INSOMNIA @ 3am

It'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.

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.



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.

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.

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.

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...

Sermon in the Street

Imagine 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.
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.
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.
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.”
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.
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.
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.
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".
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".

to be contd...

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.

Brother's Keeper

I 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.
Read on.


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 Street Shrink 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.

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.
Anyways, I'm in the passenger seat, sitting The Thinker style (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).

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.

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?

Part 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.

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.

The logjam gradually inches forward and I respond. My feet hurt with all this half-clutch business.

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?

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.

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!
Home oh home come nigh unto me...

Part 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.
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.
Shower down on the go; dress up on the go; breakfast on the go, nap on the go.
You can even read the newspaper headlines for yourself on the go while you wait for the radio stations to put their act together.
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.
The Next Morning. 5.30am…
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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!

To be continued…