Monday, July 20, 2020

OBIRI, THE VILLAGE WAG


Obiri, the village wag, is no more

The very crooked hands that scared the hell out of children

But still able to have a positive side, were gone

They were hands that moved with an uncanny and amazing dexterity on drums

That sent spasms of elated happiness and exorcism to the priests of Tigare, Biribi and Galawu

Inciting them to dance and sing for hours on end

Is now going to be missed.

 

The days of old and tradition are also long gone

And that is the pity

Because there will be nobody to drum Obiri

To his new abode

There will be nobody to get frenzied

To remind us all of the magic displays, of Obiri's hands on drums.

The reason is not far-fetched

For, all the great priests, have succumbed to an unkind and wicked death

Great men like Dankwa, Twum, Nyina, and Kwaw Yekyere are no more

Aweredoa, the only one still alive is walking wounded, too weak to be of any use

 

Obiri is no more but not dead

Obiri, cannot be dead, he is just asleep

For after all old generals do not die, they just fade gloriously away

Obiri was a well-decorated general

A different kind of general though

His type was to bring joy into all wounded hearts and sad souls

Oh! My village wag Obiri

The ace drumbeater, who made the priests of Biribi

Possessed for hours on end in frenzied exorcism

Just through the sheer potency of his drumbeat

A drumbeat whose scintillating echoes of joy was felt in the innermost hearts of all and sundry

Obiri, indeed, cannot be dead

 

With a man of no physique

Twitched mouth and ever-flowing saliva

The ugliest of the ugly

Life, for you should have been on alms

But not gallant Obiri

Effervescent Obiri

Lively

Enthusiastic

Humorous

He worked hard for his keep

Refusing to be defeated by the flaws in God's handiwork 

Obiri, the wag you will remain a shining example for all of us

 

Oh! My village wag, Obiri,

Do rest in peace

You were an extremely hardworking man during your time with us

You achieved many feats that made many your contemporaries cringed in envy

You were an accomplished, palm wine taper, distiller, drummer, and farmer

To mention just a few of your manifold talents

What you lacked was beauty

So, if you decide to return into our midst, the Old Man Above, should be kind to you this time

And give you a touch of beauty to complement your abundant skills

Abundant skills, which you unselfishly used to entertain and bring joy

Into all hearts

 

 

Old General, I promise you that you are going to be missed by many

Young and old, women and men, the living and the half-dead will all miss you. Rest in peace.

 

 

Thursday, March 5, 2020

EXCERPTS FROM A NOVEL "AN ENCOUNTER WITH LIFE" BY DR. KWAME AMPOFO-BOATENG

Kwaku Adoko-Mayo embraced Emma, long and hard and they cried together like two young lovers who had just lost the hope on which their love rested, like losing their anchor amidst and unfurling and ferocious storms of life. He excused himself and sneaked mischieviously to a nearby toilet with his jacket.

Unknown to everybody, he had a quarter-bottle of exquisite Haddows Vodka concealed in the inside pouch of his jacket. He hurriedly uncorked it as if it contained the magic wand with which to return things back to normal to sustain the status quo and shame life. As he drank copious amounts of the vodka, he thought he was seeing passages of reassurances from within his favourite novel, The Lone African Student in Europe, and this sent echoes of hope to calm to calm his troubled mind.

Tomorrow is never promised, so never take it for granted
Tomorrow lacks firm promise because life is never predictable
Life, instead, is incongruous, deceitful, and perverse
But you should always remember that when your day's work is over and done with, and you retire to bed, it should be with optimism and not with pessimism
It has to be an ingrained optimistic feeling that no matter what life has in store for you, snares, sacrileges, pain, torture and humiliation, you will be there to fight it
And that you'd never run away from the tentacles of lif

Yes! He reassured himself that he would never run away from the battles of life.
The struggles against life, as far as he was concerned, continued unabated. Aluta Continua!

Sunday, May 15, 2011

OUT OF THE STRUGGLES OF MY LIFE

By Kwame Ampofo-Boateng
13 October 2008
Shah Alam, Selangor, MALAYSIA

OUT OF THE STRUGGLES OF MY LIFE
Out of the struggles of my life
My spirit remains, strong, resolute, steadfast, and brave
As it fights the demons that stifle my efforts
While my dream burns with indefatigable furnace
Giving me incommensurable hope that I will win
Victory will come in the end but probably at a price
In the meantime, I will continue marching on to victory

Even on those days when my life is clouded and confused
With my path to victory blurred and indistinct
With my enemies invisible and camouflaged by the situation
And leaving me battered and dispirited
I am still comforted by the thought of victory
That no matter how long I suffer, how long I am humiliated by life
I know I cannot give up but must persevere

Even in the face of doubts from friends and foes about the efficacy of my struggle
Some offering optimism and others pessimism
With some encouraging me on to victory, while others wished my downfall
I continue to battle on nonetheless like an old soldier
Fighting the enemies within with short, staccato but determined steps
I have thought about packing it in
When I still had the chance of an escape
Before life won and I became vanquished, annihilated, crushed

In my dark moments of trials and tribulations
I have quietly thought about going home
Home, sweet home
To my own land, and to my own people, to endless solace, catharsis
Where the bright and vivacious sight and sound of familiarity will breed comfort
Where the camaraderie of family will usher in resilience and hope
But I refuse to let my enemies triumph in this war of attrition
I continue to march unabated to victory in this battle against life

Saturday, May 14, 2011

INVICTUS

A POEM BY WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY (1849-1902) - Gloucester, England, United Kingdom
Out of the night that covers me
Black as the pit from pole to pole
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud
Under the bludgeoning of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the horror of the shade
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find, me unafraid

It matters not how strait the gate
How charged with punishments the scroll
I am the master of my fate
I am the captain of my soul