Monday, 12 September 2011


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 stronger than a sumo-wrestler. You might wonder what drew my attention to this seldom spoken of but very popular eye-sore: allow me to illustrate the scenario then. This bus driver's mate hurriedly took the fare from each passenger till he asked me, "Yesssssssssssssss, your money!" I fumbled to pick coins from my back pocket, only to realize I had none. The notes in my frontal sac decided to take initiative, leading to the exchange of tidy for dirty.

You might fall ill not because of the dangerous mosquito: it might just be that dirty money...

Written by : Kojo Essuman Ackah

(C) Copyright ~ 2011 All Rights Reserved

@Poetikojo<-----------Follow me on twitter

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