I have a little story for you.

There was once a great king who had a wise and clever advisor. Let's call him Mensah. The king trusted Mensah above all others, and was always showering him with gifts and praise. The king's politicians were very jealous of Mensah. They didn't understand why the King thought so much of him and not of them. Besides, what was so special about him anyway? And why did he always have to have that stupid smile on his face? What at all was there to be so happy about? Nonsense!

So one day, these politicians put their under-utilized brains together and decided they had to get rid of him. Now, the most devious mind in the kingdom belonged to the Royal Barber. He was sharper than his scissors and slicker than his sporting waves. The jealous politicos went to see him for some murder consultation, and indeed, he didn't disappoint, so they paid him handsomely to execute his evil endeavour.

The next time the king came in for his weekly Jheri Curl and nasal hair trim, the barber went through the usual pleasantries with his client, and then suddenly asked, "and how are your ancestors doing, Your Majesty?"

"Dead, of course. What an odd question", the king replied, confused.

The heinous hairdresser feigned surprise. "Oh, so you mean you don't know how your ancestors are doing? Oh. Rich man like you? These days, all the wealthy people are checking on their ancestors o! Haven't you heard of Atukwei the Magician? He helps rich people to send messengers into the afterlife to check on their ancestors and see if there's anything they need. The messenger is burnt on an altar, and he rises up with the smoke, straight to heaven to be with the departed ancestors. It's the new thing, Your Majesty. It's on fleek!"

The king was impressed. “So I could send someone to check on my late father? I must have some Atukwei in my life! But who would I send to check on dead Daddy?"

"Aha!” exclaimed the malevolent man-stylist. "It would have to be someone wise. Someone who can make decisions on the spot. Someone who knows your secrets but won't betray your trust"

The king racked his brain. "Who could that be?"

The criminal coiffeur tried harder. "Someone who belongs to your inner circle. A faithful advisor. A man whose judgement you trust above all others'"

The king scratched his head. "Nope. Can't think of anyone".

The crafty craftsman leaned forward and whispered into the moronic monarch's ear. "Someone about six-foot two inches tall, clean-shaven with a scar on his left shoulder, whose name rhymes with Schmensah?"

Suddenly, the king snapped his fingers. "I know! I'll send Mensah!"

So the magician was summoned, a great big bonfire was built in the cemetery, and Mensah was given the bad news, that in three days’ time, he would be burnt alive, so that he could rise up in the smoke to the afterlife and run a few errands for the king.

The resourceful young Mensah did not waste those remaining days. Every night, he went to the cemetery and dug an escape tunnel from beneath the bonfire to the safety of his home. On the last day, he went to the market and stocked up on a month's supply of food.

So the day came, and everyone gathered to bid him farewell on his journey to check on the gormless king's father. As the flame was lit, he lay dutifully on the altar, until the smoke thickened. Then he quietly slipped into the tunnel and escaped to his home, where he lay low for a whole month, just eating, sleeping, listening to old Lumba songs, playing FIFA on his Playstation and growing his beard.

After 30 days, he walked into the royal palace, alive and well, with the bushiest beard in all the land. The king was overjoyed. "How is my Daddy?" he asked.

"Oh very well, Your Majesty. Enjoying death. Living la vida loca. But there is one thing he really needs badly"

"What is it? Just name it and I'll send it immediately", fussed the risible royal.

"Well," said the resourceful young man, "I'm not sure why, but in heaven, there are no barbers. Just look how bushy my beard has become while I've been away. And I've only been gone a month. Your father has been gone for ten years. All kinds of wildlife is growing in the thickets of his facial hair".

Without a moment's pause, the King had the barber seized, placed on the altar and set ablaze. Needless to say, the scheming stylist never came back. 

And that was the last time any politician messed with Mensah.

This morning, my prayer for you is that you will be spared from the evil barbers conniving against you, but I pray even harder that you are not the bent barber in someone else's life, because if you are… well, you know what fiery fate awaits you.

My name is Kojo Yankson, and you can build me a million bonfires; it won't matter because I've dug my tunnel.

GOOD MORNING, GHANAFO!