Day 4 (10 days of fiction): ‘Sup G? – by Poetra Ama Asantewa

When I was little, my dad used to say our house was a potter’s house. And the creator had molded each of us with different elements. My brother was the writer, my sister; singer and I drew.

My brother kept a diary under his wardrobe. I knew I was infringing on his privacy, but once I took a sneak, I couldn’t stop reading. He started one of his entries with the phrase, “troubles don’t come in singles, they come in battalions” I remember 12 year old me scanning through a dictionary trying to find out what battalion meant.


But the path to maturity had taught me better what battalion was more than an oxford dictionary ever could.

It had been a difficult week. I flunked a paper, I twisted my ankle, my cousin got arrested for being at the wrong place at the wrong time and I had to settle his bail from hard-pressed cash,  I met someone who reminded me so much of my mum and sadness engulfed me like a blanket of cloudy rains. I wanted to sit God down and have a stern chat with him.


I had a lot of questions for him and I needed the answers asap. From the obvious whys to the unbelievable ‘‘the fuck’s?” to the distinct “you’re shitting me aren’t you?” To the murky ‘‘for real tho’s?”


Me and him needed to have a long chat.


My eyes were burning. I’d been staring at the screen for less than 3 hours, but this LCD wanted to show the membranes that line my eyelids who the real boss was. I told myself I was going to shut down in 30 minutes but the machine had ideas of it’s own.

My screen went blank. There was no panic. This had happened before, all I needed to do was restart my machine. I unplugged the charger from the system and replugged it, in an attempt to reboot it. But it wouldn’t start. I tried again; nothing. My heart started racing in an unfamiliar pattern. I replugged it again. That was when I realized each time I plugged the charger in, the charger’s light would go off.

I paused for a minute, hoping the charger had feelings, and was just bored sick so in attempt to rejuvenate its system, its light was playing hide and seek with me.


And after 26 frustrating tries, the light would go off as soon as I plugged the charger in. And the laptop still wouldn’t come on. A sinking feeling set in. I knew what this meant. I just didn’t want to accept it. The laptop had somehow overheated, and the power section of the motherboard was frayed.

This was the worst that could happen to the machine. Anything but my motherboard!


I turned it upside down and opened the windows, hoping that the day’s breeze carried a potion of magic in them. I tried again afer 10 minutes. Still


I decided to get the rest I needed, hopefully, it would work when I woke up.

Pointless mission. I couldn’t sleep to save an ant’s life. After an hour and a half of tossing and turning, I decided to try again.


I felt as if I would be asking too much of God if I asked him to resurrect my motherboard to life. You know? He’s not a magician. But I couldn’t help it.

Miracles do exist, don’t they?

The girl who stretches her neck in the exams room said a woman at her church gave a testimony about how God made it possible for her to blend tomatoes when there was no electricity.

So really, resurrecting a mother board shouldn’t be that hard right?


I plugged it in again. The psychoanalysis I just performed on God must work.


Day 3 (10 days of fiction): Grandma Kanni – by Poetra Ama Asantewa

I could see she was uncomfortable under my ardent gaze. She shifted her eyes and traced her fingers down the coffee cup like it was a new lover. I was 75. How in the name of swollen testicles did she expect me to be shy of her? I had proverbially seen and done it all.  That innocent look did not fool me at all.

She made me uncomfortable. She was staring at me unblinkingly, like I was undergoing a scrutiny and my life depended on my pass. She looked fiery for a 75 year old. Her looks surprised me for more than a minute. You don’t always see old ladies in black shorts and red lipstick. You don’t ever see old ladies in shorts and red lipstick. I wondered what she was thinking of me

She had her mother’s eyes. And voice. And grace. But the boobs were definitely from her father’s side. We were small-chested. And damn proud of it. She was pretty and fierce. She was definitely a Kanni. Her jeans looked like it had been painted on her body. I wanted to ask her if her fanny was getting any air in them jeans, but I didn’t want to freak her out.

She was beginning to freak me out. Her eyes were travelling over every inch of my body. Like a new lover’s hands. An unwanted lover. I suddenly missed my mother. How dare she die and leave me! And why the fuck did she never introduce me to her mother before deciding to drop dead? I wanted to cry. I wanted to go back. I wanted my mother back.

“So, how many boys have you been with?” She asked

Her question totally threw me off. I was dumbfounded for a full second

I could see the question caught her off guard.

“I….I….I’m “

Oh come on, you cannot stitch this fabric to your ass and expect me to believe you’re a virgin, can you?

Anger replaced my fear. How dare she put me on the spot? She didn’t know me! Just because my jeans was a little bit tight didn’t mean I wasn’t a virgin! My conscious had suddenly jumped from pin prick to 16 inches deep. My non-virgin ass didn’t care that I was already deflowered. 

“There, there, no need for hot emotions” She tapped my back. “Your nostrils are flaring like a superior mother camel”

“Let’s start this reunion all over again. We’ve already established who I am. What I’m going to be is what’s important.

I’m going to be the one who will teach to you challenge authority and question everything, and the same person who will remove 3 layers of skin from your buttocks when you challenge my authority.  I’m going to teach you how to create disorder and how to embrace diversity. I’m going to be the one to make you hate generalizations and urge to stay banned despite being truthful. I’m going to be the granny panties that coaxed your ass into believing you were in a g-string. That’s who I’m going to be.”

“Now I’m going to need you to say this like it’s the most awesome thing ever; Grandma Kanni is the shit”

A giggle escaped from my dreary self. You could not not love this woman. She put her arms around me, and we walked towards her door…

10 Day of Fiction: Day 2 – “The Book of Acts ½ (By McFrankline), by Poetra Ama Asantewa

Kacharo’s eyes wandered up and down the narrow twisting lanes of Kaneshie, ignoring the hubbub of people streaming past him incessantly. It had rained last night, and the parts of the street with potholes had already been churned to mud by the crowd, but muddy streets were nothing new to him.

None of the streets in his village was paved.

Shops and traders littered every corner of the main Street, with stalls and stands covered with goods, everything from plantain chips, to clothes, to cooking pots and door knobs. The sheer number of them was so overwhelming that, no one had ever bothered to try counting. Order judged itself according to every trader’s personal principles, and justice was meted out in accordance to the wrath incurred. Noise making was at its peak, and the ear-splitting cries of hawkers promoting their wares could be heard a mile away. Everyone seemed to be in competition to prove who was louder and though they made a righteous effort, none of them proved a point better than Kacharo’s Microphone.

This particular microphone, which he had fondly nicknamed “Pickpocket”, was

the most thoughtful investment Kacharo had ever made in his entire life. Before he received his “calling”, he used to rent it out to Pastors and public speakers each day at an exorbitant rate, which ensured he and his family, remained well-fed during the entire lifespan of that business venture.

Unfortunately for him, most of his customer’s had discovered along the way that his charges were inordinate, and so the monopoly he held had slowly slipped out of his grasp until he finally quit the business in order to salvage what remained of his reputation.

Life had not been easy for Kacharo during that brief period of unemployment. His house had been gutted down by a raging wildfire, his first son had drowned at sea, his wife left him and worst of all, the outrageous medical bills from his mysterious illness. Psychotic Depression. This particular illness had not been easy on Kacharo’s psyche and it had finally gotten to a point where he was

contemplating suicide. And then the miraculous occurred.

An Angel of the lord had appeared to Kacharo one night and told him his trials had been a punishment from the lord for the way he had exploited the men of God who had needed his help when his business was still lucrative, and this form of persecution would continue until Kacharo reformed and joined the ministry of God. And then the Angel departed from his presence.

Kacharo tilted the microphone slightly to ease the tension in his shoulders. His elevated platform gave him a view of the marketplace that was almost perfect, and though it was crowded, he could spot the movement of almost every living thing in a fifty-metre radius. He hadn’t planned any sermon for today, but he was hoping the good Lord in Heaven would grant him a message even as he opened his mouth to preach. The Lord rarely did that, but you never knew when His abundant mercies were going to surprise you. For now he would just continue to rant a few well-known scriptures and give his best human interpretation of them.

A quick movement to the left had caught his eye and Kacharo let his attention drift away for a fraction of a second. He had trained himself for so long that he had acquired the ability to separate his mind into two compartments at the same time, one that allowed him to to preach inattentively while the other was engrossed in the private thoughts. This way, he never let his emotions interrupt the work of God. It was no easy feat, and had he not been so meticulous in his training, he would have gone completely mad from the effort it took to maintain that state. So in simple terms, anything that could

make Kacharo’s attention drift even for merest fraction of a second, really pierced him deep down his soul.

It was a just a little boy running around in a red and white stripped school uniform. The colour of the uniform his little Tombolo had worn when he was still alive. Memories flooded before his eyes, right back to the day at the beach, and it took an exhausting amount of willpower to wrench his mind away from that particular scene. Tombolo was dead and gone, he still had his little diamond, Koliko, to worry about. She had been sacked for non-payment of her school fees and she was the only reason he was toiling under this scorching sun. He will remain strong for her, He will not shatter like some brittle piece of glass. The Lord gives and the Lord takes. The Lord will Provide.

The noise from the crowd hit Kacharo like a sandstorm as he snapped out of his little reverie.

He scanned the street wearily and noticed quite a number of people were standing near his platform.

In those few minutes he had been distracted by the forbidden memories, the compartment of his mind allocated to preaching had been semi-consciously discoursing scriptures from the Book Of Revelations, while his voice had acquired a passionate tinge to its edge. The effect had been quite dramatic and several people had stopped to observe the Man of God.

This was the moment Kacharo had been waiting for. The Lord had finally provided a message, and he would deliver it in its true and unpolluted form. Praise the Lord, for he is good and his mercies endure forever. The Lord will Provide for me. The Lord will Provide for Koliko. He reached out his hand and started praying.

Another quick movement in the crowd caught his attention again, and though he did not falter this time, his mind quickly registered the whole occurrence. A young man dressed plainly in a red t-shirt with khaki trousers had bumped hardly into a decent looking gentlemen, and both of them had exchanged venomous glares. Or that was how it looked like to any unobservant bystander. But definitely not Nathan Kacharo, incidents like this rarely escaped his hawk-like eyes. For in that very instance bodily contact had occurred between both young men, no one except Kacharo had seen the one in the Red T-Shirt slide his hand into the other one’s pocket and quickly withdraw his wallet. It was a sleek, nimble move, delivered with the proficiency of a master pickpocket. Things like this happened everyday in the market square, and it this wasn’t the first time he had witnessed such an event, but this particular one had intrigued him by far.

The young man who had been robbed, peeled his eyes away from his assailant, cursing silently while rubbing his shoulder. He walked to the roadside and made a furious gesture at a taxi, in what would have been regarded as a half-hearted attempt to flag it. Kacharo had seen enough. He cleared his throat loudly in the microphone and pointed his hands at the young man.

“Praise the Lord” he shouted loudly into the microphone “For he has just granted me the ability to see into the non-existent. I just received a revelation from the Lord, somebody say Hallelujah”

Barely a handful of people muttered hallelujah in response, but Kacharo didn’t despair.

“Gentleman. Gentleman in the black shirt” A woman standing a few metres away from the young man tapped him and pointed in the direction of the preacher.

“Excuse me but I don’t have time for -”

“Young man, listen to me” Kacharo cut him off “The Lord has just revealed to me that you were recently robbed of your wallet. Please make sure I’m wrong before you set foot in that taxi”

The young man look confused and angry at the same time. He was late for an appointment and this village prankster had chosen this particular moment to infuse some drama into his life. He reached into back pocket for the wallet, and almost immediately, the look of anger vanished from his face, leaving only confusion.

“Praise the Lord, O citizens of Ghana, For the Lord is good and his mercies endure forever” The preacher’s loud voice carried over the din of crowd “The Lord will not allow any evil to befall his people. The Lord protects and guides his flock. He is the Alpha and Omega, the Beginning and the end of your problems, somebody shout hallelujah”

This time, the response was much louder as more people had suddenly taken interest in the ongoing proceedings. Some market women were pointing unabashedly at the young man, ignoring their wares for the sake of mere gossip, while the street hawkers zipped in and out of the crowd, trying to cash in some quick sales. To any slightly curious person in the vicinity, that kind of congregation was very beguiling.

“Don’t despair young man, all is not lost” Kacharo continued “The Lord has just revealed to me, where the thief is hiding. Praise the Lord, young man, for the Lord has been merciful unto you.”

“The thief was the gentleman that bumped into you a few minutes ago, and he is lurking right behind that green kiosk” Kacharo added, pointing at a green kiosk, a few metres away. “I would advice you not to assault him, but rather bring him before the Lord for prayers. Vengeance belongs to the Lord.”

The young man turned eagerly in the direction the man of God had pointed and ran over. The taxi driver got down from his car and accompanied him as he moved towards the kiosk. When they got the kiosk, they split and circled it until they found the thief hiding in the rear. A few seconds later the thief was pulled out and backhanded hardly across the cheek. The taxi driver in an unexplained fit of rage pounced on him and started hitting him mercilessly until the wallet dropped from his shirt. With the brief distraction that had come with the discovery of the stolen wallet, the thief had managed to shove his assailant backwards and disappeared behind the next building. The taxi driver gave pursuit, crying out loudly that a thief was in the vicinity. The young man picked up his wallet and checked the contents carefully. When he was satisfied with what he had seen, he walked back to the platform and had began to stutter thanks to Kacharo when he was cut short.

“It’s not me you should be thanking, because I have no power of my own” Kacharo said, reaching for his bible “It’s the lord God Almighty who delivered you from the snare of the fowler. The lord has also revealed to me that you have been jobless this past few months, but he wants me to tell you that all

your troubles are finally over. When you arrive at the bank later this afternoon for that interview, you will be handed your heart’s desire”

The young man looked stunned. How had the man of God known he was searching for a job? He stood gazing at the preacher for a very long time, and then took his wallet and emptied the entire contents into an offering bowl at the foot of the platform. This man had already saved him once.

What was the big deal in showing a bit of gratitude?

Kacharo now had the full attention of the crowd, and it wasn’t a chance he was going to allow go waste just like that. The Lord had given him an extra-ordinary brain, and he would be a fool to be 

modest about it. He would put the brain God had given him to good use, and would glorify his name.

The God of Kacharo will not put Koliko to shame. The Lord will Provide…

10 Day of Fiction: Day 1 – A Question of Sanity, by Poetra Ama Asantewa

Despite the growing trepidation of being rammed in the ass, I felt the urgent need to fill the crammed up cell with bellows of uncontrollable laughter.

I was born with the nonsense in my blood, runs deep on both my mother and father’s sides; my mother wore panties over her clothes for three great freaking months just to spite her school authorities. And my able-bodied father supported her deviant act in the last month by cutting two big holes in the crotch area of all his pants. I wouldn’t be surprised if it turned out doggy style was invented by my great-great-great grandfather. Apart from being incredibly ludicrous, we’re perverts too. I don’t know of any sane person who would think that was sane.

And so, it only made sense that traces of inane intelligence and slightly twisted view of life be deposited in my brain.

Here’s what happened: you’re walking down the streets of a rich folk town with your high school friend whose sanity is questionable, (anyone whose ultimate sex fantasy is a woman dressed up as a cat with an actual tail is undoubtedly demented) you want to take a piss so bad but there are no bushes, no gutters, just beautiful walls and streets, and a children’s playground with a half-filled water bottle lying beneath a merry-go-round waiting just for your urine to fill it up. What do you do? Fill it to the brim!

Now how in the name of penis enlargement pills are you supposed to know a dumb 6 year old would drink almost half off of it? And even more so how are you supposed to know this 6 year old boy’s father will get thirsty and decide the smartest thing to do was drink his son’s water?! And how in all things straight are you supposed to know this boy’s father is the mayor of Accra?!! Zero expectancy right? Right!

So that summarizes my presence in a stinky originally 2-occupant-but-currently-8 inmates cell. It didn’t help much that I had good looks and a firm and fairly fat butt. I’ve been here for almost 9 hours and it was will power and the image of the guards in my grandma’s knickers that kept me from shitting in my pants. Everybody in my cell looked like they just jumped out from a badass movie. They served a plate of food that looked like trickling turd and I was convinced if a drop got anywhere near me my virginity would grow back.

One of the inmates in the opposite cell had managed to pull the guard’s pants down, and this decent-looking man who is supposed to be a hardcore guard had on a tweety imprinted pair of boxers. He looked so stupid. I wanted to laugh so hard. Nose-ring guy in the left corner was staring at my crotch and licking his lips. I held my bum unconsciously.

Lord, I believe in miracles. Get me out of here this very minute so I know it’s real….


About the Author

I’m a writer. I can combine 10,000 words out of the 26 alphabets and extract an emotion from ye earthly being. (Plus I have one hell of a sexy muse) I’m a geek,- my rebellious idealism are quite often unattractive to the “world”. I know what a motherboard is, I can use a mouse and I can locate the ‘A’ key even in my sleep! I sing in my sleep, I draw in my dreams and I ‘root’ for chocolate 🙂:)