So Fred sits next to me in class as we discuss our aspirations and weigh our prospects as world changers from an African hut. He says to me, “In few years time I’ll be saying in interviews- God changed me from a broke fella to a stock broker”. I smiled and thought of the first line of this very blog piece.
But sitting ‘at my somewhere’ I cry a cry that is silent but sombre. From under the African sun I see a great many paralyzed young souls with forgotten dreams and abandoned visions. I see even many more with unthought plans and unplanned destinies. I see students with smart phones but no smart ideas. We watch the news and yet learn nothing new. I speak from a place and of a place where ‘there’s no work’ but workers report to work at 9am, go on a two-hour lunch break at 1pm then close from work at 4pm. We applaud with insatiable envy the progress of the West but are blind to the simplicity of their application of common sense. For how can it not be common sense to run 24hour shift systems to accomodate the staunchless human resource spewed from universities annually? But oh well, who am I but just that solemn gong-gong beater from under the African sun – my brain might be fried perhaps.
And yet I speak from a place and of a place where government boards pay sitting allowances that can sponsor a national scholarship scheme and yet there’s no such proper scholarship scheme. I speak from a place and of a place where first class psychology students in the university are bamboozled by fraudsters. I speak from a place and of a place where power supply to your area is dependent on who lives in that area with you. A place where national service personnel and pensioneers are   given allowances good enough to buy nothing but inescapable debts. And from under that same sun, government appointees share loot enough to dwarf the GDP of an African island.  I see the zeal with which we welcome conspiracy theories that ebola is a biological weapon and the lethargy with which we approach sanitation and personal hygene.
I see how we are blinded by PhDs(Pull Him Down Syndrome) and MBAs(Me Bae Akyɛ Syndrome; “I was here before you mentality”).We have more religions less love. More degrees less thinking. More telenovellas less marriages. More elections less democracy. We are sickened by truthfulness and fuelled by hypocrisy! God does not play chaskele and he does not play mancala(that’s oware for those of you in Ghana).
Alas my voice is ripped from my heart! My tears are scoop ed from my veins and my conscience is tortured by reality. I speak from a place and of a place where my story is muffled by the cacophony of injustice. I speak from a place and of a place where no sound can escape. I speak of a bell jar. With my gong-gong in my armpit and the African horizon upon my brow I see everything  but know nothing. Winter is coming and I fear there may be no men of the night’s watch. Or maybe like Fred I will wait upon God, for a miracle…


Published by: Akyempo

i met the Priest...i realised that though society seems to respect the baker and despise the shepherd, the baker is not happy despite his stability and the shepherd is free to pursue the pyramids, because he is a dreamer; and one day he will meet Fatima. I am the boy; the shepherd.


25 thoughts on “Mirakuru”

  1. This is excellent! Keep writing! There is power here… i know.it.will spark up a revolution soon! And again you are the greatest kofi lolz im inspired!


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