Your Fatwa does not apply here…

I speak to you oh religious fundamentalist
This is a free world…
…A world of equality…
Speak to me of morality
But do not  force me into believing in the hereafter
Do not force me into accepting your religious views;
For I am a humanist
Humanity is my religion…
…The best of worship…

Your Fatwa does not apply here
Oh you enemies of humanity
Shall we sit and watch you minority pronounce yourselves as superior beings to all others?
Assume powers to decide the mode of existence of others?
Decide who shall live and who shall die?
Who shall shake hands with whom even as daily colleagues?
Who shall dictate and who shall submit?

Your Fatwa does not apply here
Your religious cloak is a tattered alibi…
After our apparent victory over racial injustice,
We shall not sit and watch terrorism take over
We shall not sit and watch religion being substituted as the only entitlement to residence on earth
No! we shall not…..
Let us join voices and tell them that
Their Fatwa does not apply here;
This is no Jihad
For they fight nothing if they fight the innocent
Only cowards turn deadly weapons against the unarmed
True warriors do not wage war against the innocent
Give me back my Islam…
Give me back my Islam…
My Islam which preaches peace, solidarity and humanity
Not the diabolism of Al-shabab, Boko haram or Al-Qaeda
Today, the blood of innocent lives are being shed
But let us assume we were in Nairobi and we survived Al-shabab
Let us assume we survived Boko Haram’s attack this morning
And let us know that we are targets as well
And finally realize that this is a declared war on humanity
And stand firm together on this battle field
For it is time to take back our peaceful Islam,
Our Africa,
And in effect…Our humanity
…Our right to live
Let us fight Terrorism
For their Fatwa does not apply here.



NB: Wrote this during the Westgate Mall attack in Kenya…. To the memory of Professor Awoonor and all victims of the attack.





I yearn to tell of a story
But it’s a long story….
…Very long…
Like a tall storey of story stacked in history’s lorry loitering down a lane filled with mystery…
This story,
…Is such a long story
It is a story of the beginning and the word
And the words piled up to form this story
This story hold the answers to all your questions but this story confuses you the more it tries to answer you
This story…
…The story I yearn to tell…
Is such a long confusing story…
Like a web weaved of words called the World Wide Web
You can Google this story but Google would return with thousands of answers
Because this story is such a long story
It’s a story which intends to tell the truth but hides the truth
‘Cos part of this story is a false fable fabricated and agreed upon
This story doesn’t repeat itself but this story sometimes rhymes
And so you and I know and don’t know the truth of this story
This story,
I say…
…Is such a long winding story….
Like the stories of Ananse’s tactfully tainted tales
Like the printed pages of past parables of disciples scribbled in feeble fables and forced down the throats of innocent men..
This story, is a guide and a misguidance at the same time
This story has saved and destroyed men
This story keeps reminding us of the past
And this story promises answers for the future….
This story that I yearn to tell you….
…Is a very very long story…..

This story shall never end because….
This story is still being lived,
This story is still being told
And this story is still being written…
…Because this story is a combination of your story, her story, their story, my story and “HIS’STORY”
And so we call this story “HISTORY”
And “HISTORY” is such a long story……






Out of a mother’s womb into a place unknown
My time is not due but circumstances landed me on this desolate desert of hardship untold
With no mummy’s warmth to shield me from this cold
My little soul now lingers….I see no hope
I see no hope but to cope through this steep slope between life and death with no rope to hold on to hope…..
Until you come to my rescue
Until you come to my rescue, I am just another stranded little traveler on this strange land
This desert land that threatens to prevent my little soul from becoming that big soul it so wish to be

You see, I was traveling to this land called “NINE MONTHS”.
And “NINE MONTHS” could be likened to a travel to Italy.
So you plan to see the Colosseum, Venice, Michael Angelo’s David, the leaning tower of Pilsa and Davinci’s Last supper…..
So the time came and my dad took me to this sweet bushy airport and placed me in this plane called womb and we took off.
I was enjoying all the pampering throughout the journey until suddenly…
Suddenly the plane landed unexpectedly.
Then this flight attendant called doctor came to me and said…”WELCOME TO PREMMIE…the land of premature babies”
I said “WHAT?”
Then He said “due to technical difficulties, the flight can no longer continue to “NINE MONTHS”, we have to continue by road. But unless we get a strong fully furnished air-conditioned bus called an incubator, you are going to die here. This place is like the Lydian desert. No food and no water”

My little soul now lingers….I see no hope
I see no hope but to cope through this steep slope between life and death with no rope to hold on to hope…..
Until you come to my rescue
Until you come to my rescue I am just another little soul who could die due to lack of an incubator to help me reach my destination… Who would come to my rescue
Who would save my title big soul
Who would spend a dime to provide me with an incubator
Who would help me reach my destination
To be welcomed with those sweet lullaby
And to enjoy the warmth of a mothers love?
Until you come to my rescue,
I am just another little big soul who could die on this land called PREMMIE….






NB: Written for LittleBigSouls Ghana, an  NGO for the promotion of healthy premature birth.



You can imagine what a young man like me thought when I first saw the poster above with the caption, “MEET THE TALKING VAGINAS”. Well yeah, you can take the entire guess you want from the vagina imaginarium. I thought of it all. But a second look at it and I saw VAGINA MONOLOGUES, 14th and 15th February, then I quickly came back to my senses.  This reminded me of the most exciting and yet controversial stage play which stages worldwide around this time of the year. Then I thought, “oh yeah, these vaginas do really talk”. But I bet some people may be wondering how on earth could vaginas talk? Well, I guess we should find out at the National theatre as the talking vaginas make a return to stage.

The Vagina Monologues is an episodic play originally written by Eve Ensler in 1996 to deal with the many atrocities associated with the feminine experience. Over the years, the play has been adapted worldwide to suit different cultures and address the peculiar problems women face within the confines of that culture. In Ghana, the Global Arts and Development Centre, an N.G.O and advocacy Centre has been staging the Ghanian version over the past few years and this year’s promises to be even more exciting. The play, being directed by a renowned Ghanaian director, Abdul Karim Hakib, has over the years evolved to incorporate local stories relative to gender violence against women. The monologues deals with aspects of the feminine experience, touching on matters such as sex, love, rape, menstruation, female genital mutilation, masturbation, birth, orgasm, etc. A recurring theme throughout the play is the “vagina” used as a tool of female empowerment, and the ultimate embodiment of individuality.

The play includes monologues such as the “Angry Vagina”, where the monologist talks about the unjust appellations being given to the vagina. The name of the female genitalia has for about a century or so now become like the Tetragrammatons’ to the Jews. People prefer to call it all sort of names rather than the real name. And in Ghana, the new code name is “Tonga”.  It also talks about the bad treatments women subject their vaginas to all in the name of enhancing it. This monologue humorously rants about such disrespect and negative treatments being meted out to their most sacred organ.

“You cannot love a vagina unless you love hair” is what the monologue titled “Hair” preaches. It talks about the significance of the hair down there. This monologue does not however, discourage shaving but speaks to the need to maintain a minimum fluff of hair to avoid irritations and spikiness during intercourse. The hair is there for a reason indeed.

“The Flood” also talks about an old lady’s  experience in a relationship which led to her avoidance of men for almost the rest of her life.

Other monologues include; My vagina was my village, Because he liked to look at it, My short skirt, I was there in the room, The woman who loved to make vaginas happy etc. These monologues also touches on other pertinent issues relative to the feminine experience.

This year’s play officially begins on the 14th and 15th of February, 2014 at the National Theatre at 8pm each night. The play would be replicated at the Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology (KNUST) on the 21st and 22nd of February and then make a final stop at Cape Coast University on the 28th of February and the 1st of April, 2014.

The overall goal of the VAGINA MONOLOGUES Play is not just to entertain audience but mainly to tackle the issues of gender based violence especially against women in our societies. The organizer, Global Arts and Development Centre, is currently undertaking a research project relative to gender based violence in three districts of three regions of Ghana and hopes to replicate it in the remaining districts of the country to enable its eradication. The organization specializes in using the arts as a driver of social and economic development.The production of the VAGINA MONOLOGUES is therefore,  at the heart of the organization.

Audience can expect nothing but the best at this year’s show. The “rap doctor” himself, Okyeame Kwame is the special guest artiste. So come and let us all meet the talking VAGINAS.

CARPE DIEM (Seize the Opportunity)


Seize the opportunity

I say…

Seize the opportunity.

I hear…

This words ringing in my ears day and night,

Urging me to step up and take up my game up when it comes up my way up….

Seize the opportunity.

So I…

Set up traps to trap and tap into opportunities as they come my way in my daily actions

I seize the opportunity.

‘Cos a wise man once told me that

That lady called opportunity cums but once

So I…

Prepared to cum quick and once when I chance on one

And I plan to make the moment worthy

I seize the opportunity……

Then I ejaculate into her so she bares me fruit.

So seize the opportunity

I say…

Seize the opportunity.

Zoom on it like a lion even if the opportunity is garbage

Do not wait for the best of times

For the worst of times and the best of times

Are all called TIME….

So make every moment in time worthy

Seize the opportunity

Your name might not be STEVE but remember you can also create JOBS

So do not always knock on peoples GATE begging for BILLS for you can also build billions of BILLS and GATE them like BILL GATE seized that MICRO opportunity…

Seize the opportunity.

Be smart for life they say is too short like a midget

But as midget as life may be

We cannot wear her high heels so she looks tall…

Life would forever remain short

So please…

Do not tell me “better late than never”

For “never late is better”…

Seize the opportunity.

Shoot, even if nothing is targeted

Move, even if the path is undefined

Define and find that fine path

And find that fine treasure and nurture

For opportunities are like seeds

They shall eventually become the greatest oaks in the wild




Before the black star shined and the lights left our shores
There were stories of how it came to pass out along the coast of gold
coast as we boast of our reach culture
Tradition ran it course
Until the lights
The lights our shores they raided
Reminding us of how mayflower moved in to deflower the virgin lands of
the red indians
They stole us and they used us
They used us for their selfish interest
Feeding on our ignorance like parasites…
And there are rumours
There are rumours
That the thoughts we are having aren’t even our own
And the dream you had last night is a future you remember
Or a past that is yet to come…
Before the black star shined and the lights left our shores
There were records recalling reports of how it happened across the
boarders in Europe
when our warriors left our shores to fight the two wars
As buried cold war nightmares shoke themselves awake
And a poison stew came to the boil
The walls of Belin and Hiroshima were not denied
As decades of testosterone fuelled war tore at the earth’s surface…
And there are rumours
There are rumours
That the future we dream for Africa is a neglected past reality
And the minority black are quickly becoming a fading product of oblivion
Or a threat to the human race…
Before the black star shined and the lights left our shores
There were tell-tales telling tales of how the black women told their
men they were tired of the missionaries position as leaders on their
own land
And a stray gunfire was heard across the boarders in Ashanti
As Asantewaa yaa led the coward men to battle and reclaim their land
And those men are now called the big six…
But there are rumours
There are rumours
That they are preventing the black star from shining
And that this piece is only a blueprint to a treasure unhidden
So before the black star stops shining and the lights return to our shores
Let’s sit closely by the fire side tonight
On our little patch of land
And reflect on how to make the black star shine again
Before the black star shines and the lights leave our shores…..

TELL THEM…(my tribute to J.E.A MILLS)

If they ever ask you why we grieve this day

If they ever ask you why we clad ourselves in blacks and reds
If they ever ask you why we cry endlessly in unison,…
Tell them

Tell them neither the heavens nor the earth is at peace this day
Tell them

Tell them when the gods, on the eve of July 24th promised us the sight of the morrow,
They failed to devoid it of sorrow…
Tell them
Tell them we woke up that day but the life of a great one, we could no longer borrow….
Tell them
Tell them the big tree that houses the birds in the forest has fallen
Tell them the mighty oak tree in the ever depleting forest of great men has fallen
Tell them
Tell them every feet this day bare testimony to the hotness of the sun
Tell them our differences matters not this day
For we’v lost a great one
Tell them about that day July 24th
The day the sun didn’t, couldn’t shine
The day the wind held still like a steel
The day the clouds wept ‘cos it could no longer contain it burden…
Oh what a day that day was
The day our better half became our bitter half
The day we said to that man of peace…”Rest in peace”
The day that would forever linger in the sands of time
Tell them we testify this day to the common saying that good things last not longer
Tell them the great prof, the man of peace has joined the ancestors
And so this day we grieve, or else hear grief
We see tears, or else our own
Tell them Africa mourns the life of that great leader
Tell them to join us in saying….
Demirifa du3, du3, du3…May His soul rest in eternal peace!!!