Kojoni

MAFIA Most Ghanaian tertiary students are very familiar with this term, especially when lecturers burden them with overbearing amounts of assignments and group projects to be completed within a very short period of time. More often than not, out of sheer laziness these degree-seeking vampires neglect the fulfilment of their scholastic obligation. And when these works are left to the very last minute, the cycle of laying blame at their doorposts is set into repetitive motion: which usually champions the widespread illusion that miniature gods sitting in offices and pretending to teach, only sought to fail them at the end of the semester. Or maybe, whilst trying your very best to enjoy the many commercials that annoyingly interrupt the telenovela gripping your sensual side, the lights give out. We somehow (and absurdly) manage to think the company tasked with ensuring that electricity supply is maintained, deliberately deprives the general public of this so crucial utility, ...

More often than not, the working population without vehicles of their very own take the early bus to work with large notes looking to escape from hot pockets: but the beautiful exchange that ensues, speaks of the dirty dilemma our innocent hands have to endure.  The fresh and unadulterated smell of a cedi is quickly relinquished for a folded note impregnated with filth, thumbprints, and possibly semen. You think that is outrageous? Puh-lease! The very elaborate Kamasutra sex positions are not even as remotely extreme as the state of the once unblemished powerful slice of paper after going through the palms and pockets of different locations and adorned after varying vocations. Lets not forget the market-woman who hides the fruit of her labor, accrued from selling her merchandise in the hot sun between her falling cleavages. That scorching heavenly body forcing the salty sweat from within her epidermis, which interestingly enough, culminates into the stench str...

Its just been over a year since we recounted the brief but beautiful past we both shared. Those times where the world didn't matter, when we became the impregnable unit that has sadly crumbled to non-existence. It would be a great farce to inform the general public and the entire world of me dreaming about you everyday: having your image engraved on the nucleus of my brain cells surely seems enough to keep me haunted forever, which remains my most treasured relic. Constantly chased out of sorts by this nightmare of a memory, I ridiculously wish it would become reality. Although our intimacy was devoid of salivary exchange, your absence has incurred an omnibus of solitude. Bringing with it, chilly morning breezes,  it sends me a reminder of how warm your cuddles kept me on a daily basis. I certainly don't allude all this to that misinformed meteorologist on the television, or even nature's great antiphon in climate change, but each gust approaching sub-zero te...