Sunday, December 12, 2010


I was so happy to hear your voice once again, even though it carried unpleasant news to my ears. You had been in my thoughts for quite some time and listening to you laugh at your own dry jokes made me miss you all over again.

The last time we spoke it caused a rift between Akua and I and I had vowed never to condone any such conversations from you again. Yet, last night was special. You revealed a side of yourself I had forgotten existed. You made me laugh, you made me jealous and you made me wonder how life would have been if we were a couple.

You would have definitely had to lose your “I get everything I want attitude” and you would have had to learn how to eat fufu. We would have been so great at the sports bar because your “all Chelsea” approach and my love for Arsenal Fc would make you a favourite with the guys.

Wow! I just remembered I would have had to learn to eat “Akyeke”, your mum’s favourite dish but I wouldn’t mind playing golf with your dad and the “big boys” on Sunday.

Well, I guess we would never have to find that out because I am happy with the woman am with and I am glad you have found somebody else.

You say he reminds you of me, the way he says hi, his sense of fashion and his zeal to succeed in life. Okay! If you put it that way then I am kind of jealous plus, you say he drives a Range Rover. Psshhh! Arrogant jerk. Alright fine, I am really jealous.

But I am glad you found somebody else and I am glad he makes you happy. Perhaps, finally you will have a taste of true love, when the right man loves you right.
I hope I don’t fade away and we can still have our occasional banter on everything under the sun. It was glad hearing from you Cindy. I wish you all the best.

Tuesday, October 12, 2010


"Do you trust me"? she asked. For a moment there I was dumbfounded for how could I tell a woman I just shared my bed with, that the word trust was a vocabulary lacking in my dictionary of life. How mean I would be and how unromantic I will be considered, so I did what everyman does when he’s caught up. I lied.

Tonight, I sit here wandering about my inability to trust another soul, my unfailing reflexes to quickly second guess every word that comes out of another person’s lips and the biggest question, would I ever be able to trust again.

My mother calls it a gift; I consider it a curse for which mind is constantly on the lookout for the worst in people. Which brain quickly assimilates information today and is able to detect a contrary statement ten years later. It is as if I am a “walking talking” lie detector.

So when you asked me if I trusted you, how could I tell you the truth?
How could I tell you that I saw the facial expression when you lied about never having a thing for him? How could I tell you that the remorse and anger I detected in your voice each time you spoke his name were signs that you were still not over him even though you said you were. How could I tell you that I noticed the different ways you kissed me every night as if you were sampling different men in your head or were all these a figment of my beautiful mind?

A beautiful mind, I guess that is the disease that plagues my inability to trust. You say a “yes” today and tomorrow you claim you said a “no”. To you, it might be forgetfulness but to my beautiful mind it registers as inconsistency, tantamount to distrust. You might not want to soil my opinion of you, so you water down your attraction for the same sex. Oh! how you give it all away when you talk about her, the way you rush to answer her texts, the way you yearn not to do any wrong by her and the way she easily replaces me as priority whenever she calls. How can I say I trust you when you wouldn’t tell me the truth or is this also all in my beautiful mind?

It’s amazing the way a man’s imagination and beliefs can place him in his own world. Where fantasies play out as reality and he simply can’t draw the distinction. Is this what is happening to me? Is your failure to admit the truth causing my insanity or am I becoming like Leonardo DiCaprio in the movie, Shutter Island?

Then it hit me that, I didn’t lie. In fact, all this time I have been trusting you, because, which would you consider to be a better definition for trust? Is it

A. Accepting and believing every single word that comes from the person you claim to trust and having absolutely no doubts about what he or she said even if the story is outrageous.

Or is it

B. Choosing to accept and believing what the person you claim to trust is saying despite your doubts?

I trust that option B is a much better definition for how can Christians say they trust in God to heal them when they have no physical evidence of even His existence. So I guess loving you despite all that I have noticed and my commitment to staying faithful to you forever testify that I have began to trust again.

My mind may never stop what I have come to term as “continuous assessment”, nor my eyes fail to pick up micro expressions but my ears will constantly listen to your words and my heart will learn to accept them. For I believe that one may be deceived if one trust’s too much, but one will live in torment unless one learns to trust enough.

Thursday, August 5, 2010


Seems like yesterday that we said our goodbyes, when you walked away and never looked back….I didn’t realize it then, that you still had my heart in your hands

I still haven’t found the right words to say back to her. I still haven’t determined what exactly drifted us apart. I read that text over and over again and wonder how my life would have been if I had simply been bold enough to say yes.

Eight years on and I still can’t tell her exactly what happened, how I really felt about her. Every message I have sent in between then and now does not seem to convey all I have to say…maybe saying it in a text doesn’t work for me so tonight I will try this:

It doesn’t surprise me that you believe I have your heart in my hands because you have mine with you too…I carry you in my spirit. I pray for your happiness more than I do mine…I ask God everyday to keep you safe and return you safely to me because I truly believe we were meant to be. I believe so because no two people can survive what we did without being bonded for life.

Remember what you told me the night we decided to go our separate ways: “Que sera, sera.”..? I’m counting on those words being true….I miss you every day.

Too many songs are “our songs” and too many places hold fond memories. In every woman, I wait and hope to see that smile we shared, that laughter that warmed the very soles of my feet.

I am often caught smiling to myself because I remembered something you said randomly….

In the words of Mariah Carey, “I still believe someday you and me will find ourselves in love again”…

This is what I would say to you if I could…but….

You’ll never see this though…because I saw that smile you gave him last night….that smile used to be reserved for me….

I saw the way you held his hand, how many times that touch had caressed me…

Then you kissed him and I knew all was lost…….

I’m happy you found someone who makes you feel the way I used to make you feel because like you said : “Que sera,sera” I wish you every happiness…but I am only human and so I still believe….

Wednesday, July 28, 2010


One would think that, after the Beijing Conference and all the mambo jumbo about gender equality, men and women would be on equal footing. That would be the dumbest assumption in modern history because as much as we do not like to admit it, it is still very much a man’s world.

There are certain things that are still for “men only”.

It really should be okay for a girl to ask a guy out... I mean seriously, if you like a guy and you think he likes you too, why shouldn’t you go up to him and say : “ hey boo, let’s add your one to my one to make two”.

Okay so maybe not in those exact words, but you catch my drift.

If a girl were to do that, she would be accused of many things like emasculating the guy. How is it emasculation if she is simply stating the obvious? She likes you, you like her; she thinks you lot should be together so she said it, end of story.

Had it been the guy who spoke up first it would have been seen as “proper”, that’s another thing. What is improper about a girl asking a guy out? Where is it set in stone that a girl must wait to be asked out? This isn’t the 1930’s, people. A woman who stands and demands what’s hers is not to be feared as some believe, she should be seen as a treasure.

“It is not the African way”...I got that answer from a well educated young man.

Some Africans consider some stones and trees as deities, whiles others believe that a woman’s place is in the kitchen, does that mean that the “African way” is right becuase that’s what they know? If that were the case, we’d still live in huts and walk around with cloths wrapped around our waists (those were simpler times, weren’t they?) Progress should be universal, not just in some places. We say women can do what men do, so there’s nothing wrong with taking some initiative.

Some girls fear being labeled as “desperate”…seriously???????????????????????

The difference between the girl who asked a guy out and got him and the one who sat in the corner admiring him is that, the one who tried got the guy. You over there is still admiring. It is not desperate to take matters into your own hands. It is simply "Bold initiative".

I understand the ones with fear of rejection though…I mean what if he says no or even worst laughs at you and tells all his friends?

The “desperado”….no lie, that would sting like crazy.

It’s a hard pill to swallow, I know, but at least you saw what you wanted and went for it. There are tons of guys who would appreciate that because heaven knows, they’ve been waiting for a girl to walk up to them. Trust me, a lot have been working up the nerves and would love a nudge in the right direction.

However, there really is nothing wrong with being wooed by a man…it’s a woman’s God-given right God knows, once the relationship begins, a lot of …[excuse my French here] crap will be dealt the woman’s way…and having those memories to look back on, would help remind her that, that wonderful man still resides in there somewhere.

Friday, June 11, 2010


It’s 12.15 am and as I drive into the garage from a night out, I hear to young men busily arguing about Africa’s potential to win World Cup Trophy. So before I offload my half drunken self onto my mattress and before the effects of the last tequila (or was it vodka with no chasers) I had kicks in, I take a minute to wander in my thoughts.

AFRICA, that’s the first thing that comes into my mind, how far we have come. For a very long time I have been one of the advocates who has lambasted Africans for being lazy and failing to achieve much over the years.

Through the years, I have wondered why our politicians have failed to rid themselves of corruption and why our governments continue to structure their budgets with over 60 percent dependency on donor support.

I have failed to see the logic in how we can crank the engine of growth if in the 21st century we remain the world’s leading exporter of raw materials. I mean, how sensible is it to export red clay (bauxite) and then turn around and purchase aluminium along with aluminium related products (mobile phones, automobiles, etc) for ten times the price at which we sold the raw material used to produce these goods.

Well tonight, I am taking a breather; I am changing my bird’s eye view of the DARK CONTINENT. After years of criticizing the land mass from which I hail from and which I love so much, I believe it’s about time I paid my respects to the motherland.

1550 to 1850, Yes! That is how long the African slave trade lasted for. 300 years of oppression and severe human rights deprivation. 300 years of physical, mental, sexual and emotional abuse. 300 years of gradually building the African mental psyche to rebel against each other and to depend wholly on the western world.

So if after all this and in less than 60 years since the first African nation received independence, we are hosting a grand event such as the FIFA 2010 WORLD CUP, then I believe it is time we pat each other on the back.

Before you go off disagreeing with me, take a break while I navigate you through the last few years of some African achievements worth celebrating.

Not too long ago we managed to put a black man into the white house. Less than four years ago, you would be a laughing stock for ever suggesting such a thing. But we did it. How we move on from there is a whole different situation but for now let us celebrate a milestone achievement.

Some people say what good can come from a continent of apes. Well maybe we might be dark and not so pleasant looking but if you can bury a man for 27 years in a dungeon that takes less than 20 paces to trace its perimeter (only for telling black people to go on strike) and that man comes back to tell his followers to forgive you and to love you. Then I believe the African man bears the greatest asset for world development, Love. That is the legacy of Nelson Mandela.

Now let us delve a bit into the realms of science where the African mind is believed not to have a place. Did you know that Ghana’s Professor Allotey was the man who formulated the technique used to determine matter in outer space known as the the Allotey formalism? Yes! We have an African name as a formula. So much for the slave masters who sought to drain us of our mental capabilities. So before you go round saying what is Africa doing when the White man is putting people into space, know that it is the African man that is helping keep him there.

20 years ago South Africa was run by apartheid. Today, it is being run by its third successive black president. They said the nation will collapse after it went to the “dogs”, this afternoon it hosted 36 nations and brought the whole world to a stand still.

What can I say but hold high the Ghana Flag, blow into my vuvuzela and in the words of Sexy Shakira yell
“Tsamina mina, eh eh
Waka waka, eh eh
Tsamina mina zangalewa

Sunday, May 9, 2010


She will be 56 in September but she hasn’t looked any prettier than she is right now. She complains of menopause but the only things that pause in her life are the hands of time when she wears that beautiful smile. She seldom shouts and scolds to rebuke, in fact, her corrections come by the way of that angry look that has shaped me into the decent man I am today. If there ever was beauty and brains in the right proportions then it came by way of my mother.

The world knows her as Doris but I call her Aphrodite, my Greek goddess of beauty. Many refer to her as Maa but with her phenomenal sense of humour and her abundant love I call her Cupid, my personal little angel. And with all the goodness in her heart and her continuous devotion to selflessness and motherliness I believe if she was in ancient Greece she would also be known as Hestia.

Yesterday, I watched her feed 6 uninvited guests of mine with a delicacy she herself does not eat for personal reasons. Then I watched her make 12 different meals at 8.30pm as she told me “I am freezing these so when am away on my trip to China, you and your sister would have your favourite dishes to eat”. If we were 10 and 15 year olds perhaps this would not be such a big deal but at 24 and 28 with a live-in maid, this is a demonstration of great maternal care yet to be documented.

So as I sleep next to her as I have done on every night before she travels, I pick up my laptop and try to pay her a long overdue tribute, a tribute to the greatest heroine of all time.

If only you could see into my heart and know the abundance of love that I hold for you. If only you could stare into my eyes long enough to see how my soul is intertwined with yours.

You have been the rock on which this family has flourished; you have been the pillar that has supported me since I was six.

A fatherless son, you have been the only parent I have known since Papa passed away and how decently you have raised me. They say it is not the place of a woman to raise a man but you proved your critics wrong. Your stern words of wisdom is what disciplined me, your soft touch of affection is what nurtured me.

A single mother, you gave up your life for us and I am so grateful. When the wolves came you offered yourself to protect your lambs, when the rains poured you spread out your eagle wings to protect your eggs and when plague came it was your breast milk that provided immunity.

• How can I say thank you, when the words are a complete understatement of what I wish to say.

• How can I say I owe you my life, when the life was actually given to me by you.

• And how can I ever repay you, when giving you the world will only vaguely express my gratitude to you.

They say in life it is the little things that count, the little things are what we remember when we lay on our death bed.

So I hope the kiss I give you every morning before I leave the house will continue to warm your heart and remind you that I will always love you.

I hope the pancakes I make for you, yeah! The ones you insist are always burnt but yet eat every bit of it will remind you of my endless devotion to always put a smile on your face.

And I hope the washing machine I bought for you on your 50th birthday when I was only 18 will remind you that the best is yet to come.
My prayer this evening is that, the Almighty God give you a long life so when I make my inauguration speech I can finally correct a worldwide misconception; “behind every successful man is his mother"


Your son


Every man alone is sincere. At the entrance of a second person, hypocrisy begins. We parry and fend the approach of our fellow-man by compliments, by gossip, by amusements, by affairs. We cover up our thought from him under a hundred folds.

Greetings my beloved readers I am sure glad to have rid myself of this b*t$h we call writers’ block and have been able to join you once again on blogville. How are we all? I hope you haven’t missed me too much but then again, how could you miss me that much? You are only four. Oops! My bad, I have a new follower. Welcome Nnpia Nua to my emotional sounding board.
Today, I wish to ask humanity a few questions and for once in our very long history I wish to have an honest reply.

· Why do we all strive to become better people when the only thing we get better at is convincing others we are an improved version of what we use to be?

· Why do we yearn to follow the ways of our role models, when the only model they offer are roles they themselves wish they didn’t have to act, but actually live it?

· And why don’t we practise what we preach but condemn the very actions for which we practise when we are not preaching?

The Greek philosopher Socrates once said, the greatest way to live with honour in this world is to become what we pretend to be.

This is an interesting philosophy but I believe many of you would not agree. Your first rebuttal would be, pretending to be what I am not is simply hypocrisy and how could that possibly bring honour. Well, my dear reader this is exactly what I am drawing your attention to today.

He was the perfect role model for the young men in the Church. He turned his first profit when he was 21 and has not looked back since. He is an astute business man, wealthy, handsome and the sole shareholder of one of the new banks in Ghana. He is young and married to one of the most beautiful women I have ever laid my eyes on. I wouldn’t say he is my role model but his sermons of how the younger generation should live a moral free life and the way he insists a true man should always make his word his bond, ignited a desire in me to try and emulate his ways.

So imagine my surprise when yesterday in the process of playing catch up with my old friend Celestine, she hinted she was having an affair with this very man I have just described. Despite the fact that she knew it was wrong, she could not help herself as the lies this guy had fed her, has made her fall so helplessly in love. In her own words “I have never met a 37 year old man who can make such passionate love in the back seat of a jaguar”. Imagine my disgust, my anger and the disappointment I felt.

This man I had paid good Ghanaian Cedis to go listen to whenever he was offering one of his motivational sermons, had turned out not to be whom I expected to be. I had been deceived, I had bought into something that wasn’t real and yet society considered him the knight in shining armour. In my view he was no short of being a grifter.

So in my anger and rage, I began writing about hypocrisy and that’s when it hit me.

  • Don’t we all have some skeletons in our closets?
  • Don’t we all pretend at one time or the other, covering our true selves at a period when we believed society will frown upon who we truly were?
  • Don’t we go through a day without avoiding to tell a single lie but we come home and don’t even realise we had sinned? And if we did, we comfort our souls by saying “it was only a white lie”. When did lies have colours?
  • Speaking about colours, in my disappointment I asked myself why life isn’t just black or white but people have to live within the different shades of grey that exist between these two colour spectrums?
    Why can’t our yes be yes and no be no?

Before we go off judging Mr. Role model I think we need to take a second look at ourselves. In fact, earlier on today I witnessed a lighter version of hypocrisy when I honoured an Invitation to a Birthday party of a six year old.

Auntie Nancy, the mother of this sweet little birthday girl, in her bid to make the young ones enjoy the party, continued to serve sweets, fizzy drinks and slices upon slices of icing cake. Immediately she took her seat amongst the adult section of the party, she engulfed everyone in a conversation on the dangers of sugar and the effects of diabetes. Huh! What happened to that saying....Charity begins at home. The funny thing is Auntie Nancy is a physician.

So you see, the very fabric of our existence is embedded in the art of Hypocrisy. Why then will we continue to vote for our deceitful politicians when they continue to formulate policies that enshrine hypocrisy in our constitution?

Why do we then continue to hide some skeletons in our closets and then conceal ourselves behind the maxim “the truth shall set you free”?

Why would advertisers and companies for that matter, continue to sell as junk all in the name of good marketing?

So before we go off pointing fingers and accusing people of existing in those shades of grey, maybe we should take a closer look at our lives. It is then that we will realise we live in a misguided world of hypocrites.

Wednesday, April 21, 2010


I have a million words to say but they are all jumbled up in my thought
I had a million thoughts to write but depite my search I never found what I sought
In my primitive African mind I believed someone had buried all my creativity in a pot
So in my desperation to put pen to paper, I stumbled upon writer’s block

They say it is a period when a writer fails to create or put together a decent plot
You would fight and fight but never win back the inspiration for which you fought
So I put fingers to keyboard and let loose like a freed moth
Aaaaaahhhhh! This thing called writer’s block

So on that note pad that I bought
From down the road and to the left of the food court
I calmly write words that rhyme with Block
And try to put together a post about Writer’s Block

This post is different from earlier ones or you could be damn and never spot
You can call it a cheap attempt at poetry for which bothered I’m certainly not
I guess all am trying to do is, find words that are in assonance with writer’s block

Wednesday, March 24, 2010


I have searched far and wide to find her the ideal gift for her birthday. I have combed my thoughts, my bank account and twenty five gift stores in Accra but have come up with nothing.

At $345.00, an iPod is a luxury I cannot afford to give her right this moment. At a size 41, it will take a cobbler with some skill to get her the Cinderella Shoes I want to see on her feet in less than 10 hours when she turns 23 and with both of us trying to shed some weight, a cake lavishly garnished with creaming icing is not a healthy suggestion.

Oh! Yeah! You can never go wrong with perfume. Burberry, Fendi, Elizabeth Arden? Been there, done that and I don’t want to repeat myself.

So what does a broke brother who wishes to express how much his lady means to him on her Birthday do?

As I rummaged through Accra’s most popular shopping mall, I came across a pendant with the inscriptions “in my heart”. A really lovely pendant but at GH¢8.00 that was a really cheap way to say “I love you but I have no money at the moment”.

Hmm… I guess it was on to the next one.

So at 7.30 pm just 4.5 hours to the day she holds so cherish in the year, I begin to think that am I going to call her and just wish her a Happy Birthday sincerely from the bottom of my heart?


I then remembered the pendant, in my heart. Wow! How dumb could I be? I have searched virtually everywhere for the Ideal gift but I have failed to look at the one place Google search results fail to report when you want to give your lady the best gift in the world. So I took a pen and paper and began to pour out my heart.

Dear Akua,
Words are a limit to the description of the abundance of love that flows like a fountain from the deepest springs of my heart. Like a virus, you tore down all my defences and wormed your way into the one place no one has ever been.

Now you hold the key not to only to my heart but to the very essence of my life and the reason to live it. You mean the world to me and that is literally.

I may not have the credit worthiness to buy you a Range Rover I believe you will look so gorgeous in, or the funds to get you the newest blackberry on which to hear your sweet voice daily. I may lack the capacity to mould you the prettiest platinum ring or the white golden bracelet I saw years ago at Hatton Garden.
But Sweetheart, I will love you endlessly. I will love you like no other.

I love your smile, I love your eyes and I even love your ridiculously large feet (I am sorry I wouldn’t mention it again). Baby, at 5ft 5 with dimples, you are definitely potential wife credentials.

I may be worth very little right now but I have got youth on my side and with the drive that I possess, the Sky is our limit. You will surely be treated like the Queen you are.

Yeah! It’s the cheapest way to say Happy Birthday but it is the sweetest way I know how.

With All My love,
Mr. Page

Sunday, March 21, 2010


She was everything I had ever wanted in a woman and as I gazed at her from behind the thick glass that separated us, I could feel it in the very fabric of my existence that my life finally had a meaning.

She weighed in at 6 pounds 2 ounces at least that was what was inscribed on the paper fastened to her cot in the nursery and though I was yet to put a finger on who she took after with her great looks, I was certain her smile and dimples mimicked that of her mother.

“Mr. Page, you may see your baby now” hissed a very young looking nurse. God! Those were the words I was dying to hear all day.

I was not there 2000 years ago when baby Jesus was born but I could bet you my baby was prettier. There she lay peacefully wrapped up in white cotton and if I had never known love in all my lifetime prior to this moment, the four letter word just found me.

With her bald head and toothless smile, she was the cutest thing on earth. I leaned closer to my new born baby and that is when it dawned on me.

At 24 and barely 2 years out of college I was a father. All I had was an old jalopy probably valued at GH¢2,500.00, a very old Dell personal computer, a salary worth not talking about and a savings account that only read three figures.

Yeah! I was one broke brother but I was a broke brother rich with a bundle of love. Though I had nothing, I knew my little one would have it all. I was going to be the world’s greatest father.

I was going to be there when she said her first word, “Mama or Papa” it really didn’t matter as long as I was there. I was going to be there when she took her first step, “one, two or three steps” it really didn’t matter as long as I caught her when she fell.

I was going to be the first man she will ever kiss, on the lips or on the cheeks; it really didn’t matter as long as I kissed her first. I was going to drop her off and pick her up from school, in my old jalopy or in Range Rover; it really didn’t matter as long as she received the best education.

When she cried and came home because she had hit 16 and had some punk hand her her first broken heart, it was my shoulder she will cry on and I will tell her “You see that flower in the garden, love is like that flower and like all plants you must first find a suitable soil before you surrender your seedlings into it. Like all flowers love needs to be nurtured, love needs to be tendered and love must be given the opportunity to grow. When all these factors are met, then you will see that tiny bud blossom into that beautiful rose you see right there”.

My little one was going to be smart, she was going to be loved, she was going to be the best thing to Grace the shores of Ghana and I was going to be the proud father.

As I grabbed my beautiful baby I was suddenly overcome by intense guilt. That was when the strangest thing in the world occurred. The clean white cotton that draped my baby girl began to get soaked with blood. The dimples that covered her face had vanished; there were no eye balls in her eye sockets. In fact, there was no face at all. My cute little girl had become a mass of blood clots. Was I hallucinating or was this real.

Suddenly I could hear no sound, everything around me was appearing to be double or triple in shape. I slumped to the ground and as I gaze at the green colored ceiling of the nursery, the green began to fuse into the white ceiling of my bedroom.

I flipped open my eyes and realized it was all a dream.

Sunday, February 21, 2010


She said it was a harmless dinner, so after several rejected offers I reluctantly obliged to this one. Though she had said she fancied me some time in the past, I thought she had long gotten over her infatuations. Little did I know what the night had in store.

It was a bit after 8pm when I heard the honking of her Volvo at my front gate. I slipped on my shoes, sprayed the cologne and made my way to her car. It was like a scene taken out of Usher’s trading places as she held open her car door for me whiles smiling sheepishly.
I should have noticed right there and then that this was not going to be an incident free night when she turned up the volume on the stereo and Celine Dion filled the speakers. “Wow” I said “what happened to Akon”?

As we neared her supposed restaurant, I found out that this was no eating place; it was her house. “I thought we were attending a friend’s dinner” I uttered, slightly bemused. “Well we are” she answered, “just that the friend happens to be my cousin” she explained further.
Not knowing what to do, I followed her through the foyer into the lavishly furnished sitting room. Though her family came off as middle class, the décor in their home said differently.

After quick introductions and pleasantries I became a temporary member of the family, cuddling new born babies and passing beer to cousins I did not know from Adam.

Dinner was a variety of meals but unlike their exotic looking décor, the food was standard African dishes. “Phew” I sighed mentally, “what would I have done if I was given some frog legs and German sauce”.

She sat next to me and kept on explaining to her family what a fabulous investment banker I am. She explained vividly with examples like she had known my career for decades. This lady before tonight had no interest in my work; all she ever did was ask me when the money was coming so we could go to South Africa for the world cup. I have to admit, it felt nice, I felt important.

In between meals she stole quick glances at me and whenever our eyes met there was this spark in hers. She would smile and tell me “I am sorry I sprung this on you”. “Don’t worry” I would say, “call it pay back for standing you up on Valentine’s Day.”
By 10.30pm the party was over and the non family members began leaving. I took the cue and asked her if she could drop me home now.

The drive back was filled with laughter and teasing as Akon replaced Celine on her CD changer. I asked her about why no one felt it was weird having me there instead of John (her boyfriend for over 4 yrs). That was when I had the shock of my life. John apparently was an imaginary character she made up when we first met; the only thing was that, I was now finding out.

She said she did that to prevent me making a move on her. She said she wanted to tell me but I kept going on about my girlfriend so she thought in order to make me comfortable around her, John must continue to live.

By this time we were in front of my house. I was so dumfounded I did not know what to say. Well, the SHOCKER was yet to come.
“I love you” she muttered. “I have since you told me you were never going to cheat on your girl”.
If there ever was a time I was totally blank in my life, this was it. As I searched for words to tell her, she leaned over and kissed my cheeks. “You can get down now” she said trying to hold back the tears that were welling up in her eyes. “I know you have not called Akua all night and you are dying to tell her what just happened”.

I shrugged out off the car with my tail between my legs like a shamed dog as she backed out of my drive way. “See you later” she yelled as she sped by. That is when I knew that would be the last I will ever hear of Cindy.

Wednesday, February 17, 2010


Cling, cling, cling, please may I have your attention. I would like to make a toast.
I wish to express my profound gratitude to all the people in my life I have called and to those I continue to call friends. It is indeed true that some friends come into your life for a reason and others for a season, but irrespective of the way or the reason for which you became my friend, I wish to say thank you.

Despite what you may see now, I once was a very shy kid with very little self esteem. I was moulded to this epitome of social status by an old friend; Mr. Danny Blue. He taught me the essence of standing up for my own and he made me believe I was the coolest kid on the block. He taught me the need to stay fashionable both for myself and for the ladies. I practically went from a video game freak to a basket ball star overnight. Finally, he was the architect behind my first dose of the love potion. So for that, Mr. Blue I raise my glass and say “to friends who bring love”.

As you may already know, with stardom comes trouble and trouble came by the name of Mr. Wan. Not only did this cunning creature teach me to grow my new found confidence, he also helped me discover the mischief in me. Hahaha! How we had a good time. From two-timing girls to planning how to deflate the Headmaster’s tyre, Mr. Wan and I did it all. So to Mr. Wan wherever you are, I raise my glass and say “to friends that brought me trouble”.

Then there are the friends you hang out with. Those you share jokes, secrets and basically a bottle of Hennessey with. I call them the friends by night. Johnny Kwest is one such friend. J.K will do everything to lighten up the mood, from a pint of beer to puffs of weed; J.K will subject himself to whatever in order to make your moment. That notwithstanding, Johnny will always come through for you. If you got into a club fight, J.K was leaning over your shoulder punching your attacker, if you needed some soft loan J.K knew who to call and when you were too drank to know who you were going home with, J.K will remind you of whom you say I love you to every night. So to Mr. Kwest, I raise my glass and say “to friends who have got your back”.

How could I have forgotten Mr. Fante. He has been around since forever. Though he remained silent through my rights of passage, he will be the one I will call BEST on my wedding day. He is the one you call an investment partner. Want to double your returns? Call Mr. Fante, want to be reminded why you are here on earth? Call Mr. Fante and when push came to shove and you needed some one to count on rather than Family, Mr. Fante was always there to help you through the thick and the thin. So to Mr. Fante, I raise my glass and say “to friends who should have been brothers”.

You know in life it gets to a time when you simply need to get serious and find the torch that will navigate you through the sands of time. Well, Rabbie was and continues to be a true friend in that department. “Sha” as I affectionately call her did not only bless me with a life-long partner but directed me unto my career path. Oh! Yeah, how could I forget, she helped me graduate Uni. Though she thought she was merely introducing me to another friend, she introduced me to maturity. I found love, a career, life and a constant razor sharp tongue to cut through the lies I continue to tell myself all in Sha. So to Rabbie, I raise my glass and say “to REAL friends who bring out the best in you.”

I know by now the champagne is going flat so I will end my toast by saying “Be courteous to all but intimate with few, and let those few be well tried before you give them your confidence. True friendship is a plant of slow growth and must undergo and withstand the shocks of adversity before it is enlisted to the appellation”. - George Washington

Kindly help me say “TO FRIENDSHIP”

Wednesday, January 20, 2010


I woke her with a single stroke of my finger on her perfectly smooth face; it was like running my hands through the gentle calmness of a pool of water. As if she knew I meant no harm, she responded by curling further into my arms, refusing to let go of that bond that held us both together.

“I would never let go” was the Morse code I deduced from the thumping of her heart that resonated through her back, to my chest. Uhhh! How wonderfully well my morning had begun.

I slowly leaned over and I kissed her sweet lips, her eyes flickered and that’s when I saw it. Beaming with love, passion and trust was that gaze that emanated deep beyond those soft twinkling brown eyes. “Good morning” they read, “I love you more than anything else”. I responded with a sheepish smile and I am sure she could sense my thoughts “I wish I could lie hear all morning with you and never have to go to work”.

She squeezed my hand and then leaned closer to kiss me. I kissed her back, and then buried my head into her hair. I took in a deep breath and though the aroma had no traces of cocoa butter or vanilla, her usual choice of Victoria secret’s body splash, the smell I took in was the scent of love. Pure, unadulterated love.

She put her arms around my neck and her smile told me she knew I was the man for her. I placed my forehead right on her’s in a classic tête-à-tête and kissed her nose, our personal signature move which implies “you mean the world to me”.

I began to pull away, but her fingers interlocked behind my neck signalled stay a bit longer. I smiled and as though she knew I was saying I will try and make it a half day today, she let go.

I took a shower, then made my way to work and began blogging about the wonderful conversation I had with love this morning. The only difference is, between Love and I, no one uttered a single word.

Sunday, January 10, 2010


I just finished reading a note a friend of mine wrote on facebook and as much as I would have been in agreement with his view if the note was written a couple years back, I am now of a different opinion.

Alvaro Santiago; the pseudonym of this friend of mine, likened all men to managers of a soccer team and as you may already know, the joy of every manager in soccer, is to get the right players with the right attitude to fill those eleven spots on the field. (His words exactly) In his opinion, at any point in time there is always more than one woman in a man’s life and though a manager always has his star player (i.e. his loving girlfriend, wife or that particular girl he wishes to be with) he always gives room for the substitutes, the bench warmers and the reserve team in general (those females popularly referred to as the “on the sides”).

I have lived quite a fruitful youthful life and though am just 24 (the ripe age to be a star soccer player); I believe am passed the stage of juggling several women at a time (trust me; I have had my share of fun).

Contrary to what several ladies have grown to believe that men simply do not have a heart to love or the emotions to stay committed, I beg to differ. It is often the case of immaturity or the fear of a broken heart/ rejection that cause many men to behave like the managers of a soccer team (keeping substitutes).

In my point of view, maintaining a relationship or simply being a “man” is nothing like soccer. Being a man is much more like a game of chess. It takes tact, discipline, self control, strategizing and not necessarily a high IQ but some level of intelligence to play.

In chess, there are two rows to which each player must align his pieces. In my opinion, each row represents the two tiers in a man’s life. There is the first row that is occupied by the pawns and the next which is occupied by more important pieces such as the King and the Queen. Like wise, all men have a period by which they can be the toddlers they often are but then there is that time that we all must grow up.

The pawns are eight in number and by my analysis; each represents three years in the life of a male. In effect, the first tier in every man’s life must last at most 24 years.

Like the pawns, (just as their names suggests) you can spend the first 24 years of your life doing whatever managerial duties u see fit in a soccer team (being the player all men believe they are) or like a seasoned chess player you can spend it strategizing to put the opponent in “check” (i.e. make your relationship a success story). The choice really is yours, am no judge of character.

With Chess, there are many documented strategies on how to win but just like in the case of relationships, none of the literature is a solid principle for success. You need to carve your own path. Like I said earlier, that path requires discipline, self control and being able to sacrifice those pawns skillfully in order to protect yourself (the king) and that special lady (the queen).

Why then will you want to say I love you to one lady and turn around to sleep with the next. Why will you want to have reserves but tell her she is the only one for you and is it not insane that the truth to why we do keep those bench warmers is because we are scared we are going to have our hearts broken if we found out that, we rather were the reserve goalies guarding a post that is being banged with goals from every Tom, Dick and Harry?

My dear brothers, the beauty of a relationship or better yet love or even more chess, is knowing you have put your all in what you believe in. You strive to make it work and you definitely ditch all the reserves for that star player. (A very poor formation, but that one top worked well for Man United when Van Nistelroy was playing) What even makes it more complex is, you will never know the final result, she could be lying, and you could be playing along. But trust me, you wouldn’t want to find out how it feels like when your Fabregas walks away, just because you were poaching Peter Ruffai (we all know how crappy that goal keeper was, letting in all manner of goals).

So my dear brothers, managers, players, chick magnets or whatever names you call yourselves these days, it is not about how many women you juggle at a stretch or how much swag you believe you have by parading a bench of reserves. It is simply about learning to love and fully appreciating what that word means. Do not be a coward or hide behind the cloak of immaturity, make your move, and let it be a CHECK MATE when you find that special one.


I grew up believing I was the best actor in the world and at a tender age of 7, I could tell poor acting from a classic Oscar moment. Indeed, I was a great pretender thus I was branded “sly” in my early years of elementary school because I could get away with almost anything.

It was pretty cool at first because I could be amongst the popular kids in the morning (fitting in perfectly) and by noon, I was the nerd most teachers knew me to be. Let’s just say, I could do whatever at whichever time I wanted, I just needed the perfect script to play the perfect role and voila you had your perfect man.

But as I kept growing, this actor became confused. For starters, I could not tell which life was really mine. I could not tell if I was the quiet type who enjoyed novels, loved to stay at home and was comfortable with the one girlfriend at-a-time policy or the wild parties, the popular friends, the flashy clothes and the multiple lovers was my forte. I could play both worlds flawlessly and in each dimension you found me in, I was a natural.

This pretence affected all areas of my life. At one point, I can argue and defend the Christian religion like I was the Pope himself and at another time with the help of Uncle Jack (Jack Daniel’s Whisky) and cousin “Gin” I can prove the non existence of Christ. The funny thing is, in both scenarios I really believed in what I was saying.

Over the past 8 years, I have struggled to find the real Mr. Page. I have searched in areas such as religion, relationships, career options and generally in all departments of my life.

Two years ago I met a lady (can’t really be precise on the date because our anniversary rotates based on the zeros in our personal bank accounts) and being the smooth operator I am (note: present tense, meaning I still am) I conformed to this girl’s desires and made her mine. Initially, I believed this was a similar role I’ve played before but perhaps a different stage. But as the years went by, I realized no matter how frequent I shed my skin, this girl shed her’s as well, conforming to my current conditions.

Gradually, I have learnt and she has also learnt to live with the various shades of my colours. For once in a very long time, I do not have to worry about what my next act would be and though I might never find the real Mr. Page and I will be Ms Understood, at least I have found my niche in this ever changing ecosystem we call earth.