"Amoafoa how many times have I told you not to put so much salt in the stew? Why do you want to kill someone in this house? Why can't you do something right for once? Jesus!" I snarled at my wife, banging the table with one hand and pushing the food away with the other. Somewhere in my conscience it registered that she didn't deserve what I said. But then what was said was said, and I wasn't about to apologise. Not me. Ever the graceful woman, Amoafoa got up quietly and left the table without a word. I restrained the urge to call out another insult at her. I wanted her to yell at me. I wanted a fight. But all I got was our eight year old Akua bursting into tears at the table. "Ah crap, what's it now? Why are you crying? Is it something I said?" I asked her, trying to be gently, but she only cried louder. "Daddy didn't mean that Akua, stop crying." When that didn't work either, I tried a sterner "Stop crying young lady, you...

The day is beautiful. I have wasted enough opportunities in my life, and I am not going to miss this one. I grab my journal and favourite black pen, and make my way out of the house. I try to be as careful as possible with the door; it creaks, and mother mustn't hear me sneak out. Or I will spend the entire day engaged in a melange of chores, and that would just ruin a potentially-perfect day. I don't want that. I succeed. To celebrate my victory, I stick my nose in the air and indulge my nostrils in the wonderful every-day-summer-because-it's-the-tropics scents. The swing chair invites me over for a pat on the back. My joy is short-lived though, because I must get down to business. The not-so-pleasant business. I suck in a deep long breath because who doesn't need strength to pursue difficulty? My mind sets the ball rolling, and I travel along with her down memory lane. The soles of my shoes are light, and so I can feel everything on the road. The pictures are i...

I have two sons, and they take the meaning of sibling rivalry to a whole different level. Theodore is older than Desmond by two years, and they basically hate each other. Whatever Theodore does, Desmond makes sure he does it better, and makes Theodore know it. Now I've watched Theodore and Desmond grow up despising each other, and being petty to themselves, and I've been powerless to do anything about it. My wife, who is dead and gone now, was very spiritual and blamed it on bad spirits. But I know the real cause. My father told me about it, passing down exactly what he was told by his father. "It's a curse," he'd said to me on his death-bed, right after he'd made me swore to never cut ties with my own brother, Peter. And now, I shall pass this advice, and task, to Theodore, the eldest. Not any of this curse nonsense. A reasoning person would know that there were no such things. So I'll have to find a way to tell him to do this, without once referring...

She came to the hospital a broken-spirited girl; the tumor in her brain near its expiry date. She spoke to no one, not even the doctors that tried to help her. Everyone said she had given up. But not me. I was the first one she spoke to, they say. Strange though, that the first person she'd spoken to was a hospital janitor who worked in Intensive Care Unit, well past his retirement age. I remember the night clearly. I was mopping the floor of her room late in the night when I heard her shift in bed. The poor thing; she was the most beautiful helpless girl I had ever seen. She was looking at me mop the floor. Her eyes, they haunt me as at now. In them was desolation. But that desolation seemed to be countered by the vestiges of cheerfulness and energy. She had been a very happy person before all this, it looked like. I grunted in her direction, as a way of apologizing for waking her up. Dragging the mop trolley, I attempted making my exit. I didn't want to be in...

Peals of laughter High-pitched squeals All-day long it's banter, Play appointments and candy deals. Sounds of freedom Sounds of childhood. Ring tones and message beeps Thumping speakers and camera flashes "Childish" nature is no longer for keeps So true identity lies in ashes Sounds of apparent sophistication Sounds of adolescence. Hawkers and hooters The rush and the traffic jams And mundanity breeds aggravators Desiring escape from their world's noisy hum Sounds of jadedness Sounds of adulthood

*Written for the Ewe Gang family. Love the culture.* Notsie. Not a day goes by that my mother doesn't curse this town and the man who rules it. Not a day goes by that she doesn't curse our ancestors for settling here. She thinks I don't notice the tears, the pain in her eyes, the suffering of our tribes people. You're a little girl, she'd say to me. You don't know a thing. But I do. I'm a grown little girl. I see the bleeding scars on my father's feet because he tread on mud and straw mixed with broken glass to make bricks. You shall build this town with your blood, the man who rules this place had said. And that we did. I can't count all the scars on my elder brother's back from being whipped, or the number of times the evil guards have beaten my father because he'd always protect my older sister and I from being 'used' by the guards. She's just twelve, he'd shout at them, as they beat him with the blunt ends of their s...

I see the love all about me All the pegs fitting smugly in their holes With the exception of one, of course-me All i have left are the sores, still a bright red From trying to fit into holes where i didn't belong Or was simply not needed From making others my priority While i remain nothing more than a formality A mere afterthought Now i'm sitting here reminiscing And i realize it's all I've wanted my whole life Which i've never found And doesn't seem like i ever will The tears are only a constant reminder Of the outcast the world perceives me to be But i smile through them Forcing myself to acknowledge that maybe That's just how it was meant to be And hoping that one day, i'll see sunlight Where dark clouds once were And have someone i can finally call Friend.