Good Mother: WHAT IS WRENT IS WRENT.

I'll give you a minute to ponder over that statement......

Moment over.

What did you come up with? I know. What in the blazes does that mean? What could they possibly be saying to us?

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. "Good Mother: What is WRENT is WRENT." I mean, I mean, I mean. I've seen my fair share of incredulous writing, but this, this, oh this takes the cake.

One of many possibilities. He could be complaining about his rent. Perhaps he's trying to say what is gone is gone? You know, don't cry over spilt milk and all that and instead of WENT, ended up saying WRENT. But why the "R"?
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.

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 pp. It's entirely up to us.

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.




Just when you think you've seen it all, another slaps you in the face! Take this for instance. LEAP BEFORE YOU LOOK. 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.

The Street Shrink is on the prowl and will be back another day with a little something for everyone...

Shrink in Distress

You 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?
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?

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.

Back to business.

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.

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.

I’ll narrate what happened.

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.

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.

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.

Where was Superman when you need him?

I gave up and the hazard lights come on.

SOS calls began. First to the mechanic. No answer. Next to my brother … MTN – network busy. SOS calls end. Panic begins to mount.

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.

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. God is good. I sit there for what seemed like 24hours and I hear the good 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.

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.

One word for this experience - TRAUMATIZING. But at least I’m alive to tell the story.

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.