stressed out,
and I know just what will de-stress you.” He leaned in again to kiss her, but
drew back into his seat when he saw the look of disapproval in her eyes. “Wow,
I promise to behave until we get behind closed doors,” He joked.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Shaking her head, she said,
“You’re just impossible Bill” and burst out into laughter as she eased her car
out of the parking lot.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
They both rode in silence for a
while before Bill broke into Nadia’s thoughts. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Hey, did you listen to Uncle Ebo
this morning?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“No, what did he say today?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“He was giving you ladies tips on
how to be more caring. I was tempted to call Akua and ask her to tune in. But I
thought twice about it and stopped myself.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Why didn’t you think about
calling and asking me to listen too?” She sounded jealous.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Because, you, my darling are
already too caring. I couldn’t ask for more from you. Thank you for always
being there for me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“That sounded so sincere. You
almost drew a tear from my eyes.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It is actually from the depths
of my heart Nadia.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Okay. I’m glad you value my time
and attention”. She flashed him a smile and silently prayed for a change in
subject. She really was not up for any emotional things this evening. She
turned on the radio, and his reaction to the news item being discussed made her
thank her stars she did. She would rather discuss the Arab Spring with him
tonight than how he felt about her. Her thoughts on that issue were enough.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Looks like your neighbours are
part of the reason town is so congested today” Bill noted as they pulled into
the driveway. “Where have they all gone to?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Don’t get too excited dear, most
of them started making use of their garages after a recent spate of minor
burglaries.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“So why is your car being parked
outside?”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Oh, there’s nothing on or in
this car that those thieves want. Let’s just say that’s my reward for using my
dad’s 1985 model Opel. The perks of hand-me-downs I guess.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nadia noticed Bill kept looking
over his shoulder as they walked towards her apartment. She felt like laughing,
but at the same time, his actions made her realise the situation she’d put
herself in. She however quickly banished the thought and uneasy feeling that
came along with it to the back of her mind. She’ll deal with it later, she told
herself.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Settle down while I get us
something to eat Bill.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bill planted a kiss on her cheek
as he handed her the ice cream and kelewele he had promised her. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“It’s beginning to melt. I guess
we should keep it in the freezer for later”. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“You know, I totally forgot about
it. Since when did frosty bite start producing this flavour though?” She
dropped them on the table and Bill picked them up and headed for the kitchen.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I don’t know love.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nadia laid down in the couch and
began channel surfing. Her favourite programme was on air.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Bill, hurry up and let’s watch
this together. You will not believe what Adelaide said to her boss! She’s going
to be fired. I can bet my last pesewa on that!</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’ll soon join you dear” Bill hated
that particular series, but he was ready to watch it with her.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
The ring of his phone startled
her. “Your phone’s ringing!” She screamed, a little annoyed that the loud music
from his phone was drowning out what was being said on the TV.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Could you please answer for me?”
Bill screamed from the kitchen.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nadia was fishing the phone from
the pocket of his jacket which he had dropped on the rack when he entered. “No!
I’m not going to answer. Oh, and by the way, it’s your wife calling. Do you
still want me to answer?” She screamed back.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bill was in the living room at
this point and rushed to snatch the phone from her hands. “Hello dear. Yes, I’m
home.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nadia turned down the volume of
the television at his signal. His phone was not on loudspeaker, but she could
clearly hear his wife’s voice from the other end. “I just arrived at Sunyani.
The journey was stressful and my battery also ran down. I’m sure you were
worried trying to get through to me.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bill lied. “Yes, I was worried
after I couldn’t get through to you.” He did not know why, but he went on, “I
almost called your driver, but I felt it was not safe since he would be
driving”. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Nadia made a mental note to tease
him on this lie later on. She headed out to the porch in an effort to give him
some privacy.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I am sorry dear,” Akua yawned
noisily into the phone. “I’ve got to hit my sheets. Tomorrow is going to be a
long day for me. I’ve got a number of meetings with some clients.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Okay, I’m tired myself and will
also head to bed soon. Have a goodnight.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Goodnight”, Akua replied. Just
as Bill was about to cut the line, she called his name.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Bill, I know I have not told you
this in a long while, but I love you. I really do. And I miss us. I miss what
we used to be.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Errm, Akua, you know I also do.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Yes I do. We will survive this
test together. I know it.” Even as she said this, there was unbelief deep
within her heart. But she had always believed in positive confession, and she
was only putting into practice her beliefs. The positive ones at least.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Goodnight”, Bill said once
again. He wanted their conversation to come to an end. Had he been in his
matrimonial home, he would have clutched at this rare opportunity to make
things work out with his wife. But no, he was in his mistress’ house, and his
conscience will not permit him to start reconciliatory talks with his wife of
five years. Living with her for the past half year had been tough. It was as
though an undeclared war had been in progress. A war neither one of them seemed
to be winning. This he felt had left them both with an unspoken sense of
suspicion. He could tell from the way she acted towards him that she had her
suspicions about his fidelity. But then again, it could just be his guilt
driving him to read too deep between the lines. He also had his suspicions.
Funny enough, he realised his suspicions were baseless anytime he brought
himself to think of it. It was a fact that her business trips had gotten more
frequent within the past 3 months, but he also knew it was because of the new
project she’d been given to manage. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He shook his head to clear his
thoughts and went out to join Nadia who was gazing at the stars on the porch. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Are you not going to finish up
the show? It’s still on.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She did not shift her gaze from
the sky. “No, I’ll watch the repeat omnibus over the weekend. That’s what I
always do anyways. I had just wanted to watch this episode with you.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“I’m sorry.” He simply said.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
There was a look of surprise on
Nadia’s face as she tore her gaze away from the sky and asked, “What for?” His
ability to apologise without prompting was another thing that endeared him to
her though sometimes, it got on her nerves. This was one of those times.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Bill could not tell if she was
being genuine. “I’m sorry for disrupting your favourite show, and also for
spending too much time with her on the phone.”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Come on! How could you apologise
for speaking to her? She’s your wife for god’s sake!”</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
“Thanks for understanding me
then.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
He sat by her and put his arm
around her shoulders. Her eyes were back in the sky, fixatedly staring at the
stars. Tears slid down her cheeks without warning. Bill did not ask if
everything was alright. He wiped the tears from her face and kissed her on the
forehead. She tilted her head back till
her lips found his. She knew they were outside, but it took her five or more
minutes to listen to the voice that had been screaming in her head, that
kissing someone else’s husband on your
front porch wasn’t such a bright idea.</div>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">“Let’s go indoors”, she said, breaking off the
kiss.</span><br />
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;"><br /></span>
<span style="font-family: "Calibri","sans-serif"; font-size: 11.0pt; line-height: 115%; mso-ansi-language: EN-GB; mso-ascii-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-bidi-theme-font: minor-bidi; mso-fareast-font-family: Calibri; mso-fareast-language: EN-US; mso-fareast-theme-font: minor-latin; mso-hansi-theme-font: minor-latin;">To be continued ;)</span>seyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06320352458205057597noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5561915904546109310.post-71523036263424378312012-08-31T00:40:00.000+00:002012-09-03T01:53:29.059+00:00Bill's Story...Part 1<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
So i finally got around to writing a short story. This was after someone I was always ranting to about wanting to write but never having the time to do it made me feel like I'm not serious about the writing thing...so, here it is...if you read and you think it's worth sharing, then please share... Ps. let me know what you think of it through comments.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As we walked towards my car in the car park, I noticed we
were the last two people to be leaving the office.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“Where is everyone?”, </i>I
wondered out loud.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“Funny you’re now
asking. I noticed when we started down the stairs too that we were alone in the
building.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“So why didn’t you
point it out?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“What difference would
that have made?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I could tell she was trying real hard to not sound
sarcastic. Her reply made me realise I should not have asked mine in the first
place.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“Would it have made
you more open to adventure?”, </i>she continued.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This made me realise that she had really been coming on to
me back in the office. It wasn’t my mind playing tricks with me. Amy was the
new girl in the office. “Da new gal on da block” was how Kwadwo put it. He had
been planning and scheming on getting her to so much as smile at him since she
first stepped foot into the building, but his plans were yet to work. Instead,
she seemed to be warming up to me a lot recently. I did not even notice it
until Kwadwo pointed it out to me during one lunch break.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“You’re beginning to
imagine things.” </i> </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That was what I said to him. No, it’s not a case of me having
low self esteem or anything of that sort. It’s just that I’m a realist – I’m
very much aware of the fact that Kwadwo who could be described as my best pal,
is a looker. Most girls go to all lengths to catch his attention even in the
office. I on the other hand, am your average plain guy, the kind who will not
warrant a second look from any girl. Don’t get me wrong – I’m not ugly. I’m
just not on the same level as my pal when it comes to the looks department.
That is why I find it a bit awkward that Amy is being all nice to me instead of
my friend.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
My original plan when I got into the office this morning was
to clear all the backlog of work off my desk by 3:30pm. I had wanted to close
before the evening rush hour so I could surprise Berth with supper this
evening, but it was not meant to be. I had underestimated the volume of work I had,
and here I was five hours after my own deadline.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“Which way are you
headed?”, </i>I enquired.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“Towards Madina.” “Aww,
that’s so sweet of you,” </i> She gushed
when I offered to drop her off.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
No, Madina was nowhere near my intended final destination,
and she was very much aware of this. I was hoping she’ll be considerate and ask
me to drop her off at a point so she could pick a dropping home. I just
realised my hopes were set too high. I managed a smile that looked genuine but
felt nowhere near genuine. How on earth was I going to make it from Madina to
Tema with the amount of fuel in my tank?</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We got into the car, and I cursed under my breath when loud hip hop came out the speakers once I
turned on the engine. The look on her face when I looked up at her was one of
surprise. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“Why do you look so
amazed?”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“I was just wondering
why you were cursing. If you were the last person to step out of your own car,
the system volume will not climb up to 40 plus by itself, and neither will the
CD change itself to what was playing.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She noticed I did not find it funny. <i>“I’m just trying to say you should chill out and be yourself around me!”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I was tempted to explain to her that Kwadwo had used my car
during lunch break because his was at the workshop, but I felt I owed her no
explanation. I just smiled, closed my eyes and let out a deep breath as I loosened
my tie just a little bit. When I opened my eyes, she had leaned in towards me
with her chin drawn up and a dreamy look on her face. There was just enough
lighting from the car park for me to see. I was taken aback. I gently pushed
her back into her seat whiles apologising profusely.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“You don’t have to be
sorry. It’s not too late to change your mind. I know you’re not married, Jay”.<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
That also caught me unawares. <i>“Oh no, no, I’m not married, but-”, </i>She cut me off as she leaned in
towards me again. This time round, she kissed me, and I responded although I was
uncomfortable with it. My thoughts kept going back to Berth, but I kept telling
myself this will not go anywhere. The ring of my phone was what it took to
break it off. I cursed as I reached for it from the depths of my pocket. I knew
from the ring tone who it was. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“Darling, I’m about
driving out of the office. See you soon.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I turned to look at Amy. <i>“That
was my girlfriend.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“Is that why you look
like you just killed someone? She’s only your girlfriend, not your wife!”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I backed out of the parking lot into the dimly lit street,
and we rode together in silence for five minutes or more before she suggested I
drop her off at Tetteh Quarshie so she could pick a taxi.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“I’ve kept DARLING
waiting long enough as it is already.” </i>Her words dripped with disdain, but I
chose to ignore her. I was not even going to fake it and insist on dropping her
off at home. <i>“Thank You.” </i> That was all I said. When she got down, she
leaned in through the passenger side window and said, <i>“I enjoyed every bit of this evening. We’ll continue tomorrow.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“No, listen to me,
Amy, what happened should not have happened.” </i>I was desperate to get her
understand that this was a mistake.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
She only laughed and walked away without looking back. I sat
with my mouth gaping and watched her flag down a taxi. It was only after the
taxi took off that I cursed again and drove off.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>“I’ll put her in her
place tomorrow.”<o:p></o:p></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i><br /></i></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>To be continued???</i></div>
seyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06320352458205057597noreply@blogger.com7tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5561915904546109310.post-22861529423365413532012-05-07T22:06:00.000+00:002012-05-07T22:06:34.469+00:00To post or not to post - that is the questionOk, so i've been working on something and someone has convinced me to put it up...<br />
I'm still thinking it through though. Different thoughts running through my mind - what if no one really likes it? You know, the usual...but i have a feeling the urge to put it up is going to win...so keep a tab on this blog... You just might find it up soooon!seyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06320352458205057597noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5561915904546109310.post-54700068553268746412011-06-21T15:02:00.000+00:002011-06-21T15:14:31.050+00:00Youth Migration<p class="MsoNormal">I participated in a writing competition organised by the World Bank on this topic (<a href="http://www.essaycompetition.org/index_1">http://www.essaycompetition.org/index_1</a>), and I made it to the top 200 authors out of over 1900 entries received!</p><p class="MsoNormal">Now, I wish I had put much more effort into it...I started writing this entry at about 8pm on March 17,2011..i had less than 4 hours to the submission deadline... the only thing that kept me going was the fact that I'd told myself I must submit an entry at all cost and I wasn't ready to see myself give up on something again just because I could not make the time for it...Though 200 sounds like a huge number, I still find it quite rewarding...:)</p><p class="MsoNormal">Here's the essay I submitted (it's copyrighted oooo....lol)</p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p><p class="MsoNormal"><i>During a recent visit to Elmina Castle, the largest slave trade centre in the world, the tour guide took my group to the “door of no return” and recounted how people were taken to unknown lands against their will. A young man who happened to be in my group said he wished there were still slave trade as he wouldn’t have to go through the hassle of acquiring a visa and ticket before leaving the shores of Ghana.</i></p> <p class="MsoNormal"><i>This statement got me thinking as I realized there were many more people in my tour group who agreed with this young man. What is wrong with Ghana that the youth are so keen on leaving? And at this point, I must point out that they do not want to leave for just any country. No Ghanaian youth wants to leave for a country less developed than Ghana and I am sure this applies to youths of different nationalities the world over</i>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p> <p class="MsoNormal">Migration exists at two major levels – at the national level where it usually takes the form of rural-urban migration, and at the international level where it takes the form of emigration or immigration. Rural-urban migration has been linked to the wide gap in development between urban and rural areas. If the world is to be viewed as the global village that it is, the low and middle income countries can be taken to be the rural areas and the high income countries as the urban areas. With this analogy, it can be seen that the factors that will push a 25 year old girl to leave her hometown in Northern Ghana for the capital Accra with nothing but her transportation fare and the optimism of a life better than what she was going through in her village where she was assured of the support of an extended family during unpleasant times such as sickness will not be much different from what will drive her counterpart in her dream destination to save all he can to get on board a flight bound for London, New York, Amsterdam, Johanesburg. More daring stories have been told of those who crossed the Sahara on foot, all in search of greener pastures.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Rural-Urban migration has had both positive and negative impacts on my life as an individual, on my community and on my country Ghana. I was born and raised in the city, and I have spent all 25 years of my life in the city. I am not well placed to argue on the difficulties of living in rural Ghana, but I have heard stories, watched movies and had the chance of spending some weekends in my village. To those who are attracted to life in the city, it is a place where their dreams of making money can be met. To a typical city girl like me, a weekend in the village is a time away from the incessant noise of the city. A time to admire nature - where the chirping of the crickets at night even sounds like music in my ears. I sometimes wonder why anyone would want to leave such a lovely place for a noisy place like Accra. It certainly cannot be because of electricity for there is now electricity in my village. It cannot be for entertainment because, night life in the villages cannot be compared with what goes on in the clubs on the streets of Accra.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">As more people move from rural areas to urban areas, the facilities and amenities in these urban areas are pressurized as more people than they were designed for have to be served. Water is rationed in Accra by the utility because demand outstrips supply.<span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>Where I live in Accra, our taps flow twice in a week and arrangements have to be made to store water for the remaining 5 days of the week. Rural-urban migration alone cannot be blamed for this but the fact remains that it is a contributing factor to it. Perhaps, one of the most obvious impacts of rural-urban migration on me as an individual and on the community in which I live is this: Directly opposite my parent’s house where I live with my family on a plot of land is a small kiosk. I am not so sure of the exact dimensions but it should not exceed 3m x 4m. This structure is home to a family of about 10 – a husband, wife and their children. The point I want to make has got nothing to do with how they manage to sleep in that tiny structure but rather, has more to do with the more pressing issue of sanitation. There is no toilet facility in their home, and there is no public toilet facility in my community as it is a residential area with self-contained houses. I have woken up many times to find black polythene bags containing human excreta dragged to my front gate by dogs. It is not just the sight of this that bothers me, but also the health impacts it can have on my family and all others within my community. To be able to truly appreciate the scale of this, I have to add that there are not less than 8 families living in this kind of situation within a hundred meter radius from my house. These are all families who have relocated to the city with hopes of bettering their lives. They live in uncompleted buildings or kiosks with the inscription “Remove by Order” from the Metropolitan Authorities. <span style="mso-spacerun:yes"> </span>They do not have water, electricity or toilet facilities, but they would rather live in that situation than move back to the villages. In the process, the communities in which they live are polluted and made prone to flooding as their wastes are left in polythene bags and dropped in the open drains.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Roadside hawking is very common on the streets of Accra, and it is in such ventures that the youth who move to the cities are engaged to make ends meet. Some run after cars to sell a sachet of water which costs 10 pesewas ( less than 5 pence), putting their own lives and those of other road users at risk. There are others who wait at the traffic lights to wipe the windscreens of drivers for a token which they might not get because all cars have windscreen wipers. The profits they make from these activities are what they use to fend for themselves. They are therefore drawn into a cycle where they make just enough to feed themselves. The perceived benefits of rural-urban migration in my opinion do not measure up to the risks. Young girls are at risk of being drawn into vices such as prostitution or at worst could be raped especially those that spend their nights on the streets. The young boys could join armed robbery gangs out of frustration.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">When it comes to the issue of migration at the international level, the story is no different. I know people who are living in developed countries on expired visas. They live in constant fear of being caught by the law enforcing agencies. The developed countries have put in measures to check illegal immigration, but the illegal immigrants also better their skills at evading deportation as the days go by. There are some who as a result of their illegal status cannot even access healthcare when sick. They take to self medication. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">There are people who are willing to do jobs that they would not be caught dead doing in their home countries. The reason being that those jobs pay much more than jobs that are considered as professional in their home countries. As a postgraduate student in the United Kingdom, I was faced with the opportunity of applying for a 2 year post-study work visa. I did not take up that opportunity because I had a job waiting back home for me. Most of my colleagues from other developing countries were however not that lucky. They are still in the UK as legal immigrants, sorting mails, and washing dishes at McDonalds with their Masters degrees. Most of them say they just want to make enough, and then go back home to start a business. It is very true that the amount of money they will make doing those jobs, will exceed what the average teacher for example makes in Ghana. But the question remains, Who will build the economy in their home countries for them to come down and invest the money they are making?</p> <p class="MsoNormal">The figures of people who live as migrants are quite staggering. Migration cannot and must not be stopped. It can and should however be managed to ensure that people migrate for the right reasons. If governments in developing countries will invest in setting up manufacturing companies so that things such as tooth picks and matches are no longer imported but are produced locally, the issue of both rural-urban migration and international migration can be addressed effectively. If companies are set up in the rural areas to process farm produce, the youth would not move to Accra or any other city for that matter in the country to chase after cars just to get money for supper.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">In my opinion, if Ghana as a country will focus on exporting partially or fully processed products, not only will there be job opportunities for school drop-outs, but graduates will also find reasons to stay home and develop the country. This is because both skilled and unskilled labour will be needed to keep these industries running. </p> <p class="MsoNormal">Until then, the youth will continue wishing that slavery still existed so they can have free access to the now developed world, all with the hope of a better quality of life.</p> <p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>seyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/06320352458205057597noreply@blogger.com3