Prioritizing Allegaince to Ghana

There was a time, when the Ghanaian flag held a place above all others in Ghana, with patriotism and national pride, the Red, Yellow (gold) and Green, with Black Star symbolized, the very essence of the Ghanaian.  

Democracy was to enhance unity, freedom of speech and an all inclusive development goal of the single country called Ghana, however the patriotism that Ghanaians once had for a single unified country is now being replaced by political affiliation, more and more people pledge their allegiance not to the country but to the political party they belong to. At a funeral ceremony I saw this miss guided notion of affiliation for myself, when the diseased was draped with nothing but the flag of his political party. 

This state of affair has encouraged a culture of "us against them" in the country, where the winner takes all, and the looser is put out in the sun, to dry out like a dead fish. The winning party sets about to replace all that are not known to be members of his/ her party with that of his own, regardless of their competence and their motives, the situation only adding to a culture where instead of people performing to the best of their abilities to be rewarded by that recognition, to a system where people rather more motivated to steal and hoard corrupt funds, since even if they go out of their way to achieve something worth recognizing, because of their political affiliation or lack of it, they will never get recognized for their efforts. 

Until the balance is reset where the ultimate incentive is to the betterment of the country and all affiliations are first and foremost to the country, then to the political parties, Ghana is never going to find its self on  the right path for the development it deserves.  What all political parties fight for is to serve the country, not their cronies, the reward in all phases of this paradigm is the recognition of one's achievement and not respect based on how much money they own which is mostly attained through corrupt means. Value should be defined on the basis of substance, strive and self sacrifice.  

The opposition should still see themselves with an important role to play, nominating shadow cabinet and ministers to keep the ruling party on its toe and thus bring about transparency and accountability in all areas of governance, us citizens Ghanaians should be given the opportunity to evaluate all political parties not only in election but in their proposed measures and willingness to serve the country whether they are in power or not, by their continuous contribution to the country's development all times.

This is the Ghana flag and like all the other countries that still hold allegiance to the British Monarch, such as Australia, New Zealand, Fiji and most West Indies Islands and imprint of the British flag is incorporated into their  various national flags.

The writer here, advocates the need for all political parties in Ghana as a legal requirement to have an imprint of the Ghana flag in their political flags, to help refocus where the priority of their interest should lie, in-terms of their ambitions and goals. An example is given above, on how all the various flags should look like, this should be the case before the next election in Ghana and it should reflect the expectation of the voters in the country. One should not be of a given political affiliation to vote for a particular party, but on the basis that the party in question is offering the better prospect in serving the interest of the country. 

God bless our homeland Ghana, and make our nation great and strong, bold to defend for ever....there is no mention in the national anthem of any political party, lets just remember that and do some soul searching to re-calibrate our mindset and thinking of our interest and what our individual vote should count for.  

Ghana's Independence; a satire

The fool finds pleasure 
In celebrating illusion and refuse to wake 

Like thinking the world 
Is no longer connected by wires 

Many of which runs on the floor 
Of the deep blue sea, lets accept miracles 

But of cause we would, magic to embrace 
We would want it that way, detached from reality 

Reality is a pill hard to swallow 
And for the kid that hates medicine 

Crushing the pills into his drink  
Works the magic, the fool with illusion 

A zombie nation, continent, where all that matters 
Are foreign owned, yet we declare independence

I would cry but I am not with enough tears 
To bail, this bankrupt nation of it's woes  

To say freedom is ours to choose 
Only a fool would be blind to the chains 

Worse is we beg for these chains 
On all four, we beg and beg 

And beg some more, for weights so heavy 
It cripples us, that is where we find comfort 

An excuse to shout victimization 
Seeking attention from the very people we accuse 

A nation is like a house, I say, an analogy 
With it's living room forming the capital 

Accra would hold that honor  
Shameful, smelly, polluted Accra, our living room

Our living room, where we host our guest 
And say, welcome to my beautiful country 

Just don't look past the air-conditioned tinted glasses
To the foreign owned hotel we will take you to rest  

To be hosted in our foreign funded and built 
Presidential palace, and our western suit in hot weather 

The middle class youth with ignorance and two phones, self-worth 
Attached to ipads like their lives depends on it, enslaved 

Yet failing to make good use of it, opportunity 
To educate their mindset about their environment 

Forgive me, I forgot to mention 
We are celebrating our independence 

With the loan money you just gave us 
Come, come you are invited as our guest, special privilege    

Come and drink and merry make 
Help us celebrate our independence from you 

Tomorrow we will be with our beggars bowl 
At your door step, bright and early for more handouts 

For we are an independent nation 
Magic and illusion, miracles we adore

Freedom and justice is a bore 
Mind over matter, it matters not, it is all bore 

Trotro Stories #12 slap the mate

We stopped in the middle of the road
No hard shoulders to call safe grounds

Non empty that passed by
You see this situation could have been avoided 

If I listened to my instinct  
And the strange noise from the trotro 

Just before it moved 
Mate, stop, stop I dropped something 

Could have got me out of this 
Predicament and to a place on route 

Close to home now 
No AA or RAC to call for assistant 

Bells of frustration rang 
By the passengers, gathering weight 

Something would have to give 
And that is the mate calculating 

How much to charge us 
Customer service in the trotro 

He would get a slap 
It is just a matter of time 

Too many hands are being thrown 
In the air right now, he would get a slap 

I just see it coming, a slap is called for 
He would get a slap, for sure 

Trotro Stories #11 Front Seat

I have become a graduate on the trotro ride
And so I moved up to the front seat

I realized most people avoid the front seat 
Yet others, have an affiliation like religion 

I mean, it is easier to hide in a trotro 
At the back, and easy to be spotted at the front 

I find it easier now, though with a willing price 
To be seated at the front and I am at easy if spotted

Being that I have to get down 
On an un designated place, to alight on routes home 

This though comes with its own politics 
To be privileged will be to sit on the outer side 

Not so if pushed between the driver and his gear
And the passenger with the window 

Then you have to find a sitting angle 
Sitting at the back becomes oh had I known 

Trotro stories #10 The dead fish

Details details, trotro 
Memories on smells that lingers 

A dead fish, a smoked fish 
An invasion of my nostril 

Must I be tortured through 
This journey home, I plead thee 

Squeezed on both sides 
Smell that engulf like physical approach 

Chocking on each breath I take 
Must I be tortured for my peswa 

Oh but who would be brave 
To vent a comment, a hero 

Come out of the cowardly stay 
And say something, say something 

Like must we suffer this torture 
Of lingering smell, dead fish, smoked fish 

Something odd that smell, so funny 
Invading my personal space 

My nightmarish voyage 
On the trotro with smell 

Trotro Stories #8 Trouble with the back seat

The back seat always feels right 
Not having to push or shove each stop by 

A post to be sat in, to the end of the journey 
The back seat always feels just right 

Until one has to alight just before the junction stop 
True you may say, true I would agree, true true then 

Bad idea I would agree, as well I would agree 
But it is done, rightly or wrongly it is done 

A jump off in traffic by the light 
In front of Ghana Telecom nearing Nkrumah circle 

Save me the run back up to cross the road 
The only option after the petrol station's stop 

Is to climb the foot bridge, a step at a time 
Overly crowded and steeply steep to climb 

The back seat always feels right 
Just not when I have to make a quick exit 

Stop mate, I draw his attention 
Can I alight here, just by the traffic light 

He looks, calculates position I am sat in 
Looks at the traffic light and goes, 

"not a chance, not a chance"

Mutombo Da Poet - I For Talk ft M3NSA

A spoken word  of culture, relationship, romance, troubles and a guy
trying his best to be honest about the way he feels

Mutombo Da Poet is at it again

If it rains in Georgia, it rains in Accra

Rain drops on my window 
Singing melodies of distant memory echoing sounds 

I sing along to it, it rains down here in Georgia 
And it rains all around the world 

Each line drawn, codes 
Unraveling messages in a bottle 

The rain keeps me grounded 
It allows thoughts to digest 

We have been going for far too long 
Far too long now on cross roads 

Each line drawn out to hypnotize me 
Into a world I have long forgotten about 

It rains down here in Accra 
And I feel the age in time we have lost 

I am back now on your streets again 
Almost as a foreigner to find my way again 

You have changed in so many ways 
Guess I have too, in so many ways 

I have not yet visited my pilgrim home 
Down in Dansoman where memories were first made  

In my safe place my mind always takes me there 
I have not yet visited home Datus so close by 

Last I did it was walled like a prison vaulted entombed 
So different from how I knew it to be, free as before 

Strange, with strangers living there at present 
I have not yet visited home, last I did I got lost 

It rains here in Georgia, a rainy night in Georgia 
That was some old country and western song 

Drawing nostalgic emotions out of me 
Played on XYZ fm, dial on  the end tune 

This is me, sitting in a traffic jam in Accra slow 
Each light flash on my window takes me there and back 

It rains here in Accra, it rains all around the world 
It rains in Georgia too, it rains in Georgia too 

Trotro stories;The premium rate #7

The third party driver
Today was different one might say

Upgraded though that is subjective
And balanced  on interpretation

Traffic is hectic at the best of times
Never mind the worst of times, regardless 

So on a commute we find ourselves
Not as a diss to my favoured voyager 

The sixteen seater trotro groove 
Call this one a brother, younger brother 

A friend may be, or a rival, or something closer 
Either way, not a sixteen seater 

Few in numbers means higher a charge 
Not sure if it is deserved, higher the charge 

But for commute it seems to run a lot quicker 
With the charge comes some privileges expected  

Like with a passenger, giving route direction  
Not this driver, god of the road 

He wanted none of that, not on his patch 
He would not stand for none of that

Stack in his ways and making one late 
This was me thinking I paid a premium rate 

Premium rate for express travel 
Yet he drives as though we are sitting in a sixteen seater  

The trotro stories: Throw down your gauntlet #6

To have angered a Greek god 
The god of voyager on tarmac asphalt  

None more infuriating to the driver 
In his office sat with his steering wheels  

Than the ones that for a brief moment 
Occupy space, two seats beside his throne 

To have engaged the Greek god 
In a tussle of words, not wise 

Have you no regard for the craft 
The art of voyage and the Greek god 

A period in time, as service rendered 
Customarily to get one on Aladdin's carpet  

To a place need be, for family or friends 
For the workers keep as required 

Why then anger a Greek god 
Tasked to carry you and life to a place in time 

Most if talk be done, would be by the mate 
A god none the less, though with patience to deal 

More akin to the nagging ungrateful qualities 
Of the mere humans they carriage to safety 

Through down your gauntlet, and step up 
This is a fight for honour 

To have angered a Greek god 
God of voyager, tarmac asphalt 

The trotro stories; Sweat comes easy #5

Sweat comes easy 
Sat queued in traffic in a trotro 

Jammed packed back to front 
Back to back like a factory run belt 

CO2 here produced in batches 
For each cough from the exhaust   

Hugging the outside lane constant  
So we going no where slow 

Everything moves in this said 
Bone shaker, constant with shake 

My neck constant with hydraulic posturing 
Like a wall gecko sat on a wall with nods 

Tiredness comes quick like possession 
Before destination reached 

The radio is loud breaking my ear drum 
Fighting with sound, I can't hear my thoughts 

This as the roller coaster 
For work commute is not funny 

The trotro stops I am to get down 
To allow another a passage out 

Call it courtesy; oh but here we go again 
Rudely another passenger grabs my seat 

This trotro journey feels so long today 
Thank God it is Friday for rest stops 

The trotro stories; Bleoo the boneshaker #4

Two can play that game, a tango
On the road with old knights, bleoo, bleoo 

The boss when challenged would respond 
Bleoo, bleoo and yet he would respond 

Slowly but surely, grace and trust to  
His old horse and carriage, bleoo, bleoo 

Ordinarily he says no word, galloping bleoo, bleoo 
He is with eyes set on the path ahead, bleoo 

Only to hold grudge if need be as often 
With the other gladiators on the road 

He will get me home safe as usual, bleoo 
He got me to the fields of earn the same 

He will get me home safe as usual, bleoo 
While in his buggy he is my knight 

To slay the dragons on the road with ease  
That obstruct my smooth passage home, bleoo 

Two can play that game and he is good at it 
Weaving through traffic with ease, bleoo, bleoo

The boss when challenged would respond 
And he will get me home safe, bleoo, bleoo 

No speedometers and speed counters 
To mark the pace we travel, bleoo, bleoo 

Destination is all that matters as snails we crawl 
Bleoo, bleoo and we are sure to get there 

The trotro stories; The naming rights #3

All trotros should have a name 
That is the tradition, naming rights 

"Family Is My Problem"

A name as a phrase long 
To be labeled at the back 

"You Lie Bad"

Every trotro should have a name 
And can only be called after pass 

"Who Is Free"

As most often, the favored   
Place of label is at the back 

"Thy Will Be Done"

Bible verses are often a preferred choice 
Philosophy follows suit 

"Trust God"

Some just pick what sits comfortably 
Or otherwise in their minds as label 

"Heaven's Gate No Bribe"

But all as a reflection of the owners 
Mantra, this is my call my motto  

"Observers Are Worried"

All trotros should be named 
So from a distance I can call each 

"Wuanu Peh Asem" 

By his name and expect a respond 
Though half the time they contracdict 

"Di Wo Fei Asem"

In what the naming says 
And the driver and his mates act 

"Who Knows"

Just like a person called mercy 
Who is far from merciful 

"Eye Asem oo hmm"

I guess that is just part of life 
But all trotros should be named 

"Love Is Expensive"

How else am I going to 
Hail each to my beckon call 

"Trotro Blues"

All trotros should be named 
As naming rights require 

"Wo Nyamesom Mponi" 

"Oh God Save Me"

Trotro Stories #9 Accra with a Monday Blue Sky

Monday blues, sky and clouds 
Traffic jam and fine clothes ironed 

Monday hectic bustle, hustle in Accra 
Phones that ring, like music symphony 

Cacophony of  yelling sounds 
Money clocks ticking fast 

Reviews and implementation 
Subject starts with a cup of tea (Hausa koko if you like)

Awaken the tussle for the public transport trotro 
Air condition cars, segregated along the stretch 

If looks can kill, all in their private cars 
They will long be dead, uppity sectors of characters 

I was once like that with my private car  
Now I push and shove for the joy of trotro 

Like a born again, more fanatic in the looks 
I give to the private car drivers/ owners 

Hawkers hug the kill zones in between fast lanes 
Lord send angels to protect their vulnerability 

Monday is here again, blues 
Sky and clouds and traffic jam 

The trotro stories #1

The trotro front seat hugger  
Sir in long sleeves acting all so refined  

Not to be mistaken as thus often the case 
For a chauffeur driven car, to one's sir 

As pleased; bought a car much of late, recent 
For that, it matters, to the point being made 

Personally with preference 
A taste acquired from childhood reminiscent  

I rather the back seat and its comfort set 
Three in a lane, oh how times have changed 

From the big mama that squeezed me 
To the near brink of extinction  

Armpit odor and the art of arms stretched 
To the driver's mate, for bus fairs paid 

He half pretends to half forget I gave him this much 
Hugging my balance change on tricks of tactics 

The battles fought at Nkrumah circle 
Legendary at peak times, off peak no bother 

Gentility gets pushed out of the way 
Essence is on the strength of gladiatorial  reign 

But he always looks so refined, Sir, our Sir 
Sitting at the front of the trotro hugging looks

Osu Oxford Street; A tale of two halves

What is the worth of  mankind  
We breath too easy to show gratitude 

Maybe that is why it must be why 
Why we gallivant like lords on earth 

Like the Greek gods with selfish traits 
Sending storms out without provocation 

Between birth and death aligned the cosmos 
Where we walk the long road to rose cottages 

Some are chained and others free 
Money is made an emotional leach 

To make destitute of some, worn-out 
And make others flaunt their wear 

I sat by the street at night solemn  
Surrounded by neon lights and casino roulette  

In spots where the haves sit in Osu, Oxford street
And the have-nots walk in the shadows of the dark 

An old lady came to me, she begged 
She announced "Sir I am not made mad as seen

Not by virtue of my being, but circumstance 
Circumstance has robbed me of my dignity" 

I stretched an arm and gave a helping hand 
While still wondering what is the worth of  mankind 

When Angels Fall Melcom

Just as we learn to 
Open our eyes from birth 

Just as we learn to crawl moving 
To find the sofa legs making our first stands 

Just as we learn to walk 
A' make our way out from mother's nest 

Just as far as we can to achieve 
We learn to run on our feet 

We learn to love, falling in love 
Just as we learn to laugh 

We learn to cry, shedding tears 
Just as sorrow overwhelms our heart 

We learn to leave with the aftermath 
Just when tragedy knocks and earth angels fall

We say a prayer for such departed souls, closed eyes 
Just for the heavens to embrace them home again 

I lost my President

To the souls of men that stands distance 
At the edge of  rivers before crossing  


Costumes of one's role and characters played 
Is soon without that much sway to hold, empty shells 


Indeed silence becomes of us all in time due 
So do not cry, it is more than what we can will 


When at the river's crossing our names are called 
To count, on account, like when Shepherds call sheep   


A sobering feeling us witness,  for one thy name mentioned 
Steps foot on the river's walk, vanishing behind the fog 


Cast as list of names on inscribed scroll for mortal ends 
To have been blessed with life, our names do appear 


Waiting patiently, closer to the river's edge on age count 
Yet as close, it is only when thy name is in mention 


That one with tickets crosses this rivers of spent life 
No one knows where it ends, to know true faith


The curtains of fogs hides view from inquisitive eyes 
So I do not know from a distance where my President went 


His name came up "Prof. John Atta Mills" on mortal scroll  
A' he crossed the river and vanished in the distance behind t' fog