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Friday 25 April 2014

CORRUPTION 101: MY NAME IS ANAS




Welcome to my class. This one is not on prostitution or abortion but another equally disheartening headache- corruption. Is there even anything new we are going to learn? Perhaps yes. Perhaps no. Like watching a telenovela, we all know so much that anyone qualifies to occupy my seat. 

Right from childhood, we knew corruption (a synonym of stealing if you care to know) was as evil as the devil himself. Our heads bore the brunt of our parent’s knocks anytime fish mistakenly found its way into our stomachs. We wouldn’t dare take any money that we hadn’t worked for; be it fleecing someone or stealing. The chilling spanks echoed that well enough.

All through senior high school, the ‘disco weeding’ and their likes were enough to remind us that our housemasters’ birds were not another of the school’s property, hence, should belong where they did belong- the coops- not inside our ‘shito’. That aside, extorting monies that didn’t belong to us was as grave a sin as any one could imagine. That grave!

Our university days weren’t any different. The consequence of taking someone else’s belonging was not a comfortable one. The shame and disgrace gladly bestowed upon such deterred most of us enough.  

But… is the society not supposed to be a larger picture of our families and schools? Yes it is. Corruption is still criminal… though most of our ‘abled’ politicians have faithfully made it seem otherwise. Corruption, in whichever shade it may come, is sternly frowned on. Fact is, it is abhorred!  

A few, though, have almost succeeded in painting that deceptive picture that it is a norm; the order of the day. You would be convinced that same is done everywhere, anywhere. We call such Soul Takers; those that heartlessly siphon our very souls financially. 

You think the politician was the only corrupt dude walking under the scorching Sun in such hard times in GH? Of course not. The corrupt folks come to church, too, with fat tithes and offerings. They smile at us wherever we find ourselves; in the banks, hospitals, name them. Lions in goats clothing. Haha. 

They don’t wear shirts with this canker emblazoned on them. They seem nice on the outside, yet unpatriotic in the inside. Enemies of the nation. Their stomachs and insatiable, selfish desires are all their minds are preoccupied with; even at the peril of others.

Do you blame them anyway? Maybe not. The frustrating, bureaucratic systems have made such ‘unGhanaian’ folks have a field day. In a bid to burden the masses (in the name of huge taxes, levies, duties, call them however you want to), these few are fortunately or unfortunately made richer and richer when the nation’s finances wallows in the red day after day. 

Works that are supposed to be completed in minutes drag into days and probably years. And then… such folks come in with that necessary evil of a rhetorical question “Do you really want to get this thing done?” Of course, who doesn’t!

Corruption is one headache anyone should hate getting involved in. It is not a norm. Maybe the same society’s double standards would make it seem so. After all, politicians who loot and share our common wealth in our full glare walk away as free men and… are literally bowed to. On the other hand, the angry, hungry man who would steal another’s fingers of plantain would find himself behind bars, sometimes beyond decades and... would be stoned when set free. Sarcastic GH!  

Corruption, whichever way we see it, is evil. Need anyone even say so? Wearing a three-piece suit to calculatedly dabble in it doesn’t make it any less evil. Posterity would judge each of us, whether our lives as Ghanaians were well-lived or not. 

Thank God for all the mechanisms to check this nation wrecker called corruption. However, best of all is our own conscience; yours and mine. You can go every length to point fingers at others (I didn’t mention the police!) when you do same or even worse in your closet. You are left to your own conscience.

As long as we all live (and have our GH at heart), we should individually make our nation the corruption-free place we want to see it be someday; nation watch men. Not only Anas but you and me, too. Obviously, then you become an Anas just as I am. 

My lecture ends. Did I even mention my name as Anas? Not at all. I am not even a journalist let alone be an investigative one. Laugh out loud.
    

Friday 18 April 2014

THE iPRAYER



HUSTLER (scratching head): Daddy God, it’s been ages paaa ooo.

GOD: Oh yeah, son. I dey like I no dey. What’s up?

HUSTLER: Oh… nothing much. Was just checking on you. Nothing much.

GOD (surprised): Eeerrm… since when have you been checking…

HUSTLER: Hmmm… Often times I want to ooo… but the economic hardships ooo. They just won’t let me, you know.

GOD: If you say so. That’s okay.

HUSTLER: How’s Angel Michael? Been a while.

GOD: Oh he’s good. Just taken some time off his schedule to build his muscles.

HUSTLER: That’s awesome. Eeerrm… Can I kindly ask something?

GOD (smiles): Oh sure! Go ahead.

HUSTLER: Did you say in your Bible that you were going to bless us financially? At 
least, that’s what my pastor has been saying for the past decade anytime offertory is due.

GOD: Sure I did. He can’t be lying.

HUSTLER (serious- faced): Exactly. You know what, can you kindly lend me only $1000 from such yet-to-materialize blessings? I mean my future blessings. In fact, if you make it $2000, I wouldn’t be able to finish thanking you. I don't want its cedi equivalent.

GOD: Only that?

HUSTLER: Not really. My mouth is open widely. Lord, as much as all the money sitting in GCB will fill it, especially considering how much profit my offering has yielded over the past decade.

GOD: Great investor. How often do you give to me?

HUSTLER: Oh. Very often. Every 31st December. That’s when I go to church, you know.

GOD: Fine. Can I ask you something?

HUSTLER: Sure God! And thank you in advance… for the cash. You rock!

GOD: I always do. What’s your favorite sport?

HUSTLER: Soccer, Lord. Soccer.

GOD: Good. What happened on February 6, 1958?

HUSTLER: Ei… you know Manchester United!? Wow! That was the Munich air disaster. I know it sooo well.

GOD: Great. What of May 9, 2001?

HUSTLER: Of course, the Accra Sports Stadium disaster. I can see you love soccer, 
too, God.

GOD: Yes I very much do. So… what of May 29, 1985?

HUSTLER: Eeerrm… the Heysel tragedy.

GOD: Very good. What’s your favorite scripture?

HUSTLER: John 10: 30. Heerh! I love that scripture. For God so loved the world that He gave his only begotten son.

GOD: bithg

HUSTLER: What’s bithg, Lord?

GOD: Bursting in the Holy Ghost!

HUSTLER: Lool

GOD: Hmmm… Have you ever heard of 666?

HUSTLER (excited): Oh yes! Very much! It’s a lotto number.

GOD: Hmmm… Which testament in the bible is your favorite?

HUSTLER: Me?

GOD: Yes you.

HUSTLER: Testament? Yes. Yes. Old Testament. I can rattle almost every scripture there like I can my whatsapp contact numbers.

GOD: Fine. Ever read on Moses?

HUSTLER: Sure. He’s even my favorite character; that tech-savvy dude who first used a tablet in the Bible. He has guts oo! Did he really walk on the Red Sea?

GOD (cringes): Walk?

HUSTLER: Yeah. Forgotten? He walked on the Red Sea and the Egyptians bolted, thinking he was a ghost!

GOD: Hmmm. When last did you read Obadiah?

HUSTLER: Obadiah? Is that one there, too? Thought it was in the New Testament.

GOD: Not really.

HUSTLER: Okay. Not often but trust me, Obadiah is such an inspiration to our women of today. Little wonder she’s the strongest woman in the bible!

GOD: She? You are doing well.

HUSTLER: Yes Oh lord. Thank you. I am the Bible Studies leader in my church. So… back to my request.

GOD: Just a few more enquiries. You have a girl friend?

HUSTLER: Hahaha. I have one. Only one. After my request is granted, I would consider harvesting the other ‘fields’.

GOD: Eeerrm… So you both do ‘the thing’?

HUSTLER: But… body no be firewood ooo…

GOD: Indeed.

HUSTLER: Oh!

GOD: So… don’t you think you should take your ‘firewood-less’ body to Mark Zuckerberg or David Moyes for your money?

HUSTLER: Eeeh? But will they give me?

GOD: Why not? You spend more time on them than on me. They should!

HUSTLER: But… but…

GOD: Don’t worry. I still have a surprise for you. Angel ‘Macho’ Michael is bringing it.

HUSTLER: Thank you very much. What is it, if I may ask?

GOD: Oh. When it comes you will see. In fact, you will feel it.

HUSTLER: Oh God. Just a hint, you know. Maybe you can just send it via mobile money?

GOD: Eeerrm… It’s my kerosene- soaked cane! I’ve been saving it for a day like this since the past few decades... for people like you.

HUSTLER: Eeeeh?

GOD: Yes. Yes. It is. What were you thinking?

No response.

GOD: Are you there?

No response. Two minutes later.

HUSTLER: Offline. Last seen 10 years ago!

Sunday 6 April 2014

KOBY'S CORNER: I.V LEAGUE!

KOBY'S CORNER: I.V LEAGUE!: Sir Akakpo paced back and forth in the class. His question had thrown the entire class into a state of utter silence. Our minds had b...

I.V LEAGUE!



Sir Akakpo paced back and forth in the class. His question had thrown the entire class into a state of utter silence. Our minds had been wandering for the past few minutes; others even had theirs lost. As teenagers as we were, most of us barely listened to what went around as news. 

Radio sets were a luxury our parents couldn’t afford; TV sets, too. Life after school was spent either on the football field or farm. A few fortunate ones spent theirs behind their reading books. Some of us preferred to borrow such books when they came to school.



“What is news?” Sir Akakpo reiterated, this time with a stern look.

Aside someone’s fingers of plantain being prematurely harvested by whoever cared to, which wasn’t anything new to be news, nothing had happened. No one was dead. No one had gone to the city.

“Daavi Ivy, the kenkey seller, had her name all over the place,” one student hinted. “She has been priding herself in her unusual kenkey-making prowess ever since,” she added.

The teacher chuckled.

“Aaaah… I remember. One Kwesi Ennin was accepted into all Ivy Leagues last week,” one of the privileged few confirmed.  

“Clap for him!” the teacher stressed.

We all clapped, reluctantly though.

“Eeerrrm... Sir, please what is Ivy League?” a confounded yours truly asked.

“Ah! A grown, JHS 2 student like you asking such an unnecessary question as this this hot afternoon!? You mean you don’t know what a common Ivy League is?” he spewed.

I nodded shamefacedly. 

“Who knows the Ivy League?” he threw it back to the class.

Silence. Everyone seemed as ignorant as I was. 

“So... you don’t know the Ivy League in Ireland? Ei! Do you students read at all?” he yelled. “If you don’t know the Ivy League in Ireland, then I guess the Barclays Premier League in America would seem a mystery to your ears!” he imagined. 

“Aaah… Ok,” we all chorused in unison, admiring the rare knowledge of our teacher.

Suddenly, the headmaster barged into the class. 

“What’s the age of the oldest person in this class?” he asked.

“Fifteen,” the teacher replied.

“Great. Start training them immediately. We want to set and break records this year. I hear one seventeen year old boy has been admitted to play in the Igwe Vakpo (I.V) League and his name is already on everyone’s lips. With our fifteen year old boys, I guess our names would even get to Obama’s residence.”   

“Headie, but… but… I thought we had ten Ivy Leagues ooo,” he paused, “nine in Ireland, one in this community. So, which of them?”

“Eeeeh? Really?” the surprised headmaster wondered. “Ireland; the one in Eastern Africa?”

Sir Akakpo fainted.