Hello steemians, I am back again! Okay hold your applause coz I want to introduce something to you before I forget sha. So we all know that there are a lot of things that need to be written but we cant because...well...because without a touch of humour those things aren't easy to say. At all. At all ooh! Well here's the good news: in my own #ThisIsUsSeries I am going to be good-humoured while telling difficult tales; tales that will span politics, religion, lifestyle, culture, movies,sports, and even love and hatred(not that they are easy to talk about sef). So through my own sorta comedy I am going to tell tales. U make sure to read between the lines coz it isn't going to be all jokes. There will be lessons to be learnt. Well I fini dat(I am done). Yes ooh so I am starting with my first installment.
It talks about Ghanaians. Dope right? I thought so too! Okay sha...let me tell you who and what we Ghanaians are....
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This is our story; the story of a people knitted not by blood or adoption but by what the outside world calls mundane. We wake up on Monday with the baggage of the previous week under our eyes, yet we wake up, and we are filled with renewed energy because we believe ‘a hand which does not work does not eat.’ Our favourite food joints are the ones served under makeshift tables; where the food seller is proudly donning a dress which is matted with dust. We don’t really care what malignant bacteria may have infested the food, we just want to suppress the growling sound our hungry stomach make. And at these joints are where we find stories that interest us; the other woman’s food smells like rotten tomatoes; Maame Ekuba prepares her banku’s okra stew with the blood which drips from the skull of an old ancestor of hers that is why her food can make you see a bright future ahead of you; Egya Appiah drunk himself stupid and knocked over a rice seller’s stew and a miniscule snake flew out of it; Auntie Adwoa’s fufu joint is in her home and there is a big gutter there which assaults the place with an almost dizzying smell. Sometimes it smells so badly, you’d think you’d die from inhaling it. But her ankrate3 soup is the best in town so we buy anyway. You would think these stories will trigger an aversion toward such foods but we always wake up with an insuppressible desire to eat more. And while we gulp a bowl-full of soup, we also inhale the stench which emanates from the joint and we find time in between appreciating the delicious soup and inhaling the bad stench to ask ourselves how we are doing and how the day went and what our plans are for the week. And sometimes we all end up with each other’s to-do lists but we don’t dread what any enemy could do with that kind of information because we are not the Wild West. While we walk away to pluck the cocoa buds in the farm or cultivate the produce and work the weeds in the farm, we don’t really care about when we will die or what will make us die. Our grandmothers are always there to take the fall for our deaths. Unhealthy food can never kill us. We are simply immune.
Papa Kofi’s new bar is too nice. He didn’t build it with the usual raffia sticks or the usual stark wood which is sometimes too hot and leave us sweating like we work in the quarry. Some say he made his money from juju and that he travelled to the north and while he was away his wife woke up at dawn to urinate outside and fell down and died just like that. When he returned the mines people somehow graded his land without his consent and they paid a huge compensation which he used to build his bar. Nobody cares that the mines people have been around for a while and they are grading people’s lands and compensating them accordingly. No. Papa Kofi’s money was too big to have come from the mines people alone. We talk about it every day and those are the times we are united by a voice, by an act we all hate. And we look at him with disgust, sometimes our eyes are tired from staying up and barely sleeping but when we see Papa Kofi we simply transmogrify into something else, we find life in our hatred of him, we find energy in how much he makes us want to puke. And despite the insults we spit behind closed doors or in corners corners we still go to his bar because the place is simply nice and he serves his akpeteshi like he doesn’t want profit. He even has a TV there. We watch and president Akuffo Addo comes on the T.V to make an announcement and we all stand up and leave, hissing like snakes, shaking our heads in regret that we voted for him, saying to our friends that we regret having voted for him and then our friends laugh us off and tell us they didn’t vote for him because he is too short and not good-looking. We feel terrible that we didn’t see that. Our friends shove their ‘supposed intelligence’ in our faces and we shakes our heads in disgust. But before we sleep those of us who said we didn’t vote for President Akuffo Addo pray to God that He blesses him and makes him live long because he has given us free SHS.
Okayyyyyy...so I think Ghanaians are dope! I mean...we think germs don't kill...I have laughed my a** off. Did u? Please tell me...abeg sir madam...tell me sha...
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IMAGE TAKEN FROM GOOGLE.