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Searching for the Holy Child
GREETINGS from Korkorti and from Kofi Owuo, alias Death-By-Poverty. When this column took a short break, the two friends summoned me. They wanted to know whether the column had gone on pension or was just on strike. I explained that the column was not on retirement and neither was it on a hunger strike. Rather, the column was of the habit of falling into coma for four weeks or thereabout every year.
Kwame Korkorti and Kofi Owuo (who is addicted to poverty and has sworn not to prosper) are two of my former classmates I cherish so much. And it was great fun to be a Nino in those days. In fact, on the first day on campus, Korkorti was bold enough to bully his own mates who tragically mistook him for a senior.
In fact, when the first-years arrived, Korkorti was one of them but quickly pretended he was in Form 2. So he began pulling the noses of his mates and brushing their faces when the real seniors were not quite in sight. It was when classes began that his victims realised the so-called nose-pulling senior was in fact their own classmate.
So Korkorti got famous for that gimmick. But his English was poor.
The English master was a tall, bombastic young man who claimed he was a former soccer star. In fact, he swore he had a magical left foot that was comparable to that of the legendary Pele. And his grandiloquence par excellence clearly distinguished him from other members of staff.
He did not quite like Korkorti because although the boy was stubborn and his head did not have a nice shape, the girls adored him. Moreover he never did his English Language assignments.
Stand up, you tall fool, the English master often ordered. Korkorti wouldn’t stand up but would just smile broadly.
“I say stand up” the teacher would bark now like a dog suffering from rabies “Get up and let me measure your stupidity.”
Korkorti would stand up this time round and yawn.
Certainly, lunchtime has been long in coming and a good yawn often relieved the young student’s stomach of gastronomic stress.
Invariably, the English guru did not like it when Korkorti yawned. For one thing, the boy opened his mouth too widely. For another, he yawned a bit too audibly and that caused laughter among his mates.
Certainly, the master must have figured out that the boy’s height was proportional to his stupidity. But there were no school rules against yawning
Merari Alomele’s
• A female student walking away from some male students
or wide mouth. In fact, there was freedom of yawning and snoring and Korkorti exercised both freedoms judiciously and democratically.
“Do you know when you yawn you look like a hungry crocodile,” the master once asked him.
“Yes sir, I am aware sir,” Korkorti confirmed and yawned again. This time he nearly swallowed the whole class. There was an uproar and the whole class reverberated in good laughter.
The English master shook his head and then nodded it like an agama lizard. This Korkorti boy was a real character, a phenomenon, a one-man thousand. Meanwhile lessons had to continue.
It was in those days when school was exciting and we often gathered and talked about girls. I had often dreamt of having a girl from Holy Child School because I had heard very saintly and curious things about them, I had learnt from a guy from Saint Augustine’s College that Holy Child girls were of a special breed, in fact a hybrid between the cultured home-bred variety and those of inner holiness. They were born of the Holy Spirit. The only thing was that they didn’t suffer under Pontius Pilate.
In short, they were angels in human form, spoke in a special way, walked with a unique and danced with heavenly steps. They were taught by Holy Nuns and so were quite different from us who had no hope of making any spirito-culturo-scholastic progress.
I confessed to Korkorti that I wanted a girl from Holy Child, not for immoral purposes but to partake of their saintly ways so that when it was time for going to heaven, Kwame Alomele could also be considered.
During vacations we met girls from Mawuli, Ola, Accra Girls, St. Roses, Wesley Girls but none from Holy Child. Then one day, Kwame Korkorti whispered into my ear that a Holy Child babe was in town and that he was sure my dreams had come true.
Korkorti organised it and we positioned at a spot, knowing the girl would traverse en route to the library or the market. After a boring period of waiting, Korkorti suddenly espied the child coming. I looked at her face and saw of an angel. What! This was the kind I always wanted. God bless my soul! This was really my chance and Korkorti had prophesied it.
“Hello Sister,” Korkorti called her when about to leave us.
The girl slowed down and looked at us. My heartbeat increased in tempo. What really was I going to tell this angel? Wouldn’t she think Korkorti was Satan and me a common red-eyed demon? I gathered courage.
“What do you want?” she asked in a sweet voice. My heart melted instantly. Spotless beauty with voice that did something to me. Good gracious!
“Eh-h, my friend says he likes you,” Korkorti to her bluntly.
At that very moment I felt as if a sledge-hammer had hit my chest with the force of a dynamite. What a blunder! What a shock! I felt dizzy instantly. My bosom friend had balked the whole agenda. Before I could recover from the shock, the girl had walked away. From that day. I never met another holy child.
In January, this year, I miraculously received a letter from an 18-year old Holy Child student who said she was my fan.
It was a nicely written letter and I enjoyed reading it. I then relived the Korkorti incident and laughed aloud to myself.
So when Korkorti and Kofi Owuo summoned me, I reminded them of the day my heart melted at the sight of the angel; that angel which disappeared before my eyes and made me go back home not crying and yet not laughing.
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Searching for the Holy Child
GREETINGS from Korkorti and from Kofi Owuo, alias Death-By-Poverty. When this column took a short break, the two friends summoned me. They wanted to know whether the column had gone on pension or was just on strike.
I explained that the column was not on retirement and neither was it on a hunger strike. Rather, the column was of the habit of falling into coma for four weeks or thereabout every year.
Kwame Korkorti and Kofi Owuo (who is addicted to poverty and has sworn not to prosper) are two of my former classmates I cherish so much. And it was great fun to be a Nino in those days. In fact, on the first day on campus, Korkorti was bold enough to bully his own mates who tragically mistook him for a senior.
In fact, when the first-years arrived, Korkorti was one of them but quickly pretended he was in Form 2. So he began pulling the noses of his mates and brushing their faces when the real seniors were not quite in sight. It was when classes began that his victims realised the so-called nose-pulling senior was in fact their own classmate
So Korkorti got famous for that gimmick. But his English was poor.
The English master was a tall, bombastic young man who claimed he was a former soccer star. In fact, he swore he had a magical left foot that was comparable to that of the legendary Pele. And his grandiloquence par excellence clearly distinguished him from other members of staff.
He did not quite like Korkorti because although the boy was stubborn and his head did not have a nice shape, the girls adored him. Moreover he never did his English Language assignments.
Stand up, you tall fool, the English master often ordered. Korkorti wouldn’t stand up but would just smile broadly.
“I say stand up” the teacher would bark now like a dog suffering from rabies “Get up and let me measure your stupidity.”
Korkorti would stand up this time round and yawn.
Certainly, lunchtime has been long in coming and a good yawn often relieved the young student’s stomach of gastronomic stress.
Invariably, the English guru did not like it when Korkorti yawned. For one thing, the boy opened his mouth too widely. For another, he yawned a bit too audibly and that caused laughter among his mates.
Certainly, the master must have figured out that the boy’s height was proportional to his stupidity. But there were no school rules against yawning or wide mouth. In fact, there was freedom of yawning and snoring and Korkorti exercised both freedoms judiciously and democratically.
“Do you know when you yawn you look like a hungry crocodile,” the master once asked him.
“Yes sir, I am aware sir,” Korkorti confirmed and yawned again. This time he nearly swallowed the whole class. There was an uproar and the whole class reverberated in good laughter.
The English master shook his head and then nodded it like an agama lizard. This Korkorti boy was a real character, a phenomenon, a one-man-thousand. Meanwhile lessons had to continue.
It was in those days when school was exciting and we often gathered and talked about girls. I had often dreamt of having a girl from Holy Child School because I had heard very saintly and curious things about them,
I had learnt from a guy from Saint Augustine’s College that Holy Child girls were of a special breed, in fact a hybrid between the cultured home-bred variety and those of inner holiness. They were born of the Holy Spirit. The only thing was that they didn’t suffer under Pontius Pilate.
In short, they were angels in human form, spoke in a special way, walked with a unique and danced with heavenly steps. They were taught by Holy Nuns and so were quite different from us who had no hope of making any spirito-culturo-scholastic progress.
I confessed to Korkorti that I wanted a girl from Holy Child, not for immoral purposes but to partake of their saintly ways so that when it was time for going to heaven, Kwame Alomele could also be considered.
During vacations we met girls from Mawuli, Ola, Accra Girls, St. Roses, Wesley Girls but none from Holy Child. Then one day, Kwame Korkorti whispered into my ear that a Holy Child babe was in town and that he was sure my dreams had come true.
Korkorti organised it and we positioned at a spot, knowing the girl would traverse en route to the library or the market. After a boring period of waiting, Korkorti suddenly espied the child coming. I looked at her face and saw of an angel. What! This was the kind I always wanted. God bless my soul! This was really my chance and Korkorti had prophesied it.
“Hello Sister,” Korkorti called her when about to leave us.
The girl slowed down and looked at us. My heartbeat increased in tempo. What really was I going to tell this angel? Wouldn’t she think Korkorti was Satan and me a common red-eyed demon? I gathered courage.
“What do you want?” she asked in a sweet voice. My heart melted instantly. Spotless beauty with voice that did something to me. Good gracious!
“Eh-h, my friend says he likes you,” Korkorti to her bluntly.
At that very moment I felt as if a sledge-hammer had hit my chest with the force of a dynamite. What a blunder! What a shock! I felt dizzy instantly. My bosom friend had balked the whole agenda. Before I could recover from the shock, the girl had walked away. From that day. I never met another holy child.
In January, this year, I miraculously received a letter from an 18-year old Holy Child student who said she was my fan. It was a nicely written letter and I enjoyed reading it. I then relived the Korkorti incident and laughed aloud to myself.
So when Korkorti and Kofi Owuo summoned me, I reminded them of the day my heart melted at the sight of the angel; that angel which disappeared before my eyes and made me go back home not crying and yet not laughing.
This article was first published on Saturday, March 18, 1996
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It is still the contention of my uncle, Kofi Jogolo, that the moment God created woman, He created a big problem for man. If not, why would man always have to trim his moustache in such a way as to please woman and not himself? And why would a man’s holy organ keep nodding like an agama lizard just because there is a creation called woman?
Sir Kofi Jogolo whose moustache deserves both a national award and mention in the Guinness Book of Records for its stylish variations, told me recently that when you marry, you have palaver; if you don’t marry, you have wahala. All because of woman. I think the bloke is a reincarnation of Paul. Only he looks like Peter.
For those who do not marry, they may be free of marital problems, but might be in sexual bondage, because at dawn, a certain part of the body might nod in distress. It is a wonderful part of the human body that smiles with joy when a woman is lying within arm’s length.
The unmarried may not have to wait until dawn, though. After all, who says you can satisfy a sexual need only at dawn? If there is no girlfriend, there is still a way out. FEMALE BODIES FOR SALE! You only have to ask, “How much?” Sometimes it is worth the price of only two balls of kenkey.
It is for this reason that some people do not discourage women from practising prostitution because they claim the women play a vital role in national development. According to them, first, the nation cannot develop when the citizens are sex-starved. Second, they claim prostitution keeps down figures of rape cases since it is due to the scarcity of female bodies that the incidence of rape is rising.
Well, some people really adore prostitutes. With them you don’t have to worry about pregnancy. Moreover, you can skip foreplay which many people don’t have the patience for because of their high sexual temperature, or because they consider it a waste of time. And when you pay well, you can enjoy the style you want.
In actual fact, some married men also go in for prostitutes once in a while. They claim that prostitutes do not complain in bed like their wives. When you ask them to raise a leg, they comply without argument.
They also say prostitutes who are experienced can really work on certain parts of your body enough to make you blaspheme. Holy Jesus! The difference is clear then that with prostitutes you pay for the service but with wives it is for free, meaning that the quality of service must differ accordingly.
Many men also say they prefer prostitutes to girlfriends because of “back-pocket palaver”. It is their contention that with girlfriends you have to specialise in telling lies about your credit worthiness especially when you’re not only a human being but also a church mouse.
Sometimes you have to buy beer and gin because some girlfriends would not like to have sex unless they are properly soaked in booze. You also have to sing them lullabies and recite poetry to turn them on. Ask Devine Ankamah. That’s not all. When all is finished, you have to dish transport money, and if you’re not lucky she’d ask you to settle a “carry forward” you had planned to dodge.
So for just two probably lousy rounds of enjoyment, you’d spend some ¢15,000 if hotel services are included, unless you choose a hotel room where cockroaches and rats don’t practise family planning.
There are those who believe that with prostitutes, you don’t have to tell lies. It is purely business. No credit, no debit. Money na hand back na ground. When you are through and refuse to pay, she’ll cause a scene, scratch your face red and drag your butt onto the street. Next time you don’t have money, you stick to your wife or girlfriend or to your sorrows.
Prostitution in Sikaman is widespread. News reaching Palava have it that in the Obuasi area, it is the major occupation of females. They are in lucrative business. They come from all over the country -Bolga, Tamale, Kumasi, Sunyani, Accra, Odumase, wherever. A few are said to have come from Lagos in full gear.
When they all come, they sometimes don’t do so with only their bodies and luggage. They also carry with them something small in the form of a disease called AIDS which they distribute free of charge.
So why Obuasi? Gold! The great successes of Ashanti Goldfields combined with the notoriety and boom of galamsey activities have acted as a magnet, drawing in those who peddle their bodies for cash. No cheques!
Sometime back, it was reported that AIDS cases in the Obuasi area had soared. The reason, prostitution. Obuasi prostitutes are, however, of class. They dress to kill. Some speak even more languages, so if you’re a client and you speak even in tongues, they understand. And they drink beer exactly like Germans.
So what really are we doing about these prostitutes who, some say are contributing to national development and others say are enhancing national obituary?
Sikaman Palava has said it once that the law enforcement agencies have tried time and again to rid them off the streets. They have always failed in doing so. The problem is that they are as slippery as the cockroach. When harassed, they disappear and practise all the same. If caught, they are fined and the next day they are firmly at post.
Some people say because we can’t get rid of them, we must neither encourage nor discourage them. We must find a way of organising them into co-operatives under the name of “SPECIAL HUMAN SERVICES.”
They’d undergo medical screening and those with AIDS banned from practising. The rest would undergo a course in the cause, prevention and cure of sexually-transmitted diseases, personal hygiene, condom use and the healthful ways of practising prostitution.
Then they can be let loose to practise under laid-down rules and regulations and their income taxed.
That way, the prostitutes would be more beneficial to society and would not be the problem we see them to be.
This article was first published on Saturday June 29, 1996
This year June and part of July, is an enjoyable season for football lovers due to the World Cup which is held every four years. The World Cup is such a huge event and also very prestigious so it is highly competitive.
Countries registered with the Federation of International Football Association, (FIFA) become automatic members. FIFA organises tournaments on the five continents of the world, to enable countries to be selected to play in the World Cup competition.
Governments support their national teams to ensure qualification to the World Cup due to the prestigious nature of the tournament. Certain countries even go to the extent of renting a place of their choice, instead of the accommodation provided by FIFA, to ensure that they win the ultimate crown, as Germany did in the 2014 tournament in Brazil.
Mental strength a requisite for emerging victorious in football matches at such high professional level and everything must be done to endure that players are focused on the matches ahead of them.
There is however, a peculiar situation in this year’s World Cup, where it is being hosted by three countries namely the United States of America, Mexico and Canada and where one of the host countries, is at war with one of the competing countries.
The United States of America, is waging a war against Iran. The US has prevented Iran from staying in the US where they were originally scheduled by FIFA to play their matches. The US using its power as the host country, has refused to let Iran to stay and FIFA has provided a place in Mexico for the Iranian team to stay. They have to spend about five hours to fly to the US and prepare to get ready for their matches, each match day.
They are also forced to leave the US as soon as they finish playing their matches, without resting. Despite this inhumane treatment being forced on them by the USA, the Iranian team is mentally strong and have managed to draw their two matches played.
This is a clear manifestation of mental toughness, resulting from having the right mindset.
Life has a way of often dealing bad cards to a lot of people but it is important that when it happens like that, you look at what you can do with what you have, to still achieve the goals you have set for yourself.
There is a saying that when life throws you a lemon you make lemonade out of it. The barriers confronting you might be great, but it is the attitude you display that makes the difference.
The Iranians have really shown that the right mindset is indeed everything you need to be successful. They looked at their situation and assessed what was not going in their favour and found appropriate steps to address it.
Given the teams Iran was to play, the challenge was indeed huge, given the circumstances they found themselves in, but the right mindset to never give up, did the trick for them.
As human beings, we are always confronted with challenges, right from the day we start to crawl, the day we take our first steps and as we continue to grow into adulthood. Challenges are part of our daily lives and we must therefore condition our minds, that we shall encounter them and so must constantly be innovative in overcoming them, when we encounter them.
We need as a country, to develop a critical thinking skill capabilities in our youth, as an investment in the future fortunes of this country. Developing the right mindset, will enable us overcome every challenge. God bless.
By Laud Kissi-Mensah
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