Of A Death And Acquisitions

Tags

Acquisitions, Azar Nafisi, Death, Khaled Hosseini, Maya Angelou, The Book Trust, Used Books, Virginia Woolf

My dear friends and fellow bloggers, it’s not been easy for us in Ghana these past few days since the unexpected demise of our President, Prof. John Evans Ata Mills; at least for those who saw in him the embodiment of all that is pure, true, noble, humble and selfless. We are still in shock and until his funeral is held from 8th to 10th August 2012 and finally when he is laid to rest on 10th August 2012, everything I do would have a surreal quality to it.

I find it difficult reading the books I have lined up knowing very well that doing just that would be therapeutic for me. I try to blog by catching up on my mails and though that has yielded some results, I am not able to derive pleasure from it like I used to. However, I know deep down in my heart, that I will get over this apathy or lethargy or whatever it is I’m going through now. What I am certain about is that I am in mourning even as the whole nation observe the customary one-week celebration of the death of our illustrious President, today, Tuesday 30th July 2012.

In a completely un-related development, I recently acquired the following books from The Book Trust, in Accra. (a popular and fine outlet for used books from overseas) The prices are very affordable and I’m so pleased with myself. I only pray that I would be able to read and blog on them soon.

• Reading Lolita in Tehran, A Memoir In Books by Azar Nafisi
• Mrs. Dalloway by Virginia Woolf. ( I had read so much being blogged about this  that I just had to buy it when I saw it. I may have to add it to two of the Challenges I’m on; The Classics Club and Back To The Classics Challenge)
• I know Why The Caged Birds Sing by Maya Angelou
• A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini

I must say that The Book Trust has loads and stacks of books, children’s, YA, text, language, adult and you name it, in quite a number of genres that you can think of. The books are so stacked together that it is quite an arduous task going through to find one’s choice. Funny enough, The Book Trust is just a stone’s throw from where I work and yet I hardly go there because I would not have the time to comb through the piles. Also, most of the time, I forget that The Book Trust is right under my nose. (can you believe that?) To think that a few months back I was raiding bookshops to get my oldest boy some good YA reads when all the time The Book Trust sat patiently nearby waiting for my visit. My virtual arsenal of knowledge, here I come mind you, on a monthly basis. Shalom

#FridayFictioneers – Aqua Madness

Tags

Environment, Ghana, Madness, Water

It’s Friday again and the fun is on thanks to Madison Woods. These days my participation in the Friday Fictioneers has been on and off, due to my involvement in a project which gets me busy on Fridays. I am chancing it this week as I could not resist the prompt.

So dear friends, here we go. Do bear with me if the story is not up to standard; Ghana is in mourning for we have lost our President, Prof. John Evans Ata Mills. May his soul rest in perfect peace. A poem in his honour is here. If you could spare a few minutes, I should be grateful for a read. Thank you.

Aqua Madness

I told her that water is precious in my village; that we have to walk for miles and miles on end just looking for a clean stream to fetch water. Since the drought most of the water bodies in the village had dried up and the one or two that remained bubbly and flowing were polluted with dead livestock.

Sometimes after going days without any we had no option but to fetch the putrid water from the streams and boil for consumption.

My White and lovely girlfriend, Aqua Marie, stared at me as if I was mad. Of course, I was.

To see what the rest of the Fictioneers are up to, do click on the little linky below. Thanks!

Reflections From The Heart – Rest In Peace, Mr. President

Tags

Ghana, President, Prof. John Evans Ata Mills, RIP, Shocking Death

The heavens themselves

blaze forth the death of a Prince –   Julius Caeser, (William Shakespeare)

 

On Tuesday 24th July 2012, the President of the Republic of Ghana, Prof John Evans Ata Mills died suddenly, sending the whole country into shock and mourning. The following words poured forth from my heart in deep reflection, pain and sorrow.

Rest In Peace, Mr. President

 

Yesterday,

bloody and black

Tuesday.

The gloom

that settled

in our hearts,

too opaque

for us to see

the foreboding

tidings

that swooped

on us,

the force a

cascading

avalanche

of volcanic

magnitude.

 

Total eclipse

of our hearts

as our minds

could not grasp

the full meaning

of the dreadful news.

 

A bloody Tuesday

for our eyes

are red

and the tears

streaming down

our faces

are tears of blood,

pooling into

the blackness

and dryness

of our mouths.

we have

no appetite

for fufu.

 

Our President is no more,

Like a mighty oak

that fell

victim to the

volcanic eruption,

you fell with

a mighty boom,

the terrible roar

equaled only

by the

subsequent terrible

din of silence

 

Our President is no more.

Legal luminary,

doyen of academia,

astute statesman,

noble President,

child of our motherland,

a man

after God’s own heart.

You brought

a new meaning

to the word humility,

you served us

and demanded

not to be served.

 

Passion took on

a different cloth

under your presidency.

your compassion

was par none.

dedication to duty

and to your people

saw you out-stretching 

your limits,

even while the

dreaded C ravaged

Your noble self

 

Mr. President is no more.

You have

left us

forlorn,

bare

at the mercy

of the cruel

vicissitudes

of life.

 

And as

we reel

rave

rant

flail

and wail

we can only

boo

shame

the grey

faced phantom

For in death

You are

The Conqueror

 

Rest in Peace

Prof. John Evans Ata Mills

Rest in Peace

Mr. President

 

(C) Celestine Nudanu

24/07/12

Short Story Tuesday – (Review) The Miracle by Ba’Bila Mutia

Tags

Anthology of Contemporary African Short Stories, Cameroon, Christianity, Physically Challenged

The Miracle by Cameroonian born Ba’Bila Mutia is the third short story from the Anthology of Contemporary African Short Stories (edited by Chinua Achebe and C L Innes) to be reviewed.

In the Miracle, the issue of opposing and different faith is given prominence by a couple whose only son, Ba’mia, is born with a deformed left leg. The mother, Manyi a Christian who has embraced the Catholic religion, believes strongly in the power of a miracle to cure her son’s leg.

“God has a purpose for him. He belongs to the church. The Holy father arrives from Rome this week. He is celebrating the Easter mass in Mende. This is a chance for Ba’mia to receive a cure.”

On the other side is her husband, Gwan-Fumbat, the epitome and custodian of the traditional beliefs of the people. Gwan-Fumbat believes in re-incarnation and knows that his son Ba’mia who was conceived six months after the death of his own father, is actually the old man who has come back to life, especially so when it is detected that the baby has inherited his grandfather’s withered left leg. When the visiting medical doctor confirms that the left leg was just a tiny bone and dead tissue, Gwan-Fumbat would want his wife and indeed his son to accept the deformity and play his traditional and divine role in the family as ordained. To Gwan-Fumbat, his son is not deformed and so does not need a cure.

“He does not need a cure, ……….he is not suffering form a disease. He was born that way and it is our responsibility to help him accept his condition…….Ba’mia’s condition is his personal load he carries from the world of our ancestors……He is a reincarnation of his grandfather. My father too had the same disability.” P 170

The author Ba’Bila Mutia uses this seemingly ordinary domestic disagreement over faith and beliefs to explore the delicate balance between Christianity and traditional religion in a modern world. In a country or society where both religions are practiced by the people, how does one walk the road of faith without antagonizing the other? How prudent is it to place one’s faith in a new and foreign religion, while discarding the norms and beliefs of one’s people? The author also seem to explore faith healing and seem to question the fairness in placing one’s faith in another human being to heal. The following moving dialogue says it all:

‘The Pope laid his right hand on the boy’s head and smiled. ‘What’s your name?’

‘Ba’mia’ the boy barely whispered. He was trying to stop his body from the sudden chills of trembling that had seized him. He coughed and cleared his throat. ‘I want you to make me walk upright……….”

‘I will pray for you…..’ the Pope began

‘But….but’ the boy stammered in a faltering voice. ‘My mother said you are here for God. You speak with him. She said you’ll make me walk erect.’

‘I speak for God,’ the Pope said.  ‘I am only his voice, his messenger’

‘Tell God to make me walk properly. I want to walk like other children. Help me with a miracle.

“You are God’s miracle, a miracle of His love and creation.” P 175

I was sad when I read The Miracle; I actually wanted Ba’mia to have a cure or be healed so that his desire to be like any normal child would be realised, at least. I felt his disappointment too, though I knew that his mother’s wishes born out of her desire to see her son whole, may not be realistic. However, what I found endearing about the story is the fact that Ba’mia is accepted and loved by his family, despite his handicap. African societies must love the physically challenged, as God’s creation. Society must learn to accept and nurture them to realise their full potential. It seemed Gwan-Fumbat was vindicated in the end.

The language is also simple and the narration is straightforward. An enjoyable 14-page story that I would love to recommend for one’s reading relaxation. Indeed, reading the whole anthology would be a fine way of understanding different African cultures, and what makes the African tick over here.

About the Author: Mutia Ba’Bila was born in Victoria (now Limbe) Cameroon and he teaches African and Modern British Literature at the Ecole Normale Superieure, University of Yaounde. His work has been broadcast on the BBC.

Poet At Play – Poisoned Love

Tags

False Love, Poison

Poison Love

 

She smiles

Through

Her teeth

False woman

Her eyes

Are daggers

Piercing

Where it hurts

The most.

 

She

Charms me

Superficial beauty

Coated pancake

The cracks

Visible only

To my

Discerning eye

Her bloated

Body

sensuous

Corruption

Pregnant

voluptuousness

Attracts me

 

I see

Through her

I have

The priviledge

Of seeing

Through

Her perfect

Layers of

Lavender

Powder

Saccharine

Sweetness

 

I am

Like her

Phony

Maleness

Hard crust

And yet

Butter

Softness

My core

Her bile

Seeped

Into me

She melted

My soul

 

(C) Celestine Nudanu

23/07/12

Poet At Play – Mad For Your Love

Tags

Mad For Your Love, romance

Mad For Your Love

 

I am weak

With my need

I am dizzy

For Your kisses

I am crazy

For your touch

I am hungry

For your warmth

 

Make me strong

So I can

Have my fill

Of you

I want to

See straight

So I can

Kiss you back

My lips

Pliant, waiting

 

Make me

Sane

In wanting you

I seem

To have

Gone mad

And drunk

With your

Love

I am sated.

And whole

 

(C) Celestine Nudanu

19/07/12

 

 

 

 

 

Poet At Play – Jaded

Tags

Arteries, Innocence, Jaded Love, romance

Jaded

 

Inside my heart

A piano

Plays for you

The song

Of my youth

Inside my heart,

A hymn is sung

To you

Of my dreams

My love

Desire

You viewed

Through a mirror

Of thorns.

 

For you heard

The tunes

Of my soul

Tasted the love

From my arteries

 

Yet you trampled

Upon my joy

In giving you

Sweet melodies.

You made mockery

Of my lyrics

You chose

To hear the dirge

That never escaped

My lips

They were never

In my heart.

 

You heard

The discordant

Rhythm,

A clanging cymbal

Of cacophonous notes

Crushing

Your eardrums

Its weight

Jarring

 

You trampled

On my love

My innocence.

Now

I am thorn

Bleeding 

Jaded.

The wiser.

 

(C) Celestine Nudanu

18/07/12

Short Story Tuesday – (Review) The Housegirl by Okey Chigbo

Tags

Lagos, The Housegirl

The Housegirl by  Nigerian Okey Chigbo is another short story from the Anthology of Contemporary African Short Stories edited by Chinua Achebe and C L Innes.

The Housegirl is an enjoyable 16 page expose of the happenings in the lives of the individual members of a wealthy Nigerian family. The story is told through sixteen- year-old Comfort, the Senior housegirl whose caustic, frank and sometimes hilarious narration reveals the inequalities inherent in the strata of society. Comfort’s mistress whom she calls Madam, refuses to pay her monthly wages.  The amount, 10 Naira, is paid to Comfort’s father at the end of very month and she gets 3 Naira from her father who keeps the rest. This has been stopped for two years after Comfort’s father’s death. The mistress also discriminates against Comfort even when it comes to sharing of gifts and items.

“…….Did I tell you that madam has returned from Lagos? You should see the things she brought back. She gave Obiageli a beautiful gown  with enough wonderful colours to shame all the pretty flowers in the vilalge…..As usal, there was nothing for me. You know how it goes. Selina gets everything just because she is from madame’s hometown. My seniority as a number one housegirl does not mean anything. to madam.” P 1489

Comfort however, approaches her work with enthusiasm, preparing the meals with great skill. Master often asks for her delicious egusi soup (P 149). Occasionally, she lords it over the younger housegirls who are her mistress’ favourites.

The Housegirl is not your ordinary story of a girl forced through circumstances to be a housegril in a rich home where she is maltreated. The story of Comfort is not a sop story. The story of Comfort is only a microcosm of a macrocosm. Through her gossipy yet dignified narratives which is reflected by short episodic sentences, the reader is made aware of the selfishness of man towards his fellow-man. The bane of African governments, nepotism is also highlighted when madam only gives gifts to the housegirls from her hometown. In the larger macroscopic world, posh government and political positions are given out based on tribal and ‘old boy’ sentiments. Through Comfort, the reader is again made to confront salient issues like economic exploitation of the poor; adultery; (Master fathers a child outside his marriage) irresponsible behaviour of the youth; (the philandering of the only son of the family, Callistus, who drops out of school and makes one of the housegirls pregnant); greed and avariciousness of society that has milked out human kindness.

“Madam on the other hand resembles a dry fish we use to make soup…..she is getting thinner everyday despite her succesful business because her wooden heart  is sucking out all the kindness in her  body. (p 154)

I will recommend this short story and indeed, the whole Anthology of Contemporary African Short Stories for lovers of African literature.

About the Author: Born in Enugu Nigeria in 1955, Chigbo Okey attended secondary school in that city. He moved to Canada in 1976 and gained a BA in Economics from Simon Fraser University, Vancouver. His articles have been published in West Africa, New African, African Events, Class, Black Enterprise and The Business Journal.

Poet At Play – Sleep No More

Tags

Lady Macbeth, Muse, Sleep No More

Sleep No More

 

It is late in the night,

So late

The dead silence

Soothes my eyelids

Luring me

To shut them

And succumb

To the sweetness

Of sleep.

 

And why not? 

My dear one

Already yields

To the lull

Of the night

His gentle snores

Mingle

With the child-like

Imitation

Of our boys,

The two sounds

Blending

A discordant

Music

Creating

The only whispers

Of the night.

 

Behind my computer

I give  birth

And ignore

The cold place

By his side

Rightfully mine

I ignore

The look

Before he drifts off,

Hot or cold

Or both

I choose not

To see

Nor know

 

And I resist

Sleep,

For my muse

Has murdered

My sleep.

I am no

Lady Macbeth

But  I shall

Sleep no more

Till I have

Scribbled

And released

My muse

 

(C) Celestine Nudanu

15/07/12

#FridayFictioneers – Spectators

Tags

Ghoulish Spectators

Last week I could not take part in the Friday Fictioneers as I was so busy going up and down. This week, I just took a look at the photo prompt from Madison Woods and started to offer my take straight from the head without any thought to the form or plot of the 100 words. I do hope it meets expectations. Critiques are welcome please.

Spectators

They came with unnatural speed to feed on the carcass that was her still form. Like buzzards, they circled round her, their nostrils flared up in ghoulish wonder at the sight that met their eyes.

Even in death, she allowed them to stare at her, in all her morbid glory. Her beautiful naked body, once irresistible to an adoring community of men now glistened in the eerie moonlight by the riverside, its wasted angles a reminder to them of what she had once been to them all. How they had yearned for her. Now, in death she was all theirs.

To see what the rest of the Fictioneers are up to, do click on the little linky below. Thanks!