So much they say about nothing. Their strumming guitars and voices sing not of the rot in the country neither do they extol the works and deeds of the mighty. Their music make the children tramps and send them to the trash yet still it is they who must find favour with the seers of the land. The seers desirous of power must toady with them because their croaky voices and profane music draws the crowd. So sad to say but endorsing them as role models is sickening.
What a disgusting night it was as they grab their awards. Call it a show of jesters you may be right. The “Africaness” or “Ghanaianess” was lost. Looking like scarecrows in their not foreign nor domestic apparel, and like Martians, they slur and slang in a failed mimicry of some form of lingua franca as they granted the interviews. It was amusing to see them crab walking and swaging onto stage for the awards. What a national mockery it was.
If such songs could earn these people the national attention what are we doing with the legendary works of Ephraim Kɔku Amu, Nana Kwame Ampadu and Joseph Hanson Kwabena Nketia?
I do not want to trigger a debate but should our entertainment arena and media space be a washed with the sacred secrets of the bedroom that should only be discussed in whispers by legitimate couple. So sad we have thrown it to the dogs. Have we forgotten that even by divine design, the ‘front’ of human species is ennobled with hair to conceal the vitals that give life? It can only get worse. There it was, staring me in the face. At a wedding, the unspeakable for which I dread was made manifest. In the presence of the clergy, Imams and traditional leaders, the neonates were displaying the most sacrilegious twist and turns of a dance.
The parents buried their faces in their palms while imagining the magician behind the wanton display of such a profane choreography exhibited by their wards. There was no doubt, I observed the unwelcomed guest had trained the children well. So much work and pressure for the parents they have not noticed the invasion of the magician in their homes. The audio visual talking box is left to do the modeling especially at this time when the church, mosque and traditional structures are busily talking business and politicking.
The seers who must check the guest are as busy as the parents in things that are never better than the wellbeing of the wards. As the subliminal and insidious influence of the talking box on the children continue, may we never forget our tomorrow will be a regrettable and mournful if we fail to act.
The rains came leaving in their wake, wailing and waffling. As if it was never conceived the rains will come, the apologetic excuses are given. The eyes are teary and rheumy from weeping yet still, the old age song of desilting water ways, building on high grounds, banning plastic and destroying illegal structures was but the marching song aimed at saving the day. As to when all will agree to, in clear terms, do the doable was another musical song yet to be composed. As the pregnant clouds still threaten the day, and as the weeping and gnashing of teeth continue, the might of God should not be lessened in things He purposely designs to test how we use our intellect in solving our basic challenges.
I should be happy because the rumour or should I say the news is sweetening to the ear. Kayayei’s get a new facility. Oh my dear sisters from savanna land. Have you not heard that to kill a snake one must have to strike it in the head not the tail? So glad to hear of the new edifice given you. At least more of your kind who had wanted to join you in this noble and priced gold minting business of Kayayo but fear not getting a place to lay their heads can now heave a sigh of relief. Hasten up sisters, gird up your loin cloths and gallop to Accra and Kumasi.
The edifying edifice with immeasurable potency of curbing your disease of early and force marriage exacerbated my cultural norms, ignorance, illiteracy and poverty should catch you no more. I blame you if you stay there a little longer. The seers prescribed this antidote and you must not let it pass you by.
How could I ever dabble in the argument of “eating and not eating infrastructure” when we do not school, fall sick and suffer flood related disasters along political lines? It is not stated anywhere the party affiliation of the Septuagenarian who had to embrace the not so icy hands of death because hospitals had no place for him to lay his head. No political party will ever fail us. We continue to fail ourselves in many ways we know not. I feel devastated of this kind of death because, when I see man’s grass hut blazing, I begin to think of my own grass hut. And as many suffer in silence, and as many seers gamble with our dreams, it will fault us a lot more if we do not trust in God and His mercies.
University of Ghana.
MA Theatre Arts (Media Arts Option)
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