tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-89033436085637717082024-03-05T05:50:56.088+00:00famosfreddyif it isn't insane, outrageous, spontaneous, witty and fun, it isn't freddy.
if you want to see the twisted side of our culture/lifestyle/people etc there isn't a better place to read about it all than on this blog.
the potential to laugh at oneself is an indelible mark of humility and a great sense of humor. famosfreddy brings all this to bare.
if you read freddy's column in Ghana's No.1 entertainment newspaper JIVE, you'll love this blog even more.rebel ryterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12856382022804755430noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903343608563771708.post-5215625836046280632009-09-24T19:37:00.000+00:002009-09-24T19:37:22.316+00:00famosfreddy: relocation<a href="http://famosfreddy.blogspot.com/2009/09/relocation.html#links">famosfreddy: relocation</a><br /><br /><br /><br />http://rebelryterwrites.wordpress.com/rebel ryterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12856382022804755430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903343608563771708.post-8687538806059363082009-09-24T19:36:00.000+00:002009-09-24T19:36:15.184+00:00relocationFolks, I've moved. Get all the sweet stuff here now:<br />
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www.rebelryterwrites.wordpress.comrebel ryterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12856382022804755430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903343608563771708.post-85933171545071216022008-11-04T22:22:00.003+00:002008-11-05T09:23:19.985+00:00Tune BluesToday I’ll start on a good note and probably end on a bad one. Yes, I can see the future and none of you will be in it unless you promise to read this blog for as long as it exists. And when I start my feed the freddy fund, y’all better donate!<br /><br />So this weekend, my heart had a smile on it. I’ll tell you why. I witnessed the makings of a real movie industry and it’s wedged on the support of Sparrow Productions. For real guys, we are now starting our industry of professional moviemakers, scriptwriters, actors (with passion), video and sound editors “etetera, etetera, etetera”. Not a typo.<br /><br />The movie was great and all the actors were fab! Only person whose acting required some tweaking was Kwami Sefa-Kayi and we can’t fault the brother so much. It’s been almost a decade since the man took a couple of takes on set. That aside, the movie was superb. Lydia Forson is the BOMB!!! Y'all should make sure you check it out. In more layman terms, “I urge my fellow Ghanaians to encourage Sparrow by going out watch it. I further urge you to buy copies of the DVD when it comes out!” Seriously guys, “I urge you”. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2pKKEoqDyS6YZV6DpuMTDHmh89TNmI4sIpzrLrVJT_hOv6NiyPUlGJtgTBUh_uw9SQp0GCabQB478qw0-bULInii-d8Rvj4LBpu6jRVJ2lvwcDmNVcS_LSj2ubkku47fC5_sBYAllvj9x/s1600-h/scorned+tickets.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2pKKEoqDyS6YZV6DpuMTDHmh89TNmI4sIpzrLrVJT_hOv6NiyPUlGJtgTBUh_uw9SQp0GCabQB478qw0-bULInii-d8Rvj4LBpu6jRVJ2lvwcDmNVcS_LSj2ubkku47fC5_sBYAllvj9x/s320/scorned+tickets.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5265076075418278610" /></a><br /><br />On the bad note I promised a few seconds ago, and I truly mean note, I can still hear the off key ringing of Piper’s rendition of Cool & the Gang’s “Celebration” resounding in my head! Have these guys learnt nothing so far? Wondering what I’m talking about? It is the ever spew-inspiring show on TV3 that I could never get used to; the show they all call GangStarz. Mentor grew on me after a while; Ghana’s Most Beautiful was acceptable. But GangStarz has been most unbearable.<br />Vashti, the co-host, has in no way improved on her game since start of the show 12 weeks ago. Someone please tell her to get her enunciation right! G-girls also were off to a false start when they couldn't mouth the words to Mary J. Blige's “Be Without You”. Taking the show to Bus Stop doesn't take out the crass out of the show. It's still what it is. Blaze, by all measure was the only outstanding gang in the game. They rendered Asem's Gimme Blow real well. But certainly they can copy the cat but can they be cats on their own?<br /><br />At that point, I had to switch and so glad that I did. I caught the middle bit of Jacob’s Cross on TV Africa. Now TVA may not have gotten all, in fact, many moves right since the start of the station, but I can promise you that Jacob’s Cross is one of their top moves. It’s a great show by the very high standards I’ve set and it’s no wonder most Ghanaians are NOT glued to their TV sets trying to catch it on Sunday evenings. I think it goes above the threshold of their <span style="font-style:italic;">tele novella-ed</span> minds. <br /><br />Yes. Yes, evil me.rebel ryterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12856382022804755430noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903343608563771708.post-91965490702923633452008-11-01T10:36:00.003+00:002008-11-01T10:53:32.917+00:00Mimi, mice and liesMimi's back from the big brother house. Yay! Another one. YAY!!!<br />Never in the 3 installments of Big Brother Africa has the country been put on tenterhooks as under this Mimi Andani tyranny. She's been the most criticised housemate Ghana has ever put out into the already controversial reality show. From lies to gossips to half truths, Mimi seemed to have had 'all it took' to take the cake. Perhaps she had a little too much of it. Ms Chemist? Or is it just a title?<br /><br />Does she know anything about our educational system or was her cluelessness all a part of the act? Hard to tell. At first glance, Mimi comes out as one with an imposing personality. An extremist in certain cases. She speaks her mind and often, that of others. Don't forget also, that her mind didn't always chew on the right things. So as her mouth spoke, it brought out the not so cogent thoughts her mind had come up with. But let's give her a break. This is a typical example of the average Mapouka dancing Ghanaian girl! The average Ghanaian girl, Mimi inclusive, is fully entertained and half-educated. So sue me! I said it. Yes I’ve said it. I do not tell a lie when I say that our ladies have been shortchanged when it comes to education and its effect is beginning to tell on our faces. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoQov0nEPBOmCP1v8t8XjAQrj8ZxuqOIDxGRpZG-rY3sncgLOnyflfvi74NHxx1aW95U_gYTBIRtF7nV1HSIBl9t-oGOqBRIibGg9UGscFfN88keJU8ltRefK7UReoyCsf7b24VJp9zjAK/s1600-h/mimi.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 214px;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhoQov0nEPBOmCP1v8t8XjAQrj8ZxuqOIDxGRpZG-rY3sncgLOnyflfvi74NHxx1aW95U_gYTBIRtF7nV1HSIBl9t-oGOqBRIibGg9UGscFfN88keJU8ltRefK7UReoyCsf7b24VJp9zjAK/s320/mimi.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5263637187054566514" /></a><br /><br /><br />Did I hear someone yell 'Girl Child Education'? Tell me what difference is it making in the lives of the young ladies after school? Very few of them get the chance to misrepresent our motherland in a continental reality show, get dumped by her boyfriend, and straight into the arms of a not so bright star by name Cap. Planet! The rest will end up married and become bearers of babies while the husband goes of on his manly duties. The other quarter of the cake end up as professional spinsters or divorcees, because the man couldn't keep up with her intelligence. It's happening all around us. <br /><br />Don't act like you didn't know. <br /><br />But Mimi why? Why did you have to go and lie that you're from the 5th best school in the world i.e. Cape Coast University?! Please, great as UCC might be, how can it place 5 in the entire world? On Mimi’s list of top 5 schools, we have Princeton, Yale, UCLA, Stanford and the University of Cape Coast, Ghana. No mention of NYU, or even from the land of our colonial masters, Oxford University, Cambridge etc. Nope. UCC is high up there.<br /><br />Again, Mimi, if you don't know the duration of a Master's programme in Ghana don't improvise! 3 years for a Masters degree? Maybe Law and even with that. Now you've got the whole Africa believing in a lie. That is, if they even believe you, Miss Little princess from the royal family, you can't do that to us, you just can't! My, we all may have royal blood running through us. The question is how significant is it?<br />But I’ll say no more. Did anyone hear them say she’s done Ghana proud? No no no no. She surely hasn’t and Ghanaians know this. Maybe she’s done herself proud as against she’s moving into our movie industry. Too much for her!<br /><br />Welcome back home Mimi. We’re ever so glad you’re back. Had you kept any longer in the house, I might have had to renounce your Ghanaian citizenship. But I guess the damage is repairable.<br /><br />All that said, I will continue to be your one and only, indefatigable, famosfreddy, the Couch Master! <br /><br />Hai!rebel ryterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12856382022804755430noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903343608563771708.post-13370333380743722722008-10-20T23:02:00.004+00:002008-10-20T23:29:57.625+00:00a mental battlei am confused in my mind<br />that is why i pretend to bring sanity to yours<br />my brain is full of bumps and turns <br />stop signs and u-turns with grade separated intersections leading to nowhere<br /><br />visions perceived by the iris and signals sent to the medula oblongata<br />at frequencies beyond imagination<br />veins and vessels engineering themselves but only resulting in confusion upstairs<br />blurred conceptualization of hope buried deep in our hearts<br /><br />wrong says he's right and right doesn't know where to belong<br />no has no say and yes is about to make up it's mind<br />wrong did no harm and right just walked on by<br />no doesn't make it right and neither does yes<br />and wrong has taken over, <br />now right is left ... left behind<br />upsetting the state of mind<br />soon we'll have to deal with collateral damage between the two<br />what's to be done?<br />what is to be?<br /><br />thoughts racing past each other creating processes <br />faster than a pentium m could comprehend<br />a complete battalion of brain soldiers<br />recruited for the sole purpose of creating actions out of thoughts<br />eyes shut, concentration deeper, distraction minimal, forehead creases<br /><br />a mental battle<br /><br />reasons for being clashes with facts of reality<br />mental faculties struggling with torrents of thoughts rushing in<br />undigested information churning through the matters of grey<br />subliminal thoughts lining my consciousness and affecting judgment <br />previews of the future's aspirations and<br />reviews of past blunders and errors with occasional bursts of success sparsely distributed<br /><br />i've lost my sense of direction, lost function of all my sensory organs as<br />choices beget even more choices<br />decisions precipitate consequences<br />blind visions from my mind's eye<br />quiet sounds of long speeches in my head<br />words, sentences, phrases, paragraphs and chapters<br />are written as i soliloquize <br />emotions draw on my face as my thoughts reach a crescendo...<br /><br />and this is before breakfast!!!rebel ryterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12856382022804755430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903343608563771708.post-54316354625294772772008-10-06T19:19:00.003+00:002008-10-06T20:58:54.469+00:00Operation My A$$So the other day I was coming home from work. As usual, there was a traffic jam coming in from Accra Girls down to the 37 Military Hospital area. Bumper to bonnet: steadily descending the hill. I've spent a few decades in this universe and I am yet to meet a person that enjoys sitting in traffic. Everybody hates it. Especially...everybody. But we don't always have the power to convert a one carriageway into dual carriage. Nor do we want to dole out 30 plus cedis to the next corrupt 'koti'(police officer). Or, for the bold & brave, argue out why we had to drive on the shoulder of the road and cite a million and one reasons why it's a matter of life and death. <br /><br />So we sit in our cars, cuss, bully our way in front sometimes, decide which lane is moving faster, join it, only to realise the other lane was faster after all. Then we prevent others from crossing over into our lane and so on and so as it goes forth. <br /><br />Very often, in the glum of our car seats, we hear the constant honking of private cars and sometimes taxis. They speed past and we oft find ourselves steering aside to make room for them. When that brief moment of excitement dies down, we wonder if there really was an emergency or the emergency lies in the fact that they wish to skip traffic. Who doesn't? When it comes to the police and other law enforcing agencies, dare we question their authority? A police vehicle will go as far as they think is tolerable (for them in traffic). When that elastic limit is reached, they simply turn on their sirens and drive around poor civilian cars like ours. One time I found the nerve to query them through the safety of my window of course. I waved my fore finger at them in disapproval and said in the most Ghanaian accent I could gather 'Ei policeman'. He asked me why, with a wring of his wrist- very typical of Ghanaians- being full aware of what he'd done. He replied in a thick Ga accent: this is police operation car, I can pass anywhere.' Traffic moved on and there was a break in transmission. Then calmly, yet eagerly I retorted, 'are you on operation now?' He frantically searched his head for an apt response, he shouted back through his cracked window: 'yes...now, anytime I'm on operation'. That was the last I saw of him.<br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUFdVAmNPxk-BOBZeg7j2qw1-bb6TI-m_NcXRlUvXCXKbTL5p5m1e_fOaMxnGjmcyQEpS8FxGwHokDqyiogwrUuZvx9FHb8ZTeU6XOFgJdbakByLu7lMwVDnGsg0EUUu_Ea4qsi_fFI4Rn/s1600-h/ghana.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhUFdVAmNPxk-BOBZeg7j2qw1-bb6TI-m_NcXRlUvXCXKbTL5p5m1e_fOaMxnGjmcyQEpS8FxGwHokDqyiogwrUuZvx9FHb8ZTeU6XOFgJdbakByLu7lMwVDnGsg0EUUu_Ea4qsi_fFI4Rn/s320/ghana.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5254131678900841218" /></a><br /><br />"Operation my a$$!" I wish I had the nerve to tell him that in the face, but my mummy told me to be polite. Plus, I didn't feel like spending my weekend in a jail cell. Of course, it might improve my street cred, but I'd rather not do that, thank you very much.<br /><br />'Small power man get see what he dey take do.' Who can fault them? They abide by one set of rules and people like you and I abide by a different set, perhaps even a subset of those same rules. Who in his right mind would dare to question the acts of a uniformed man? I beg oh, I like my life as it is. That's the attitude most of us will adopt in instances as this. Someday, just one day, I promise I will make sure everyone stays in their right position and not cross the border, otherwise, as we say "they'll smell pepper!" (after I've coated their faces with it)<br /><br />Maybe next time, I'll be bold enough to get out of my car, stop them and ask them to prove to me that they really are on "operation". Maybe I'll just stay in my car and forget about them all...rebel ryterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12856382022804755430noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903343608563771708.post-91331889896772113442008-09-27T22:45:00.004+00:002008-09-27T23:17:03.874+00:00INSOMNIA @ 3amIt's 3am this Saturday dawn, I'm awake once again 'cos my mind won't go to sleep. My body feels the exhaustion of the week, but my brain wants more. I'm trying real hard to drown out these many voices that seem so loud in the quiet of the night. Louder, even than the cock crowing (who owns these chickens anyway?). I'm tempted to muffle these hyperactive thoughts with a fridge raid although I know I'll be afraid to stand on the scale in the morning. <br /><br />My body wishes to forget about the week's happenings, but my brain, adamant in it pursuit, wants to subject every little detail to scrutiny. It is anxiety mixed with regret and topped with relief in many instances. Somehow, my brain needs to settle with itself before it can project its might toward the incoming week. Yes, I agree, annoying. But my head won't rest lest it comes to terms with itself! Forget about being in control. When my mind wants something done, everything else must settle for a back seat position - even me. Sleep, in this instance will have no say in the matter. <br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB4JxWVV-awIjerT2XV8U4GS0r61gA4D76l3gAZ1J83aVfqfYiYPIqGIPTELZqnzE_0AfG_EyQoyJpIfAP0u7bWm2zBLl6_Hu9XGnTnTUQ8oI216VrqHOCX0V9TBnQ58x0YVu297gZeR_c/s1600-h/insomnia+styler.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB4JxWVV-awIjerT2XV8U4GS0r61gA4D76l3gAZ1J83aVfqfYiYPIqGIPTELZqnzE_0AfG_EyQoyJpIfAP0u7bWm2zBLl6_Hu9XGnTnTUQ8oI216VrqHOCX0V9TBnQ58x0YVu297gZeR_c/s320/insomnia+styler.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5250839453058932450" /></a><br /><br />Allowing myself to get carried away in the wave of thoughts dancing in my head, I can't but agree with myself that this has been no ordinary week. My life received some altering nudges that will ultimately lead to a complete redirection. Although I was seemingly able to brush it off into the recess of the memory, sleep returned it to the fore so I could deal with it. I agree that I may not be the world's best philosopher, but I do believe nonetheless that I deserve some credit for stringing enough thoughts per minute that provoke and punch holes in my life and that which affects me on the daily. <br /><br />So at this I've shifted from point D to E. I'm asking myself now, before I sink in too deep, is this what I want? Do I truly want to sign up for this? Am I ready enough to deal? Do I wish to proceed with the opening up of Pandora's box or would I rather settle for something even keel? My life is about to change in ways hitherto only imagined. I'm loving the thought of it now but will my sentiments then, jigsaw with my fears? Or will it be all I imagined it'll be? Choice begets even more choices. <br /><br />Inasmuch as the 'should've known' principle sneers at you from all corners of the debate, 'experience' alone must afford you the chance to sneer right back. Because no matter how bad you "should've known" will scoff, experience will always stand its ground and will be sure to inform the decision of tomorrow. My head can go to rest now because strangely through these mumbled up thoughts I've made some sort of alternate sense to myself.rebel ryterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12856382022804755430noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903343608563771708.post-76910521637924273982008-09-02T22:15:00.004+00:002008-09-03T12:15:09.609+00:00Good Mother: WHAT IS WRENT IS WRENT.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQB0LrvcmcIarllrtHtElmMYPX7asEhOH9-Yj2lgkcCIyFmERQhtpcm_VmIwTXCX0DOhSqDOEeIhoQRsLOZseWzxMHgEZ7HVUpcsxJTRaoVIakgackOgJkLiXUO9OrITjUnhT-eQxW8ueV/s1600-h/26082008(007).jpg"><img style="float:center; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQB0LrvcmcIarllrtHtElmMYPX7asEhOH9-Yj2lgkcCIyFmERQhtpcm_VmIwTXCX0DOhSqDOEeIhoQRsLOZseWzxMHgEZ7HVUpcsxJTRaoVIakgackOgJkLiXUO9OrITjUnhT-eQxW8ueV/s320/26082008(007).jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241765777678489954" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />I'll give you a minute to ponder over that statement...... <br /><br />Moment over. <br /><br />What did you come up with? I know. What in the blazes does that mean? What could they possibly be saying to us? <br /><br />Picture me cruising through town and WHOA-BAM! I see this right in front of me. For 3 whole hours, my mind was on this one statement. What the heck are they trying to tell us? I mean, if this was meant to be a brain teaser, then it sure is working its magic. I chewed on this for a while and decided it wasn't worth the brain power. I simply gave up. "<span style="font-weight:bold;">Good Mother: What is WRENT is WRENT</span>." I mean, I mean, I mean. I've seen my fair share of incredulous writing, but this, this, oh this takes the cake.<br /><br />One of many possibilities. He could be complaining about his <span style="font-weight:bold;">rent</span>. Perhaps he's trying to say <span style="font-weight:bold;">what is gone is gone</span>? You know, don't cry over spilt milk and all that and instead of WENT, ended up saying WRENT. But why the "R"?<br />A barrage of questions just flooded my head. Maybe it's time I gave up my decrypting title. I've held this title for a while now and perhaps it is time for me to hang my gloves.<br /><br />Thank God for the company of smart minds. After driving about a while with my friend, we started talking and it just hit us. WHAT IS WRITTEN IS WRITTEN!!! Forget about the Good Mother bit. A good mother is no match for what is WRENT. Absolutely no contest. Months after he applauded his mother for her help in his life, he realized that he still couldn't change the path life has strung for him so he decided that upon all the goodness of his mother, WHAT IS WRENT IS still WRENT. I mean, what is life if things are not "WRENTED"? I hope I'm using the right tense here. WRENT could be past participle all on its own. Unless we opt for WRENTED as the <span style="font-style:italic;">pp</span>. It's entirely up to us.<br /><br />I'm just as amazed as you all are. An experience like that can completely traumatize you and leave your mind powerless. As good as I thought I was with deciphering the most garbled text, yet again, tro tro drivers on a daily, prove to me that you're just as good as your last scrambled/misspelt word. But now, I believe that I've passed the test. My WRENTing episode has widened my scope and spurred me unto greater and higher standards of malformed writings with exceptional and deep meanings only to the enquiring and trained mind. Not for the faint-hearted. I promise you.<br /><br /><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWjIryaLCuVpeSubs-nIYH7i0Ym-upxaXPVcOEJTl-4RvtQ8NvtPzlUtgxXZMK4wD61TEJxDBfbc2RraEyh-Zl04vr_hB3e-HoE_4GqSR0H_OWPLUKGsNsZKfQYxFRDirFLmOz7sMHl0RE/s1600-h/12072007.jpg"><img style="float:right; margin:0 10px 10px 0;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWjIryaLCuVpeSubs-nIYH7i0Ym-upxaXPVcOEJTl-4RvtQ8NvtPzlUtgxXZMK4wD61TEJxDBfbc2RraEyh-Zl04vr_hB3e-HoE_4GqSR0H_OWPLUKGsNsZKfQYxFRDirFLmOz7sMHl0RE/s320/12072007.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5241764764763484370" /></a><br /><br />Just when you think you've seen it all, another slaps you in the face! Take this for instance. <span style="font-weight:bold;">LEAP BEFORE YOU LOOK</span>. Here I was all my life thinking we should Look first, then we LEAP. But this taxi driver thinks otherwise. A very new and outlandish approach to success in life is to first take a LEAP and while you're in between the brief moments of suspense and the hard concrete (or sharpened spikes, depending on your situation), you LOOK down and see how fast you're falling. Maybe next time you won't LEAP as fast or as hard. Forget about it all, throw caution to the wind and just take a LEAP of faith. Maybe you might live to tell the story...or maybe not.<br /><br />The Street Shrink is on the prowl and will be back another day with a little something for everyone...rebel ryterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12856382022804755430noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903343608563771708.post-68481090577921424532008-08-25T15:14:00.001+00:002008-08-25T15:16:08.124+00:00Sermon in the StreetImagine you get a telegram (or in this day of technology, an email) with the words emboldened, highlighted and underlined LET THEM SAY. How would you react? As mind baffling as it is, we see these things so often on our streets that they have become commonplace and no. Here’s how I see it: If you’re ever in need of inspiration, when life puts you down, when you think there’s no hope left for you to go on, when everything that could ever go wrong in your life goes wrong all at once, well I come bearing good news.... Next time you’re in traffic, just read there is to read all around you; writings on trotros, taxis, kiosks and you’ll see all your troubles disappear. Well …… not exactly.<br />Seriously, have you ever taken the time to look around and see all the elements that are at play. Besides drivers over-speeding, others under-speeding, projectiles of spit from windows, cars developing problems right in the middle of traffic, jaywalkers zigzagging across the road, beggars trying to sweet talk you, thieves laying in ambush, etc, you will see a doze, perhaps more, of yellow-writing-coded morale-boosting. With all these proverbial statements written all around us, it’s a miracle any of us ever feel down. <br />Picture this, a trotro crosses you, and behind it, is says “NO RUSH IN LIFE,” "ABOTRE" or even “PATIENCE”. Nothing quite gets to you as bad.<br />Still, some leave you feeling rather baffled. Take for instance “GOOD NEVER LOST”. It’s taken me almost a year now and I can’t tell what that truly means. Are they saying, “good people don’t lose their way”. Or is it that “good people don’t die”? Perhaps they mean, “good deeds are never forgotten.”<br />I’ve come to the conclusion that you can preach an entire sermon while driving from one end of the street to the other. You even have Bible quotes to go along. Just in case you need confirmation. <br />At one time, a trotro said on its rear window “PRAY TO GOD” and right afterwards, another whizzed past saying “AMEN”. Alternatively, you can find writings on vehicles that support your present state of being. Take for example “IT’S NOT EASY, BUT FOCUS,” this could represent a past emotional down of the car owner, and hence seeks to encourage his ‘brother man’ on the street. Another one I saw that just blew me over was, “You, next time”. Possibly, they had it in with someone and deemed it fit to let out his emotion out in a more public way. <br />One time I went pass a car crash wreck and it said “IT COULD BE YOU”. Almost immediately, I held back any prejudice I had in my mind.<br />However, religious quotes take up the bigger chunk of all the writings. “Still ADOM,” “KRON KRON” (Holy Holy), SHOWERS OF BLESSING, BY HIS GRACE, HOSSANA, KRISTO NTI (For Christ’s sake), ASEDA SEWO (You deserve the praise), YEHOWA ADOM (God’s grace), PSALM 35 POSITION IS NOT HEAVEN, “NO POSITION IS PERMANENT”, "REPENT", “HEAVEN GATE, NO BRIBE”, and "BY HIS GRACE". <br />These phrases run the gamut from Genesis to Revelations. Some as I said make absolutely no sense; either because some of the writings have been wiped off from excessive washing or the rain and shine have weathered them away. Consider "HIRO MAJOR", "ROAD TO SUCCESS", "FULL OF POTHOLES" (probably referring to the road’s condition) and "STILL PLAY FOR LIFE". <br /><br />to be contd...rebel ryterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12856382022804755430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903343608563771708.post-52016203761445546362008-08-13T12:58:00.004+00:002008-08-13T16:04:40.576+00:00Shrink in DistressYou all know this all too familiar feeling of self-condemnation. One voice tells you to go with choice ‘A’, another tells you not to. You battle with which voice to listen to. Then you make an unsound choice of voice and end up feeling foolish?<br />Well, just now, I’ve had to retype 300 words for this blog entry. I didn’t save and “the operation quit unexpectedly. Would you like to report this to Microsoft…?” uhhhh…no?<br /><br />But before I head on, accept my apologies for not being frequent enough with my updates. These words don’t always spill forth so easily. Like every work of art, you require inspiration.<br /><br />Back to business. <br /><br />Yesterday, my car broke down. We all hate that don’t we? Especially when it happens right in the middle of a major road. This old rickety pick up truck, has served us well. You know those family cars that help out so much they more or less become a part of the family? That’s the kind we have. As with every car after a few hours with the mechanic, a quadrillion other issues develop. Possibly the fault of the mechanic, but he makes it seem as if the car has never been kept well. But we try to keep the car in pristine condition, truly we try. <br /><br />Anyhow, barely a week ago, the car came back from the repair shop and I squeezed out enough new Ghana notes to pay up for it. It’s a painful experience each time.<br /><br />I’ll narrate what happened.<br /><br />I set off to meet a friend at the Accra Mall. This was just at the peak of the rush hour. A mistake in itself. The traffic, the exhaust fumes, the pollution, the crazy driving all in one place. After about 30minutes in the jam I started to notice worrying signs on the car. I prayed to God that I didn’t get stuck in the jam. I’d be the cause of an increased jamming of cars right to the very end of the last taillight. Plus I’ll be at the receiving end of several indistinct car toots. I might even be cussed at. <br /><br />The signal’s changed colours but my gears wouldn’t change. As though on cue, the honks started. Sweat beads mounted, heart rate increased, tear glands were ready, and the ignition went off. <br /><br />Under my breath, I whispered a prayer. Promised God the world if He got me out of this fix. It’s a wonder how God takes center stage when things go wrong. I put gear in first position, turned key in ignition and then there’s a jerk forward. I was going nowhere like this. After a few feet, the ignition died again. I didn't even turn my head to the left or right. Eyes fixed on ahead as if by so doing, I’ll magically move the car. <br /><br />Where was Superman when you need him? <br /><br />I gave up and the hazard lights come on.<br /><br />SOS calls began. First to the mechanic. No answer. Next to my brother … MTN – network busy. SOS calls end. Panic begins to mount.<br /><br />With jerky movement, I managed to move from the traffic light at the Imperial Peking restaurant all the way to the Mall intersection. I succeeded in getting into the median, safe from all attacks I hoped. If there’s anything worse than angry bypass-ers, it is the pity-look they give you. Worse I tell you, worse. I hoped I wouldn't see a friend who obviously would laugh and tease me till kingdom come. In no time, there’ll be a snap shot of me on Facebook with comments from people whom I don’t even know. There goes my street cred.<br /><br />SOS calls started again. What’s this with the network?!!! I finally got through with my TIGO and a saviour came through. It’s the friend I’m meeting. <span style="font-weight:bold;">God is good</span>. I sit there for what seemed like 24hours and I hear the <span style="font-weight:bold;">good</span> inner voice speak. Try it again. Who knows it just might start. And start it did! With my hazard lights still on, I crawled on the shoulder of the road into the parking lot of the Mall. Safe. Sweet Jesus thank you. <br /><br />After a few moments of wait, along came my friend with a mechanic named Prosper. I’m not quite sure what Prosper did. In fact I doubt he did anything major, yet he charges me a clean ¢3 for lying under the hood and stepping on the clutch a couple of times. I give him ¢2 and send him off.<br /><br />One word for this experience - TRAUMATIZING. But at least I’m alive to tell the story. <br /><br />Now just in case you’re asking yourself what the moral of the story is, let me tell you right this moment that there is NONE. I just might need me a shrink to talk things through, that's all.rebel ryterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12856382022804755430noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903343608563771708.post-79421657262738682802008-07-25T21:22:00.007+00:002008-07-25T22:31:29.254+00:00Brother's KeeperI officially name myself the Street Shrink. It might sound a bit weird to most of you. But take a good look at all that goes on in the streets. You can't tell me that it isn't a window into ourselves as a people. As opaque a window as it might be, a window still. <br />Read on.<br /><br /><br />I agree, we have our issues as Ghanaians. We have problems with our indiscipline, our greed, and most of the time our sentence construction and grammar. Granted. It's certainly difficult to overlook all the warts, but let's not throw out the baby with the bath water. We have to take a deeper look into our humanity. Let's dive a little deeper into the real Ghanaian. The changes in governments and economy and the demand for a better richer life is eating into our lives just as it is for that of many other countries all across the world. The moral fabric of society has become a cloth with which we try to wipe away our vices. Still and all, there's a lot to be grateful for. Again this <span style="font-weight:bold;">Street Shrink</span> was in traffic, just minutes ago at the traffic signal from the Aviation Social Center into Cantonments (those of you familiar with Accra will know exactly what I'm talking about), we have these physically challenged guys who are immobile leg down. They beg along the roadside, like most beggars do. <br /><br />As we stop waiting for the light to hit green so I can speed off home, thinking back on how my week has gone, etc etc etc. Ever notice these guys who as a substitute for feet have wheels and wear flip flops on their hands weave through the cars as deftly as one could imagine. Well, one of them wheels up to me and asks for money. Now, I try as much as possible to be polite. Yes they are a bit worrisome, still. <br />Anyways, I'm in the passenger seat, sitting <span style="font-weight:bold;">The Thinker</span> style <a href="http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Thinker"></a>(also known as the Thinking Man) . I'm usually very pensive in traffic. My mind was chewing on some thought so hard that it's as though my next intake of oxygen was dependent on that. This guy crawls up to my door, looks up and says 'Madam, won kye me kakra?' (Madam, won't you give me something little?). Tearing away from my thoughts, I turn to look at him and say 'Ene de enye, next time wae?' (Today, things aren't so good).<br /><br />Honestly, I'm not sure what expression I was wearing on my face, but the guys turns away for 2 seconds and turns back to look at me saying, 'E-go be eh?' (It'll be well) Come again, I didn't quite catch that. And he repeats himself with a more affectionate tone "E-go be eh?". What else do I have to say than to nod my head in agreement and thank him for his goodwill message. As we move on in traffic, I almost feel sad for myself. Not that there's anything wrong with him telling me that. It's just the idea that in as much as I think of myself in a better position than him or he thinking that I'm his last chance for a meal that evening, he felt he was in a position to give me encouragement. Think about the courage and nobility it takes for someone in his position like that to tell me that. He might never drive a Bentley or a Lexus. Heck, he'll never drive at all. I doubt I might even remember how he looks to give him a little something next time I'm round that way.<br /><br />But if what he said doesn't sound a noble bell in you, I'm not sure what else will. This gesture as minute and seemingly fickle as it may sound made me realize that there's still a little human left in us. Let's forget about politics for a second, let's each forget about the deal you couldn't seal for a minute, let's put off hate, greed and envy for a day or two and let's open our eyes to see the beauty that lies beneath it all. Fundamentally, all we wanna do is to survive. To have some meat to take home to our families. Why must we chain each other to the wall in order to do that? Why can't we just be our brother's keeper, not seeing the other any lesser than they are? Why? Why ever not?rebel ryterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12856382022804755430noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903343608563771708.post-66321483886694762992008-07-23T12:54:00.004+00:002008-07-23T13:11:34.410+00:00Part 2. The journey back...After a day of long back-breaking hours, the journey back home seems quite as arduous as that of the morning’s. I’m observing the sunset in the distance and wondering why we don’t yet have cars that fly. I’m beginning to wonder when technology will catch up with me – teleportation, time travel etc. Oh well. <br /><br />My mind moves on from one memory to another, stringing together scattered thoughts that seem to go nowhere. I glance at the digital clock on my dashboard and it’s been 12 minutes since I last moved. Just then a guy walks past with pillows. Please hand me a few of those. Perfunctorily, I draw out my purse and pay him off. No bargain. Don’t have the energy for it. I ease back my seat, position the pillow at the base of it, and start humming to the tune from the radio as I turn it up. Just then these mobile CD/DVD/Cassette vendors blast away their music. One of those gospel singers. Can’t tell the difference. They all sound the same. These young guys come my way displaying the latest album recording of whichever artist it is. They shove it in my face and I look aside with disapproval. As though to spite me, all other pirated DVD sellers hustle me with their wear and my powers are no match. I end up rolling up my window to make sure all my doors are safely locked. <br /><br />The logjam gradually inches forward and I respond. My feet hurt with all this half-clutch business. <br /><br />Before I know it, I’m in the den of the onion boys. “Madam ginni, ginni.” (they say in their Hausa accent). They beat down the price themselves in an attempt to persuade me to buy it. I shoot them a stern glance and a defiant “Dεεbi” (no). Can’t they tell one who cooks from one who doesn’t?<br /><br />Peddler after peddler, hawker after hawker, the traffic is still moving at government pace. No joke. I might as well use my time wisely. Need to make a few calls. “…you’ll have to recharge with a scratch card…” Darned that computer voice! Reluctantly, I call out for the 'credit card' peddler (Yes, ‘credit card’. That’s what we call it here. Deal with it), who seems to have every network’s scratch card pinned on himself. A decorated member of the Ghana Hawkers Association I suppose. I start to make my call. No MTN Zone. I'll make do.<br /><br />I’m thinking that very soon traffic hawking will develop into a fully fledged industry and they'll be required to wear numbered uniforms just as the taxi drivers do. Just a thought. First it was just newspapers and iced water. Then we had Refresh (gosh, I miss that drink). The rest came in torrents. Now we have a whole assembly of household and office items. Amazing what you can get in traffic. Sometimes I feel sorry for the hawkers. I thank God that as bad as things might get, it won’t get that bad. Other times, they annoy me; no, I don’t want plantain chips; no, I don’t want cocoa drink with tea bread and no I don’t want a red bow tie nor do I want a laptop bag!<br />Home oh home come nigh unto me...rebel ryterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12856382022804755430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903343608563771708.post-64526133713683755102008-07-20T19:27:00.000+00:002008-07-20T19:28:39.501+00:00Part 1. Driving through...It's 7am in the morning. Mankind has managed to escape from the cozy hold of sleep and heads on to work. Running against time only to be gridlocked in between one car's bumper and the other's bonnet. Time whizzes past. The Traffic situation is horrible and isn't getting any better. Bad news for me; good news for the drive through vendors. <br />Sitting behind the wheel, drumming away at it, I sense the turning on of a light bulb in my head. It hits me suddenly that I don't have to do anything at home before I get to work. If you look at it closely the traffic vendors are positioned strategically just for your everyday need. Yes, they are usually a nuisance, especially when you try to change lanes. Still, think about it.<br />Shower down on the go; dress up on the go; breakfast on the go, nap on the go.<br />You can even read the newspaper headlines for yourself on the go while you wait for the radio stations to put their act together.<br />As a matter of fact, I have no longer have an excuse to be late. It's been there all along, only the dispersed pieces are now beginning to fit. Why waste all that time in traffic sitting there doing nothing? Everything I need for my morning routine is right here in traffic. <br />The Next Morning. 5.30am…<br />I head straight to the car when I wake up. I brush my teeth with the unconventional chewing stick, (though tried and proven by many as being more effective than the conventional toothbrush). The other option is usually available as well. <br />Hopefully the sun would have heated up one of the pressing irons that guy is holding, well enough for me to press my shirt. If not, I could always buy a brand new one from the next vendor. Decisions decisions. <br />My hair needs combing. Fear ye not! Plenty comb sellers abound. If I'm up for it, there's another guy just at the first traffic signal who sells China made shaving machines. I can have a quick shave while the light is still red. <br />Oh dear, my pants fell a little loose; I might want to hold it up with a nice CUCCI belt. Yes CUCCI (not GUCCI). Done deal. <br />My stomach churns. Ah ha! Breakfast. Either I call the koko seller on the sidewalk ahead of time so she'll have it ready for me to go or I might decide to prepare my own. That lady usually sells mugs on the median, I get one, the next guy I see has Nescafe Crème 3 in 1. I need to get me some of those as well. Now how do I get water hot enough to make this work. Ah, I bought some pure water yesterday but couldn't finish it. Right where I left it, under the seat, warm as it should. A lady selling tea bread just flew by me, I signal to her, make it quick. The bee-coded wannabe policeman just got off his phone. It's my lane's go now. Can't eat without my napkin. I opt for a box of tissue instead; the napkin lady didn't turn up today. <br />Now what's in the news today? Not Rawlings and Mills again?! My newspaper supplier knows what I want and shoves it right through my cracked window. Ring ring, a call from my mother. “Take down this number,” mum says. Scribble scribble, my pen won't write. Imagine my surprise when that wheel chair guy anticipating my plight and swings at me an array of ballpoint pens. What the heck. I get one. A three-minute conversation drains my battery juice. The low battery alert sounds. Not again, I forgot to charge it! Hmmm... Yes yes yes now where's the guy with the mobile phone accessories? Way behind me. All it takes is the honk of my horn and all vendor eyes look in my direction. I find whom I want and get what I want. A disposable car charger. I can’t do without my fruits after meals. My choice; apples, grapes or pawpaw. Maybe I'll have me a fruit salad! <br /><br />To be continued…rebel ryterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12856382022804755430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903343608563771708.post-28587934192298997122008-07-15T23:49:00.001+00:002008-07-15T23:51:18.182+00:00Moose GhanaIt’s not like I like being vitriol. Really, I don’t always enjoy it (although I usually do). I try; I really do try to find what I see on television agreeable. But some way some how things remain skewed.<br />I have come to the logical conclusion after several permutations and combinations, that 8 out of 10 young ladies in Ghana are shallow! There I’ve said it. If you take offense its probably because you fall under the 80% category. True. It’s not a fact that I gladly admit. Painful, I know. Who would have thought?<br />You might wonder what the genesis of this theory is. This time I tuned into the Miss Ghana Diaries on GTV. I believe it was the Miss Eloquence test and one after another, they displayed their ignorance. Very few held their heads up.<br />They asked someone what she would do if she became president for a day. She went on and on talking about youth empowerment and helping secure peace in African nations. Seriously, what can you achieve in one single 24-hour day? Many presidents if given an entire lifetime would still grapple with that. Let’s be real. If you asked me that, I’ll be honest and say: I’ll call my entire family over to the castle, host the biggest banquet ever, have it televised live and then decorate myself with the highest honours ever! Cos God knows I so deserve it.<br />I’m gonna go ahead and say this. Hate me all you want, but over time, Miss Ghana has lost the class it had when I first came to know of it. Ask anybody before my time and they’ll tell you that what it stood for 10years ago isn’t what it stands for today. We have girls who are looking for fame, popularity, money and hoping to build their wardrobes, and I quote “help build their confidence” with the pageant. Girrrl, you need to have yourself some confidence before you can step out on any platform. This isn’t a competition for losers who want to “de-lose-ify” themselves, puh-lease.<br />Like we don’t have enough losers already parading in victory skin. Wake up girls and smell the reality of life. We don’t live in a life of make-up kits and high-heeled knowledge. Neither do we need pencil-heel-brained-motorized Barbie dolls attempting to “lift the flag of Ghana high”. You can’t even carry Ghana’s weight on those heels anyway. And to hear them talk about women empowerment? When they are the same ones giving women a bad name. That just does me in. The best they can do is quote decades old hackneyed sayings. Why don’t you show us how empowered you are by making up your own, huh?<br />Half the time, I’m sure the judges (can’t remember their names) were just picking at their brains and having a laugh. I wished someone would make me judge of these shows. I’d show them…I’d just show them.rebel ryterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12856382022804755430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903343608563771708.post-30061455744702935252008-07-15T23:47:00.001+00:002008-07-15T23:49:38.497+00:00Much A-Say About NothingLet me start today’s issue by saying thanks to everyone who reads this column. I realize, or perhaps I don’t realize how many loyal readers I have out there. So if you’re part of the famos freddy fan club, thank you. But I’ll like to hear more about how good I am, so please drop me an email. “Ego under construction. Lend a hand.”<br />This Wednesday, I’m not going to talk about anything in particular, like I ever do. Believe it or not, you do run out of things to criticize about sometimes, like now for instance. Or perhaps there’s so much to write about that it just the thought of it is overwhelming in itself. So just incase you read this piece and ask yourself what the heck is this freddy talking about? Don’t say I didn’t warn you.<br />It’s been a while since I heard anything about Mentor. Anyone, someone could you fill us in a little? What’s the status?<br />Stars of the Future is back on again and year after year it never ceases to amaze me how some people can leave their homes, dress up looking all sharp, come to the audition centers with all purpose and intent and end up disgracing themselves.<br />There are so many disillusioned young folks out there who believe that they are stars. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with being confident, loving yourself, being proud of yourself and all that good stuff, but seriously, no, I mean it, seriously, WAKE UP!!!<br />If you are out there and you have any family member praising you for your vocal prowess, be ye not too gullible. Get a recorder, put yourself on tape play it back and see if it sounds like what you hear on the radio…then again what you hear on radio might not be the best to compare yourself with, considering all the warts that manage to get studio time. But listen to notable records and see how well you place in comparison before you get broken hearted.<br />Based on this and a lot of research (i.e. television watching) I’ve decided on something and you guys are hearing it first from me. It’s not an entirely new idea, but in Ghana it is. If anyone does it, you’ll know where they got it from and I can sue them for using my idea. <br />Hear me out. Why don’t we start a pure talent hunt. I don’t mean singing or dancing alone. In fact, one of the prerequisites of the show would be must not sing. You can simulate singing if you want, but just don’t do it. From gymnasts, contortionists, mimes, drummers, bareback horse riders to anyone who can do outrageous things to entertain. I can already see “…proudly brought to you by MTN” written all over it. (Hint hint)<br />No seriously, not all talents are being unearthed. I’m sure there are people who need to reveal their talents and neither Mentor nor Stars of the Future holds the promise for which they desire. So allow me to be that pathway to your dreams. You can thank me later.<br />Yes I know, it’ll be a little difficult to find the winner, but who says we are looking for winners? We are merely giving them the chance to perform in front of an audience, knowing how used they’ve become to their bathroom mirrors.<br />Now the world has me and we can all live happily ever after. Thanks to famos freddy. I’m such a genius…sometimes.<br /><br />Well you know what to do, love it or hate it? Send it straight to famosfreddy@yahoo.comrebel ryterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12856382022804755430noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903343608563771708.post-53607150400675198412008-07-08T13:08:00.000+00:002008-07-08T13:09:53.013+00:00Freddy goes HindiI know you missed me and I’m sure you would just love for me to say that I missed you too, but truthfully, I didn’t. Flattery is usually a one-way street, so if it’s headed in my direction, that’s all there is to it. Hopefully, I’ll be able to pay you back someday. Maybe. Let’s just hope that this time I’m able to stay afloat.<br />So I was watching a Hindi movie. Yes, so what? freddy needs to be entertained, anyway anyhow. That aside, it still amazes me, decades and decades of Bollywood and they still maintain the authenticity and purity of the Indian culture. Granted the dance scenes have become a little hip, but it takes nothing out of their culture.<br />As I was saying before I interrupted myself, I caught one of such Hindi movies on TV3 one Sunday. I’ll give you a moment to purge your minds of high-jumping/diving, drumbeat-punching, acrobatic dancing-fight scenes, and high-pitched singing solos that might be etched into your memory. <br />This time my friends, we’re talking Robo-Bollywood – space ships, aliens, flying saucers, ET Phone home and such.<br />It wasn’t your everyday love story between two rival families. Or two lovebirds separated by the evil and cruel uncle with the men crying over their women. No, this one was unlike any of those. Yes the men were crying, but not like we know it to be. Apparently, some alien had crash landed through the Indian airspace, had found a family to be with and had given a “deficient” young man “powers” that rid him of any handicap. Then there was this display of love and friendship between the two as the government tried to capture the alien for experimentation (ah, the usual). You know how these things go, if the alien leaves, his “powers” go. What makes it so heroic was that this “un-handicapped” young man agreed to allow the alien who by the way was called Jadoo (a very Indian name for an equally Indian alien) to leave and be with his alien family knowing that he would lose his “powers”. <br />It was just refreshing as it was surprising to see a different side to Hindi movies.<br />Trust me, if we had to do something like this in Ghana, we would call it “Aboa huhuuhu bi” (literally translated as: “some scary animal”) and it will run for at least 3 parts. I kid you not. Or we would twist the entire story and make it superstitious. Saying how the gods of the land want to punish its inhabitants for not giving them enough yam or plantains after the bumper harvest. Or maybe they gave them the yams but forgot to the stew that goes oh so well with it. We would just distort it. Everything has to land on superstition, why? And it’s never in the positive light. Never! Now I don’t believe in UFOs or that sort of thing, but I enjoy the stories when they tell it. I admire the employ of the human imaginative mind. And I can understand why some people might hope of another life source out there. Anyway, back to earth.<br />I’m saying is that the choice of movie titles have become as cheap as sand on the beach. Perhaps, because the content isn’t much to work with. I saw an advertisement for a new television show “Apata kese ase” (under the shade of a big tent)…I think. But that title in its self shows we have no desire to extend the show to viewers other than the narrow confines of GTV’s coverage. Our movie titles have run the gamut of all female hip-hop and R&B stars. Soon we’ll be looking at Diddy, Fat Joe, and 50 Cent.<br />Maybe they should do a movie about me; how I am able to make you read my column week after week, and how I’m everyone’s hero (or at least, I’d like to think so). That should be fun to watch.rebel ryterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12856382022804755430noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903343608563771708.post-6527884957835236312008-07-02T14:21:00.002+00:002008-07-02T15:23:53.281+00:00Deep Blue UnknownThe wave rocks, rolls and runs to & fro in a splash against the shore<br /> The kids run forth and back to each other <br />Passing among them a ball that seems <br /> To heed to the direction of the sea's breeze <br />Rather than where they kick it<br /> The wind rushes in my direction and carries <br />Along with it scenes and stories <br /> From a great many miles away<br />The salty breeze slaps my face,<br /> I close my eyes and breathe in deep<br />Memories of reality, sounds and sights of the real life gradually begin to face<br /> The extent of the sea beckons me<br />The boat drifting away in the distant calls out<br /> Let's go on a ride into the unknown<br />Trust me with your life and I'll guide you home<br /> The palm trees swing and sway, dancing to the rhythm of the waves <br />As they splash of the rocks<br /> Eyes wide shut, senses alert, breath getting heavier, <br />I stretch forth my hand and heed to the call<br /> I let go of myself, step outside myself<br />I become light as a spirit<br /> Take my first guided step into the deep blue sea, unknown to me<br />Yes, I feel this is the only way I can fully define myself<br /> As light as a dove, fleetingly as a feather, the journey begins<br /><br />The frigid grip of the water clenches my ankles<br /> I thought I would shiver, <br />Instead the warm tingle of excitement <br /> Lingers through my system and the cold is no match for it<br />Deeper and deeper into it I step<br /> First at the knee, soon to my wrist & still climbing<br />Didn't think it'll be this quick<br /> Where's the voice that called out to me?<br />I try to listen, but it's gone<br /> My heart pounds quicker and louder<br />Deafening the sound of the sea<br /> Soon enough, my whole self is marinating, submerged, <br />Plunged into the deep blue unknown<br /> It's just you, just you, I whisper to myself<br />I struggle to keep my head above the water's the rush past, <br /> Then I give up the struggle<br />I hold my breath and let go<br /> Down, down, down I go<br />Till it's just the sea bed I see<br /><br />But then something almost magical happens<br /> It seems easier not to hold my breath than to do so<br />Breathe girl, breathe. Scary, but I do it anyway<br /> I blink twice, then a bubble comes up<br />Impossible!!! Breathing clear and easy under water<br /> Now the voice is back, come this way it says. I follow<br />The most enchanting sight ever imagined<br /> An entirely new place, but I feel at home<br />I was in a near death state, but I feel more alive than ever<br /> Doing and being what is humanly impossible, yet loving each breathless moment<br />The water is my guide, the sea bed my safe spot<br /> The deep blue unknown: just what I needed to overcome to see the beauty of me<br />Its calm, its soothe, and its deafening quietness, its buoyancy...<br /><br />A splash of water over my face<br /> Eyes open and I'm back ashore, back to where I was, <br />Armed still stretched out...<br /> A dream, or...was it?rebel ryterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12856382022804755430noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903343608563771708.post-91161389436857778702008-07-02T13:31:00.000+00:002008-07-02T13:33:21.908+00:00Who stole our sense of national pride?Hit on that link if you will and read the story about the Ghanaian boy in WWE who doesn't want to be known as a Ghanaian.<br /><br />http://www.wwe.com/superstars/raw/kofikingston/photos/otherphotos/<br /><br />This is the official WWE site with pictures and all about him.<br /><br />http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/africa/7469398.stm<br /><br />Ok, now let's see how this goes with our sense of National Pride, assuming there is one.<br />Kofi Sarkodie-Mensah, (a very Ghanaian name at that) decides that for publicity sake, he'll adopt a stage name Kofi Kingston to represent his brought on Jamaican identity. Now while we may all be originally African or black for that matter, we still need to ask ourselves why? Why will a well-bred Ghana-man decide that he prefers to be Jamaican?<br />Let's look at both sides of the story. Those of us born and raised in the motherland most of our lives realize how many of our friends pretended to be from outside the country so they could be given some respect above their comrades. And needless to say, some of them did.<br />Even now, as we have all grown and departed from our childhood dreams of being the british or american bred child, some of us still live in that fantasy.<br />People travel on vacation for three months and accents change considerably. Move a Ghanaian to Japan/China/Thailand and they'll still come back with a slang. Move a Nigerian anywhere and they'll still maintain their Nigerian accent. What is wrong with us as Ghanaians?<br />We owe a lot to the Black Stars. Seriously, were it not for them we wouldn't have this many flags selling on our streets. It was only until then was some sense of nationalism instilled into our people.<br />What is it about Ghana that no one wants to be associated with?<br />Are we that bad? HUH? Kofi Annan stuck with his true identity and that hasn't taken a morsel out of his dignity has it?<br />Neeway, I just can't bring myself to understand why Kofi Sarkodie-Mensah would exchange his identity just for fame. It just seems lame to me that he would do such a thing. All the same, it seems to be working for him.<br />But who am I, maybe if I were in his position, for fame sake, I might just do exactly what he's doing. But to deny your origin and put up a fake Jamaican accent, it's near pathetic!<br />I think we should deliberate on the untold reasons resulting in our citizens denying their heritage. I'm not exactly the quintessential patriotic Ghanaian, but I would like the opportunity to etch the name of Ghana in stone everywhere I go. If I deny that, I deny who I am and I deny my purpose here on earth. But who cares?<br />Ghana isn't a bad place to be from, but then again with national heroes like Agya Koo, we might seek a redress. Otherwise, we have me for crying out loud. Seriously, although we might have our challenges, we need not deny it just because it doesn't fit into our personality, we should try and efface the negative publicity that goes out of Ghana and recreate the Ghana we want to see and feel proud of from afar.<br />Need I say more?rebel ryterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12856382022804755430noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8903343608563771708.post-1710492983773986632008-06-17T11:02:00.000+00:002008-06-17T11:16:56.894+00:00Boooo BabyFor a while now, I've been trying to 'Couch' <span style="font-style: italic;">Ooo Baby</span>. It's been utterly impossible. I couldn’t imagine living through it. And that’s serious, because I pride myself in being very charitable with my patience. Still and all, I decided to be daring; to be bold; to go where no couch has ever gone. And after a week of mental and physical preparation, I willed myself to watch it on GTV and I nearly fell off the couch.<br />Bright Sunday afternoon, approximately 16.00hrs GMT, <span style="font-style: italic;">famosfreddy</span> sat in the ever-so-famous couch to watch <span style="font-style: italic;">Ooo Baby</span> from start to finish. Daring, I know, but someone has to do it. After those grueling 30 minutes of the show, I had to find some safe place to rest my eyes. Closing them didn't help 'cos instant flashes of the most terrifying 30 minutes of my television life starred back at me. I quickly had to find my "happy place" and transmit all my thoughts to.<br />Ok, so this time, she was talking about Arranged Marriages with Kofi and Lizzy as her "resource people". How resourceful these people were, you’d have to ask them and probably Juliet herself (or as she calls herself on the show, Yaa Asantewaa).<br />Usually, when I make up my mind about something, I like to test it out on many people and see what they say. It is not every time my opinion jigsaws with another's so when almost every person I asked said the same thing about <span style="font-style: italic;">Ooo Baby</span>, then I feel almost vindicated!<br />Everybody kept asking me; "what is that program really about?", "what is it that she talks about?" why do they get up and dance in the middle of a conversation?", "what do they achieve at the end of it all?"<br />Seriously guys, I'm lost in all of this quite the same as you are. One hour on and I'm still asking myself, "and the moral of the story is..."<br />Nothing comes up in my coconut of a head. A very strange occurrence my people, especially for <span style="font-style: italic;">famosfreddy</span>, because ordinarily, my brain would be teeming with torrents of thoughts.<br />First her setting, I believe was in her home. Now I think she's relocated, so the stage has become the unsuspecting environment, on some riverbank, possibly in Ada. Not that the show is going anywhere. Perhaps it’s better off drowning in the river.<br />Juliet, I think you owe the entire Ghana an explanation. You need to explain to us why only you riverbank buddies seem to enjoy the show, you need to explain to us why we don't understand what the heck you talk about, why the heck you still show up week after week with absolute nothingness and why you subject us to pure torture for 30 strong minutes. In fact on second thought, you owe us an apology for all the harm and grief you've caused us. We won't take this sitting down anymore. We will get up and turn off our television sets if we have to do. Verily verily shall we walk up to you on the street and tell you straight to your face, Ooo Baby is a crassly excuse of TV show, channel your creative genius to something else... oh, well on second thought, you already did - "Secrets". Ahem! Need I say more?<br />Someone needs to do something about all these tactless TV shows that pop up every now and then. <span style="font-style: italic;">Freddy</span> will entreat you all to stand up for your TV rights!<br />If they demand our TV license, we shall equally demand better programs on our TVs and more. All in favor say “Aye Aye Captain Couch!”<br /><br /><span style="font-style: italic;">famosfreddy…out</span>.rebel ryterhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/12856382022804755430noreply@blogger.com0