Guest Contributor Benjamin Anyan: How Much Are You Worth?

Posted by Jemila On Wednesday, February 24, 2010 8 comments

How much are you worth?


Won’t it be a very funny thing if you were worth just as much as the amount of cash in your pocket right now? Well that’s if you –like me- have just GHC1 and some change in your pocket. But if it was even a cheque significant enough to pay a month’s salary of a 100 Ghanaian policemen (no disrespect intended) i.e. Ghc15,000 (10 laptops only!), still it won’t be anything worth boiling an egg over. O and it will be even funnier if you’re a ‘credit carder’, because the way I see it, the credit card is just another way of letting you know how much in debt you are allowed to be whilst spending other people’s money till you can do small susu to be able to pay back.


Fortunately however, our worth isn’t so much in how many zeroes we have on our bank statements as it is in how we perceive ourselves to be and how much respect we accord our own selves. Now this should have meant that we’d all have a 13-digit number on our ‘worth tags’ (since its us who determine our worth anyways), but I find it unfortunately funny that when it comes to really according ourselves the prestige and worth we deserve…we fumble and fall-short of the task. Because I’ve seen a million dollar lady allow herself to be treated like something from a penny store. Several several people take trash from everywhere because they’re afraid to even think they deserve more….afraid to join the school of aim highs, afraid to be what they reeeeaaalllllyyy are supposed to be; HEIRS! Such fear is equal to being afraid to say your name out loud, I can’t even imagine how little meaning there’ll be to life if I couldn’t tell you -or anyone else for that matter- that my name’s Anyan.


It’s unfortunate that so many people think that their candles would shine brighter if the other guy’s candle was off, that they’ll be richer if the other guy’s broke, that by suppressing another person and making him/or her dependent we assert our power and authority. But like my pastor said in church one fine Sunday morning; “there’s too much space in the sky for two birds to collide as they fly.” i.e. You can be whatever you wanted to be, make as many millions as you’ll like, attain the greatest heights known to mankind without being A PAIN IN SOMEONE’S NECK, seriously!!!!


When we come to terms with the fact that we aren’t defined by the comments or impressions of the human beings who we go out of our way to unnecessarily impress, we become liberated from the 1 main factor that makes us veerry vulnerable and usually unfulfilled. For verily verily I say unto you, (lol, I just couldn’t resist the urge to use that phrase that paints a learned-rabbi picture of me in your mind) if two men walk, one with a million $ in his pocket, but a low self esteem within, and the other with GHC 1 in his pocket but with such an infectious positive attitude and high self esteem, the latter will be less prone to suicide and will in fact be WEALTHIER than the former.


I don’t know rocket science, and if we had a conversation about quantum physics, you’ll find it’s like speaking English to a middle-aged Chinese entrepreneur (enthusiastic, but ABSOLUTELY incapable of comprehension), but I know a couple approaches that can help you feel better about yourself.
Have a beautiful picture of a tomorrow you earnestly desire in your mind…and live like it was now! Walk like you were wearing a size 8, sing like you had your own record label, talk like the whole world needed your opinion first (make sure to sound same), make and pursue your corporate goals and ambitions like global security and advancement depends on it, refuse every negative thought…unless it’s a constructive criticism. Treat yourself like you desire a banker to treat your bank statement 10 years from now, find something that magnifies your strengths and virtues to be passionate about. And try, try earnestly to improve every facet of your being…that’s the key to being indispensible, because in this world we live in THERE’S AALLWWAAYYSS ROOM FOR AN ASSET!


What’s the worst that’s gonna happen right now if you decide to turn and walk away…from that thought that you don’t deserve more…from that habit that degrades you from within…from that person, OOOHH that PEERRSSOONN who treats u in such a way that even dirt seems more prestigious! 


What will it cost you if you decide -based on some realistic plan- to loss that extra weight if its departure will return some self-confidence?


So for the last time dearest friend, take a good look at that degrading mentality, at that extra flabby weight, at that progress-retarding ‘friend’…and walk away. Leave a note if you may, but don’t stay! And the shortest cut I know about is a prayer away.


P. Picasso said once; "When I was a child my mother said to me, 'If you become a soldier, you'll be a general. If you become a monk, you'll be the pope.' Instead I became a painter and wound up as Picasso."  — Pablo Picasso


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Circum-Alert: Introducing Benjamin Anyan

Posted by Jemila On Comments


Howdy people! 

Yea, I'm in cowgirl mode. (Honestly dunno where that one came from). Anyways. It's been, what a week, since I wrote here, and just thought I'd check in with y'all - especially those of you who are getting worried. No fretting, I'm not going anywhere. In fact, I am extremely excited to introduce our latest - and soon-to-be frequent - guest contributor!!! His name is Benjamin Anyan, he's from Ghana, and his writing is A-M-A-Z-I-N-G! It's the kind of thing you look forward to reading. Not because it talks about heavy stuff or anything, but rather it is really fresh, simple, clean, yet carries such profound messages. And boy, is it entertaining. I really hope you peeps enjoy his writing as I have. Alors, his first Circumspect post is coming right up. You can find all these on his blog and if you're his friend on facebook, you've probably come across some of his posts. What can I say, he's just that good. His words speak for themselves. Now for the self-introduction. Drum roll please...


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The Untold Stories of Ghana's Kayayo (Market Girls)

Posted by Jemila On Monday, February 15, 2010 3 comments

Thought I was done blogging for the day -- until I came across this BBC photo feature on Ghana's market girls or "kayayo". When I was back in Ghana, I would occasionally go to the Madina market in Accra with my mum and I remember seeing them every time. I often wondered why they weren't in school, why they were doing what they do and why they didn't bargain how much money was paid them. My mum would lament about their situations and each time she patronized their service she would ask them how come they were doing what they did. Unlike my mum, most patrons of the Kayayo's services are not as considerate and don't think twice about having them carry things twice their weight! This is a very sensitive topic to me, because the way I see it, a twist of fate, and I could have been one. I've been meaning to blog on this issue, but somehow it escaped me. Not about to let that opportunity slip by again. Alors, voila.

Here's a youtube slideshow (by the same photographer - Peter DiCampo (a Pullitzer Grant Winner) - as in the BBC feature) depicting the life of Kayayo:


Who exactly are the Kayayo?
Typically, kayayo are young girls and women - generally from the Northern section of Ghana - who migrate to the southern part of Ghana to work in cities like Accra and Kumasi. They tend to work in major markets where they help carry produce or shopping done by market patrons. These loads are usually very heavy - imagine shopping for a family of five or six for an entire week. Include stuff like heavy yams, bottles of palm oil, I guess you get the picture - and when it comes down to age dynamics, some of these girls are barely teenagers.

Why this trade?
Most of these women and girls do not move south just because they feel like it, but rather because of dire economic situations up north. Given the fact that most of Northern Ghana is focused on subsistence farming and agriculture, issues like climate change and the ever impending Sahara have limited the economic and financial base of most northern families, who still face costs of living. Factor in the fact that government pays relatively little attention to Northern Ghana, and the prospects for future economic opportunities are slim. As in most African countries, families pull together when it comes to finances. In order to help out, some families might elect that their young women and girls go south in search of better work opportunities. In other cases, these young women and girls choose to do so themselves; partly in order to earn their keep, but also because of notions of "greener pastures" down south.

There's also the element of societal pressure. For instance, if one Kayayo woman in Accra succeeds in sending some items or money back home, other women and girls living with their families might be regarded as "selfish" or "lazy" for not going south to do the same. Many women also want to start preparing for marriage by buying necessities like kitchen equipment, cloths, etc, while others need things to start businesses in hairdressing, retail, dressmaking and so on. In order to do so, they need the money. There have been instances where some Kayayo have been "tricked" into the trade, by unscrupulous individuals who promise gifts, wealth and what-not. In other cases, some women and girls run away from their villages and homes in order to participate in the trade.

What's the danger?
Women and girls are generally vulnerable in "ordinary" situations. In comparison to their male counterparts, most women lack the physical strength or endurance necessary for escaping dangerous situations. Add the fact that some men think it amusing to exploit women sexually, and you have that entire conundrum as well. But let's not even get into all that complex stuff. Let's look at the basics.

In most cases, prospective kayayo might not know anyone in the city they are migrating to. They might know one girl or another who's supposedly working in that city, but they usually don't have someone who would be willing to put them up, feed and clothe them. So where do they end up? In kiosks, in shacks, in the slums, sometimes in abandoned buildings and cars. At the end of the day, they tend to be homeless or slum dwellers.

Now market places are beehives of activity. And that also means there's a lot of vice. From pickpockets to full-blown thieves, to swindlers, you name it, they are all there. When you have young women and girls living, working, bathing, eating and doing practically everything else in the open market, they tend to fall victim to social vice. Robberies, gender violence, rape etc are some of the things these women have to endure.

Mind you, this is usually after carrying heavy things the entire day without even being certain they have enough money for food - from what I remember, Kayayo didn't have a price they charged for carrying items but would say "give me whatever you can afford". Some people end up not paying them anything!! - and then, not even being guaranteed security at night. Needless to say, many Kayayo turn out pregnant, have the babies (when they can barely feed themselves) and of course, the fathers are nowhere to be found. Let's not forget the obligations they have to their families back home. Aside the strain on their bodies from carrying heavy things, count in malaria (from sleeping in the open air and in the reach of mosquitoes), HIV and other sexually-transmitted diseases and it worsens the situation. Some supposedly "well-meaning" families or middle/upper class women might offer a kayayo the opportunity to work as a house help, but all too often, they end up being mistreated. Being a Kayayo is not only a risky venture, but also a life-threatening one!

How to salvage the situation
I believe there is more knowledge about the kayayo situation than there has been in the past. And even the kayayos have formed networks that they use to inform and protect themselves. Some kayayo wisely set the price before carrying items or will decline carrying really heavy things. But the danger is still present. I'm not sure if this exists or not, but some sort of "Kayayo Trade Association" would greatly help improve the situation.

It would also help if some NGOs or non-profits set up a technical/vocational skills training structure for them to ensure that they gradually leave the trade. It would be more appropriate for the government to handle something like this, but I think the government should be more concerned with dealing with the root of the problem: lack of development initiatives in Northern Ghana. Once employment opportunities are made available up north, the tendency for girls and women to move south will be reduced. And even if they do, it would be more out of personal choice or to pursue career and educational opportunities than out of dire need.

Found a feature film via youtube on the issue. Hope it helps you understand the cultural, economic and social dynamics better:





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Photo Credit: Peter DiCampo, Photo Source


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Circum-Flash: What To Look Out For

Posted by Jemila On Comments

Hi Everyone!

Hope you're all doing well. Can you believe February is just about over?! So far, 2010 is going great for me, hope it's the same with you guys. Anyways, this is a mini update.

Circum-Vlog "How To Blog" Series:
It's been a minute since I posted a new video. And it's not like I want to leave all you new bloggers hanging. Not at all. My computer is having problems and I don't want to risk doing any high-memory stuff (like editing and publishing videos) so for now that is on hiatus. I'm waiting on some accessories which I hope will be here within the next couple of days, and depending on how that affects my laptop's performance, I'll get right back to that. In the meantime keep sending your questions or if you need an immediate response, email me: j.abdulai@circumspecte.com.

The Water Chronicles:So some of you might have seen Part I and Part II of "Calabash Tears". Part III is on it's way, I assure you LOL. I just wanted to explain the concept behind The Water Chronicles. Basically, water access is a huge development problem and many seem to be unaware of the fact. Yes, even those of us who live in Ghana and other African/developing countries and have to go on water searches. Why? Because that's all we know and have been used to. This series is geared at shedding light on some of the challenges around water access. Analysts project that water will be the next oil in the course of a few years. It's becoming scarcer and it's such an important commodity that some mind has to be paid to it. So this is my contribution in that vein. The Water Chronicles will feature a series of short stories around the central team of water access. Hope you enjoy and please, do share your own experiences.

Upcoming Interviews:
As always, people are forever doing exciting things!! Some stuff to look out for:

- Interview with iStandAbove
- Interview with "Rocky" of Bronx Princess
- Interview with DreamOval [For you techy peeps ;)]

We are Africans!
There's a lot going on in the world and so much to share. So, Circumspect is extending the interview series to Africans in general. Alors, if you know about (an) amazing African(s) doing amazing stuff to fuel development, pray do tell. I think I should be able to handle Francophone interviews as well, so send along. We'd be happy to interview + feature them. And in the Circumspect sense, the individuals don't necessarily have to be Africans themselves. Just pro-Africa youth undertaking innovative ventures on the continent. Just thought I'd clarify :)

Look forward to your suggestions, opinions, questions etc and thanks for being part of the Circumspect experience!

Best,
Jemila

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Photo Source


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The Letter-Writing Project: To My Valentine, With Love

Posted by Jemila On Saturday, February 13, 2010 8 comments

Dear Valentine,


"Should I blog on Val's day or should I not?" This question has been tossed back and forth numerous times in my mind. I've wondered: what could I possibly have to say about Val's Day that isn't already out there? Heck, there's an entire movie dedicated to the day. But finally, the story found me. Just as it always does.


My "Gnashing" History
In primary school, I gnashed. In JSS, I gnashed. In SSS, I gnashed. Right now, well, I've obliterated the word "gnash" from my vocabulary, so let's just say "I...". But wait. That leaves it open to interpretation, doesn't it?


I'm sure many of you who went to high school in Ghana know all too well what "gnash" means; even if you claim to have never experienced it yourself. For those foreign to the word, hmm, how do I explain this? It's kind of like getting stood up? Or having an important occasion go unnoticed? Well anyway, I'll admit that I did. If you're talking about gifts, sweets, cards, teddy bears and what have you from boyfriends and significant others, then yes. I gnashed. For one thing, I'd told myself I didn't want or need a boyfriend because I didn't want or need that distraction in my life. Honestly though, I didn't want to find out my parents' reaction at learning I had a boyfriend. And yes, I believe I would have told them.


The "Unpopular" Valentine
But the fact that I had no boyfriend to "spread" (pamper) me on Val's Day didn't mean I gnashed in other areas. Not at all! The "suppression, oppression and depression" affected me occasionally, but certainly not all the time. I'd receive cute lil' surprises from supposed admirers; I once received a little red book entitled "On Love"! I know right, how appropriate! And boy, did I fill my head with those love quotes.  And then, there were the little expressions of love from my girls. - For those who don't know what "a-girling" is, it's basically the Wesley Girls' version of the "school mother - school daughter" relationship. - So my girls always made Val's Day a memorable occasion. With Amansh for instance, we wrote notes to each other on a daily basis. On Val's Day or even Novi (November) Rush, we went the extra mile...literally. She'd find a wad-of-cash-looking note all rolled up on her nicely decorated bed, and once she unrolled it, there wasn't any way she wouldn't notice. So, I must say that while I haven't had many valentines in the "popular" sense, I have had valentines; spontaneous ones which always succeeded in warming my heart.


My Pre-Valentine
This year, my Valentine's Day started early. I met up with a wonderful woman and friend, Arame Tall, after work on Friday, and she took me out on a date. We went to dinner at another friend's place - Sali - where we had a sumptuous meal, talked about Africa's economic integration and development - which, by the way, we ended up calling "The Cause" - and she bought Sali and I roses! Now how sweet is that?! Afterwards, we headed to the theater to watch Dear John by Nicholas Sparks, author of my favorite book/movie, The Notebook. I adored it. Sparks seems to have a thing for letters, just like I do. Like his characters, I save my letters (and birthday cards and sweet memorabilia). Needless to say, I'm a grade one romantic. We left the theater around midnight and then spent at least an hour trudging ten blocks in the snow, slush and freezing cold. I was convinced I was getting frostbite. Talk about not feeling the love! Eventually, a taxi did stop for us - thanks to Sali's persistence - and then I was awakened to the fact that despite my consideration of blacks and whites as equals, others would still deny a consumer service because of the color of their skin. Mind you, some of those cab drivers who ignored us were black themselves! Anyway, our lovely cab driver - bless his heart - eventually got Sali and I home. I was so thankful when I arrived that I gave him one of my roses in addition to a generous tip. I guess he counts as one of my valentines?


To Val's Day or not to Val's Day?
Now I've seen and heard some people say that Val's Day is overrated. That it's too commercialized, that it shouldn't be celebrated. In fact, it should be scrapped altogether. I beg to differ. First, I don't believe Val's day should be so burdensome to the point where some guys would pretend to be sick just to avoid the cost! Quite the contrary. I believe Val's Day should be a simple affair with the respective parties chipping in. It doesn't always have to be dinner for two at an expensive restaurant; it can be dinner at home trying out a new recipe, messing up badly and settling  for leftovers from the night before while reminiscing about how far you've come together. Nor does it have to be "chinchinaa" (by force) you have to get me something or else...It can be "how about I get you something this time, just for the heck of it?" And finally, Val's Day doesn't have to be commercialized. It should be whatever you make it to be. Instead of spending money, what about spending time? - We're in a recession, abi? -How about you sing (or try to sing) me my favorite song, write her a poem or offer to take him out for a walk?


Love Is The Message, and the Message Is Love!
Yea, I'm definitely against scrapping Val's Day. True we should show the love each and every chance (day) we have, but Val's Day is also for those people who need an opportunity to hope, love, dream again and give themselves up to the romantic notions that daily living sometimes seeks to rob us of. At the end of the day, love is all there is. [I must say, I have spoken like a true romantic!] So, if you think you're gnashing this Val's Day, think again. Happy Valentine's Day! Will you be my Valentine? ;)


Now & Always,
J


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Circum-Alert: Google Buzz Takes on Twitter, Facebook

Posted by Jemila On Wednesday, February 10, 2010 1 comments

So. I normally don't write posts on all these social media tools and networks, because I can barely keep up. But Google has just unveiled it's latest competitor to Twitter and Facebook: Google Buzz!

Been trying it out, and I like it. One thing about Google is they always seem to look at convenience. Put chat in email, and everyone's signing up. Come up with your own version of twitter and put it in email ... and what? Everyone's signing up. I don't know what happened with Google Wave, but everything else seems to catch on.

I've been saying this for a long time, and I will say it again. Google is taking over. Now with Buzz, here are some things I'm wondering about:

- How will it affect Twitter...and to a lesser degree Facebook?
- What will employers think about Google Buzz? More distraction for workers?
- Will the productivity level of employees soar or reduce?
- What about misdirected information...you know how you send an email to everyone in your department when it's meant for one person

If anything, I think Google will come up with a Corporate version of Buzz and convince companies that it's worth their while to utilize it. Heck, they've pretty much sold all their other products.

Now I wish we could come up with some information database thing like this in African countries!!!

But let's be real. Some people are skeptical about Google. And yes, we do have to question what Google's motives are. I read somewhere recently that the CIA is looking to improve upon it's information base. Well, if they partnered up with Google, that would be deadly. Why? Google has all the information. Unless you decide not to go on the internet EVER!

The way I see it, Google is the new world order. And at some point, we're gonna have to come on board or jump ship. At the end of the day, it's a plus for information access. And as we all know, knowledge is power. Check out fellow Ghana blogger, Emmanuel Bensah's post on Google domination.

Anyway, this is not supposed to be a long post. And I should probably be careful what I post, seeing that Google controls my blog platform too. LOL. Back to work.

In Google Bliss,
J

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Photo Source: 09_google_k.jpg


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The Water Chronicles: Calabash Tears (Part 2)

Posted by Jemila On Saturday, February 06, 2010 2 comments

[Haven't read part 1? Do so here]


"This is all your fault!"someone hissed. 
Jostled from her reverie, Amsatou looked up in confusion. She glanced at her young cousin to her left, who stared blankly back at her. Realizing that it was her other cousin who had spoken, Amsatou sighed deeply and looked to her right. 
Leila's face had an accusatory air to it, and she was wearing her usual black top with the words "I Love N.Y." proudly displayed in red. Leila was a good five years older than Amsatou, but at 23, her smooth face and soft voice made her look as though she had just stopped suckling at her mother's breast.
"What are you talking about?" Amsatou replied, feigning ignorance. 
She hooked her arm securely around her bucket's handle and quickened her already fast pace. Auntie Adiza was a good distance ahead of the girls, and was still muttering incoherently to herself. 
Amsatou glanced down at her aunt's small feet; ordinarily chocolate brown in complexion, they had taken on a reddish tinge from walking in the orange clay soil that was characteristic of new communities like Adenta. 
Feeling a nudge at her side, Amsatou turned and looked down at ten -year old Selma, the youngest of her aunt's five children and the prettiest. 
"She's talking about Mr. Adjaklu," Selma offered, before breaking into a fit of giggles. Amsatou opened her mouth to respond.
"What are you girls doing way back there? Have you seen the time?" Auntie Adiza was standing a few houses away from them, arms akimbo, and she didn't look too amused. 
"It's already six o'clock, we haven't even found water for tonight's meal, and you three are busy modeling? Do you think this is a catwalk? Hurry up, will you!" As abruptly as she'd stopped to address them, Auntie Adiza turned on her heel and walked off.
Amsatou transferred her empty bucket to her right arm, and reached down with her left to grab Selma's free hand. Staring straight ahead, she walked quickly. Selma struggled to keep up. 
Amsatou didn't need to look to her right to know that Leila was glaring angrily at her. She could feel it. 
Auntie Adiza might have rescued her from Leila's confrontation, but she knew it would come up again. A wave of heat spread across Amsatou's face. There it was again, the guilt that was slowly eating away at her insides. 
After the default tuo-zaafi and green soup that night, Amsatou helped Selma with her homework, while Leila cleaned up. It was ten o'clock. 
The group had returned from their water expedition just as the call to the final prayer for the day was being made. After filling the kettle-like containers with rain water collected two night earlier, Leila performed ablution and joined the others in saying their prayers. All three of them: Asr, Maghrib and Isha. 
Islamic tradition dictated that the five daily prayers be said at their appointed times. But surely, Allah would be understanding and forgive their tardiness. 
They had been in search of water since 2pm that afternoon. At 6:45pm, they'd trailed exhaustedly into the open compound of their 3-bedroom bungalow without a single drop of water to show for all their toil. 
Fortunately, Auntie Adiza's husband, Baba, had succeeded in filling two of the jerry cans he had taken  to work, and Auntie Adiza had used some of that water to prepare the evening meal.
Amsatou wondered why they couldn't just fetch water from the school where Baba taught mathematics. Afterall, they were already paying for taps that didn't flow. Would it hurt to get the water elsewhere? 
Ghanaian politicans always promised to ensure that the taps ran, because "water is life, and of course, nobody should be denied the right to such an essential commodity." Then, they went and used their flamboyant expressions on so-called investors, who had no qualms about charging double the actual price in order to secure high profit margins for their non-Ghanaian companies. 
However, the politicians weren't the worst. 
In Amsatou's book, it was men like Mr. Adjaklu who were the real perpetrators.
"Amsatou, I'm finished. Can I go and sleep now?" Selma rubbed her drowsy eyes with the back of her hand. 
Reaching across the mahogany coffee table for her young cousin's exercise book, Amsatou smiled tiredly. 
"Let me look it over , so you make corrections okay?" 
Selma's lower lip quivered, "But I'm tired," she whined. 
Amsatou looked over her shoulder towards her aunt's bedroom, which was cracked slightly open. Her aunt was probably counting the money she'd made from selling her popular rice and beans at the market. 
"Okay, go and sleep. I'll finish it for you." 
She watched as Selma got up and walked towards the room the three girls shared. She got to the door, and as if remembering something important, stopped, turned around, cocked her head to the side and said, 'Thank you, okay?" before disappearing into the warm confines of their bedroom.
Amsatou remained seated on the green plastic mat that served as makeshift furniture when the family had guests. Selma never ceased to amaze her.  She was one of the most considerate, intelligent and mature ten-year olds Amsatou knew. Her perceptiveness always left people scratching their heads in confusion. Even old folk with bald or graying heads. Some suggested that  Auntie Adiza's deceased mother had come back as Selma. 
Grandmother's spirit or not, Amsatou was glad to have Selma in her life. They interacted more as sisters who were close in age, than as cousins with eight years between them. Ever since Selma was born, Amsatou  had taken a special liking to her. Maybe it was because she had no siblings of her own. 
No, that couldn't be it. Her relationship with Leila was nowhere close to what she shared with Selma. 
Amsatou had helped take care of her aunt's youngest daughter after she was born. While everyone slept at night, the then eight-year old Amsatou would keep an ear open for Selma's soft wail, and once she heard it, she would hurry over to her cousin's side and offer her little finger, which baby Selma grabbed onto almost immediately. 
The two were inseparable, and people often mistook Amsatou for Selma's big sister. 
Initially, Amsatou would explain, "I'm actually not her big sister. Leila is. I'm her cousin." 
Each time, the inquirer would respond, "Cousin? Ah-ah, do we even have cousins in Ghana? That's Western talk. She's your sister, have you heard?" 
The idea of having her very own sister had grown on her, and each time someone asked, Amsatou would respond with a huge smile on her face, "Yes, I'm her big sister." 
"Doing her homework for her again, are we?" 
As if to remind Amsatou of the fact that Selma had a blood sister, Leila appeared from the kitchen. Grabbing a wooden stool from the corner of the room, she sat down. Amsatou ignored her. She'd taken to ignoring her a lot these days. 
Leila watched as Amsatou signed her name right below Selma's neat handwriting, and then said: "You know, if you keep doing her homework for her, she'll never learn anything. All those fees Mma struggles to pay will go to waste." 
Amsatou pretended not to have heard. She closed the exercise book and reached for Selma's book bag. She knew exactly where Leila was headed with this. Almost on cue, Leila stretched out her legs, and reached for a tuft of her hair, which she proceeded to braid.
"Come to think of it, if you just did what Mr. Adjaklu wanted, we wouldn't have to spend ages water-hunting, and Selma would be able to concentrate on her school work." 
Grinding her teeth together silently, she fastened the buttons on the green book-bag. 
Leila laughed dryly. "You could save us from this struggle, but because of your selfish pride, you won't. Or is it that you think you're so much better than the rest of us?" 
Still, Amsatou ignored her. She got up, placed Selma's book bag against the wall and retreated into the bedroom. 
A couple of minutes later, she felt the mattress sink in as her cousin joined her on the queen-sized bed. 
"I know you're intentionally ignoring me, but think about what I said," Leila muttered before turning to face the wall. 
And that's all Amsatou did that night. Think. 
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This piece was written by Jemila Abdulai
All Rights Reserved.


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Guest Contributor Mash: A Poem For Haiti

Posted by Jemila On 2 comments




A tune of devastation plays over the land
Time is trying to heal yet still no one understands
A lifetime of work all buried under endless rubble
And all over the land people gather in a huddle
In search of an explanation that for now remains a mystery
Mourning the many thousands, their eyes unleashing their misery
Through disobedient tears
And the debris of disaster does little to diminish their fears
Dark clouds continue to hover ominously above
Seemingly relegating all hope to some dark inaccessible enclave

Forlorn faces now adorn the streets with much murkiness
Shattered dreams scattered around with great sullenness
The battle for survival rages on unabated
While the shrill cries for help are constantly reverberated
Across the globe with one simple plea, “Help Us”
Gloomy images are beamed live on our TV screens
Of mothers earnestly in search of their children
And men so palpably grief-stricken
That they can’t help but break down and cry
As their whole life’s work evaporates before their very eyes

I know I can’t comprehend your pain 
But I can offer you a prayer to make things change
Because no matter how difficult your burdens may appear
I know in due time God wipes away every tear
Just continue to hang on to hope
And he’ll surely help you cope
Haiti this is a poem I wrote from my heart
Urging you to stand tall despite your hurt
And to believe you will overcome this strain
Yes Haiti, from your ashes you will rise again
God bless and strengthen you, Amen

This poem was written by Masahoud Codjoe



--
Photo Source: Haiti photo


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Poetry/Prose: Lyrics

Posted by Jemila On Friday, February 05, 2010 4 comments

Another double (multiple?) entendre piece. Enjoy!



--
I'm in that mode again. You know, the one that only I can savor and others find irritating.
I'm not trying to be anti-so[cial]. Far from it. I'm totally engrossed. In. YOU.
Try as I might, I keep coming back to this place. If only to hear you utter one more line.
And even when you fail to switch it up, and it's the same thing on replay 
I'm too hooked to notice. Or rather, I'm too hooked not to notice...YOU! 
People say "her ears dey sweet her". I don't care. Let them blabber. All I'm listening to is you.
Some figure it should be a quick act - a hit it and quit it.
But me? No way. I want to savor every delicious bit.
You hear that? Every. Delicious. Bit.

Now, I'm not saying that I overanalyze..
But the things you say, I simply can't resist. I have to comply.
When you say sway slightly, my hips react on their own
And you talk about beautiful smiles, my lips curve in reply
My ears twitch to hear more. And my heart's a-racing in anticipation.
They say I pay them no heed. But in truth, I've lost my mind and I gotta find it.
There, I said it. You drive me crazy.

And the best moments. Goodness gracious. They're the ones of just you and I.
Sure, we could be surrounded by dozens. Or be seated in a clattering train.
But all I'm focused on is YOU. Hanging on to your every word. Your every move.
I can have my eyes closed. And still anticipate that change in tempo.
Because our very beings are in tune. You are to me as I am to you.
With the nightfall comes even better times. 
Somber moments of reflection gazing upon thine eyes. 
You keep me spellbound. It's inconsequential to say.

Now we both know: others might chance upon you.
But when all is said and done, honey, you know your way home.
And then its butterflies and thumping hearts all over again.
Just like the very first day. When you were you, and I was I.
And we became us.
And like old folk, we begin to think, look and sound alike.
Where do you think I got these "ronning" skills from?
Lyrics!
;)

--
Photo Source: music.jpg


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Poetry/Prose - The Takeover

Posted by Jemila On Wednesday, February 03, 2010 5 comments






Pitch dark. Either way you look at it, that's all it is. Black, dark, uninteresting, uninspired.
You move your head to the right and you might as well stay in your initial position, nothing's changed.

How ever did you come upon the depths of the Mariana trench?
Professor A. certainly wasn't kidding when he said it was the lowest point of the earth.
But even he hadn't the slightest idea of just how low it gets.
Battered and torn. Tattered and forlorn. A misguided grin creeps upon your face.
It wasn't always like this.

Far from it. At one point, you were riding high, soaring to the skies. 
Believed you'd landed among the stars. 
And then, like all the others, you never saw it coming. Scorn reinstated.
And oh, what the downthrow it was.
Out flew the self-respect, in seeped the conceit
To hell with the morals, who's even thinking values?
In that vacuum greed and self-satisfaction took seed
And boy, what a party they threw!

Eventually, it appeared on the surface, in plain day light for all to see
Neglect, insecurity, dishonesty - that trio wrecked havoc
Soon, the dollars, euros, eco- all the currency drained away
They say: "You will never lose women chasing money, but you will lose money chasing women"
Then why the hell had Ms. L. - who'd been there regardless of account balance - left? 
The cronies were next. Damn it! You'd stuck your neck out for some of them!
Finally, the people who should have stuck around - your own flesh and blood - even they left

They didn't leave, you did
Who said that?
I did. You did. We did.
So this is where delusion sets in.
You're not delusional...confused maybe, but all your faculties are top-notch
Then why am I talking to myself? That's it! I've lost it.
If that's how you want to see it.
Look here me, myself and I - whichever one you are. Quit your nonsense!
If that's what you want.
That's what I'm...wait, you listened. Nobody's listened in a while.
Of course I listened. I've always listened. Can't say the same for you though.

I'll ignore that. Heavens, I'm talking to myself!
About time. It's taken you long enough.
So...you are?
I'm whoever you choose to be. 
Okay, right this moment?
I'm hope, faith, love. A few hours ago I was fear, despondence, and hate.
Wow. You're deep.
Thank you. You too.
So if you're those three, what are you doing in the depths of nothingness?
Question is: What are YOU doing here?
Me? I don't know, I guess I got off track. Beats me.
Un-huh
Hey. You know, right? C'mon tell me.
Not with that tone, I won't.
Please.
How can I be sure you'll listen?
Do I look like I'm going anywhere else?
You have a point. You're exactly where you need to be.

So...
So?
Aren't you going to tell me?
Tell you what?
How I ended up such a failure. How I lost it all. How... *Sobs*
I just did.
When was that? 
A few seconds ago
I don't think so...wait, you said I'm where I need to be. Are you mocking me?
Now why would I do that?
Because, because..
Yes?
I don't know.
Now you're ready to hear the truth
I am?
Yes. If you'll let me finish
Sorry. Go on.

Admitting your weaknesses is the first step toward empowering yourself
Listening to yourself is the first step toward knowing and loving yourself
With love, you shall always strive to sponsor the action of love
Bearing in mind that what you do unto another, you do unto yourself

Like I said, you're deep. But what has this got to do with me?
Everything.
I don't understand. I was rich, now I'm poor. I had friends, now I'm alone. I had love, now...
Go on...
I still have love.
:)

At the top of the world, I thought I was unstoppable. 
I stopped working myself, stopped improving myself. I became satisfied in and within myself.
Then I neglected myself. And once that top was sent a-spinning, it didn't stop.
I became confused. Forgot about loving my fellow humans, for how can I do for them what I neglected to do for myself?
And then. Then, I became bitter because nobody's reciprocated...Or so I thought.

What you do unto another, you do unto yourself

Exactly!
I hated myself, to the very depth and core. And then. Then I became scared that everyone else would find out.
So I covered it up with things. To make it seem like I was ok. But all along, I was screaming for attention.
My family and friends called my selfishness to my attention. I told myself they were jealous of my successes, the leeches that they were.
By the time I knew it, they'd left. Only, they had not deserted me as I assumed, but rather granted me space:  space to refocus. 

And now we're here.
Yes. Where's here?
Another chance
But, but...
Hold your tongue. Words are powerful. Besides, we've already determined love still remains. For that alone, you are deserving.
Yes I am. Quick question.
Yes?
How did love remain? After all that happened. All I did.
You know the answer. But I'll remind you.

Love is all there is. God is all there is. He is never changing, unwavering, ever constant. 
Even in the worst-case scenario, He is right there with you.
He's the fluttering in your heart that produces hope. He is the song of your soul that sponsors joy. 
And in the depths of darkness, He is the light to your lamp that sees you through.

Wow.
I know right. He's amazing.
So, why all this trouble, if He was there all along?
Because you - we - forgot. And to remind us, we had to take the long way home.
We had to sit in silence, because that's when the memories of who we had been and could be resurfaced
Once again, we saw our weaknesses, and the desire to be the best we could be was reignited. 
But most importantly, we saw the blessings He lay upon our path and re-realized that we are worth it. 
And that's when we opened our eyes and saw love staring back.

Wow.
:)
You're amazing.
So are you.
I really do love you.
I know you do.
:D I'm ready now.
Let's do this.

Hand in hand, you pick yourself up and look upon a crack of light shining through. 
There was a door all along!
Still disheveled, still winking in pain, you stumble over.
Your current state matters not. What matters is where you're heading.
With hope, love and faith,  open the door to another chance. Go on.
Now all you have to do is take over the reigns, and sail on through.





[When one door closes another door opens; but we often look so long and so regretfully upon the closed door, that we do not see the ones which open for us. 
- Alexander Graham Bell]

--
Written by Jemila Abdulai
All rights reserved.





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