THE HIDDEN RECIPE

I couldn’t have possibly forgotten despite his numerous texts and calls just to remind me of what he calls the hidden recipe. My journey from Koforidua after an unusual errand was not comfortable because I needed to get this hidden recipe. Kwame stayed all his childhood life in the United Kingdom. Returning to Accra to pursue his first Degree in Geography and resource development, we became friends when I first introduced him to what is popularly known as ice kenkey. We became very close friends and had no secrete between us. As far as Kwame is concerned, there is no better snack on a Wednesday under the hot African sun than a well refrigerated ice kenkey somewhere on Legon campus. To him, the creamy milk content is not the issue, the unique aroma of nearly fermented kenkey from the heart of the Fante kingdom was certainly not the best compliment. The hidden recipe to him was that fresh butter bread straight from the heart of Koforidua; the chilling town with the most beautiful girls. These two things gave meaning to Kwame’s weekly diet. I made up my mind to get the biggest loaf for him and I did. It was not a long journey after all as we descended from the Aburi Mountains towards Adenta in less than an hour. The driver was too fast for me though, but Kwame’s desperation was the only reason I was happy we got to Accra early and safe.

Kwame met me right in front of the main entrance of University of Ghana where I alighted; with a warm welcome, a big smile and a happy face. It baffles me to see Kwame being so nice to me just because I bought him his favorite. I had a heavy load of food stuff that a brought from Koforidua which was enough to take care of us till the end of the semester. I also had my back pack which contained my laptop and books. The loaf of bread on my left hand was the less heavy load which Kwame offered to help. How can you offer to help me carry the less heavy load? Take my back pack at least; I complained. He rattled a long list of silly reasons why he cannot help with the heavy load in his English slang that I could barely here a word. Kwame said he did not have money on him, so we had to walk all the way to Jubilee hall. I knew that what definitely not the case. However, going to the hall before heading to buy his ice kenkey would delay his desperation to satisfy this unusual likeness he has developed for his ice kenkey. I resisted his claims and insisted we go to the hall even if we had to walk all the way. I took the lead whiles he followed slowly with some level disappointment in his face. His selfishness did not save him this time. There was no way he could save the situation by paying for a taxi, because he already said he had no money on him. As quite as very unusual, Kwame and I walk very slowly and all the way to the hall. We entered my room at about a quarter to 12 noon.

Immediately we dropped the stuff, Kwame suggested we go get some refreshing ice kenkey to cool off with. It was of no objection from my part, as it was actually the best thing to do at that very moment. I never understood what it meant to say that, the secrete to a man’s heart is through his mouth, until we had set off for that favorite snack. I looked at Kwame as we were walking along the road.  He had so much light illuminating from his face. He smiled at anyone who passes by and was always the first to say hello. He had such a rejuvenated spirit and as if his dark soul had seen light again. At one point in time, I felt that I also need to have this hidden recipe that will make me happy when ever am sad. I yearned for a reason to be happy just like Kwame. However, as the saying goes in an Akan proverb; when you start praising a plantain for being ripe, just keep it mind that it’s close to a perishable state. This proverb made more sense when there was a sudden change of mood by Kwame. He kept staring in front with a long face and a touch of anger and hate. At a few meters he stopped. What’s your problem Kwame? We are almost close to the ice kenkey joint. Why are you stopping? I asked with so much concern. He still did not alter a word. For one moment, he looked like someone who climbed a fifty story hotel building via the stairs, only to realize he forgot his key at the lobby. Or perhaps, someone who had just seen his worst disappointment. I looked to his direction and there was one person there. I only know her as Mansa. That’s how Kwame calls her. He finds it difficult pronouncing her Ewe name so he named her after a song that really moved him the first time he attended a hall week celebration; a song by Bisa Kdei. Kwame has been dating Mansa for barely six months. As far as I was concerned, all was well between them. I was shocked to see that Mansa also had the same look when she spotted Kwame. She had this fear in her beautiful eyes that would shed tears and was just waiting for someone to say shoo. She mastered some courage and walk gently to us and said; hi.

Unfortunately, the response only came from me. Kwame looked at her with so much hate that scared me. A few days ago he spoke so well of how much he loved Mansa and his plans to get married to her right after that very semester which was our last. What happened when I was away? What is Kwame keeping from me? I kept asking myself. Let me excuse the two of you. I will wait for you under the tree. I have a call to make, I said to Kwame. He looked at me and said nothing. It was as if his silence told me; I wish I could not talk to this girl. I leaned against the tree so I can have a clear vision of these two people. Look at them, they stand to face each other with so much hate from one and shame from the other. They are a few inches away from each other but their heart are wide apart. There is physical presence and yet, emotional absence; I kept talking to myself.

The whole conversation looked like Mansa had something to explain to Kwame. He kept that strange face and looking elsewhere whiles Mansa was trying to explain herself in such a mild tone. Had she cheated on him, I asked myself. Things became abnormal when Kwame started to speak. He started shouting and speaking on top of his voice, leaving Mansa crying on her knees. I decide to rush and stop him from doing anything stupid. When I got close, the next word I heard stuck me like thunder and so did Mansa. Its over between us, I don’t ever want to see you in my life; Kwame said in such a loud voice of anger. This brought the attention of everyone around the central cafeteria. People were just staring at Mansa and left Kwame to burst his anger. Mansa quickly run to my direction in tears. I opened up my arms to hold and console her but it only cost me laughter. She pushed me out of her way and headed straight for Legon hall annex. What is the meaning of this nonsense, are you out of your mind? How can you break a vulnerable heart like that? What if she commits suicide? I spoke with so much anger.

As soon as a spoke about suicide, Kwame said; why is she going to Legon hall annex? She is in Sabah. And it’s the closest story building hear. We both run after her with full speed. She saw us running after her and she increased her pace. It was like she was up to something that we have noticed. She did not want to run because anyone could stop her. We started shouting, stop her! Stop her! Don’t let her climb that building. Unfortunately, we were too late, Mansa had already climbed up the building. We stood outside and told everyone. It was difficult to know which room she had entered. We called her phone and all her friends on that building but to no avail. We decided to wait and spread ourselves around the building and look out for her. While doing that, Kwame quickly called the police and told them what had just happened. Almost everyone around helped in doing this. Some went to knock almost all the rooms but there was no response. After a few minutes, the police arrived at the scene and took control. Kwame and I were just desperate and lost in action. I could see so much regret in Kwame’s eyes.  At that moment, I wished I could turn the hands of time. The whole ice kenkey fever did not matter to Kwame anymore. After barely an hour, Mansa came down stairs with a bottle wrapped in a black bag. Everyone was so much relived to see Mansa. Even though she was still shedding tears, it was so obvious that she was not going to kill herself and at the same time, she was going to do something crazy. As soon as Kwame saw her, he run towards her and fell on her feet with tears all over his face. He cried so heavily and begged for forgiveness. I went to Mansa and pleaded on Kwame’s behalf to take things easy. She held Kwame and asked him to get up. She said; I had wanted to kill myself. I had tied a rope that I bought to change my drying line at home. Just before I wanted to slip off the chair, I remembered you asked me to prepare you ice kenkey sometime ago. I promised to do that on several occasions and never had the chance to. I knew what made you happy, and it’s your happiness that matters to me the most. However, everyone deserves to be happy, and that included me too. I have relented on my decision to take my life, instead, I am going to find what is going to make me happy. I am going to find my own hidden recipe for a happy life. You are lucky to find yours in ice kenkey and I will not deny you that happiness. I want to be part of the happy days of your life. This is my promise to you. Enjoy your ice kenkey. I will also find mine, not soon, but definitely.

These words suddenly changed the atmosphere, as if it was a Mexican movies or a telenovela. All stood there in surprise and total shock. Soon the police came closer and calm was restored. Kwame on the other hand was the victim now. He felt so ashamed of himself. He took the ice kenkey from Mansa and began to walk back to the hall. I was left in the middle with no option than to go to Mansa and tell her to put everything together again. There was no need following Kwame to the hall; at least, he is not that crazy to take his own life just because of this. Regardless, I still wanted to rush back to meet him and console him as a friend.

Mansa surprisingly, went upstairs and brought out two additional bottles of ice kenkey. She stared into my eyes and said; I made it for all of us to sit and enjoy it together. Let’s go to your hall, my room is too small. It was a perfect Idea to me, but I did not know how this very round of ice kenkey would be like. It definitely will not be that fun after all that has happened. She never spoke a word while walking towards my hall. Very soon we caught up with Kwame right at the car park to the hall. Do you have bread for our ice kenkey? She asked Kwame. Yes; he said. With a soft and gentle voice. He could not look into her eyes whiles talking. He had a lot of shame written all over his face. I quickly took the lead to get the room keys and borrow an additional chair from the next room to make it three. As soon as the table was set, Kwame and Mansa walked in the room smiling. He apologized to her and she had forgiven him. I felt very happy for the two of them as they had finally found the nails that fit those holes in their hearts.

We had so much fun with our ice kenkey and not forgetting the presence of the hidden recipe of fresh butter bread from the heart of Koforidua. That very night after Mansa had returned back to her hall, all that happened placed me in a state of dilemma. I began to question myself; what is the hidden recipe of a happy life? I looked at the face of Kwame as he was sleeping like a baby who had no problem at all.

Kwame and Mansa got married just as they planned right after school. And all these while, I never got to realize what this hidden recipe was until today. I sit at the back seat in an auditorium to celebrate three years of a happy marriage between Kwame and Mansa. I now know that the hidden recipe for a happy life is for you to love yourself. Both are happy today because Mansa refused to take her own life.  Kwame’s hidden recipe was ice kenkey. He would do anything to get it because he loved himself, Mansa refused to take her own life because she wanted to find happiness; she loved herself. Today, she has found happiness.

I am writing this because that is my newly found hidden recipe. I continue to write because it makes me happy and I love my self.

PRIDE OF THE NORTHENER

 

The  tradition, the dressing, the unique cultural display, permanent mark of identity that can never get lost and also shows ones identity to his immediate family. One who supplies food from his land to feed the whole nation despite the Savannah nature of his land? You see him in his smock sitting on his wonderful animal skin and he needs no identification. The pride for who he is has been the source of togetherness among his people. One who contributes the largest man power base in the country? One who is the major decider for the seat of the central administrative body of his noble country? His name has been dragged in the mud for disunity, conflict and lack of understanding. But I tell you his unity strength and tolerance made him less numbered I the slave trade. The same people painting him black were the largest number taken during the slave trade not because of their nearness to the coast but because of their disunity. It is believed that nothing good comes from him, but I also know and believe that the origin of every good thing in his country comes from him. He is a brother, a father and a friend to every person who believes in pride for once identity not minding his or her tribe or lineage. He constitute majority in the front-line political seat of his country. He is strong physically and spiritually fortified. He never attends any function without a traditional wear; at least his beads and smock will not be left behind. We could go on and on but at the end of it all there is the establishment of the fact that this person is no other than a man from the NORTH OF GHANA.

NB: some facts might not be true
Kiddie stories

Mohammed Abdul Hamid
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Dreamline Creativity Network

A WEEKEND AT ZONGO

Allahu-akbar, Allahu- Akbar; the call for duty, the call for responsibility, the call for sincerity, the call for worship and a new beginning; the Adhan is heard. The young man in Zongo wakes up with fatigue written all over his face just because he had a few hours of sleep last night. He has abandoned his sleep because he has heard the call for submission, the beginning of a new dawn, the sound of a new life worthy of making a difference in the lives of the people in his society. The young man comes back from the mosque with a pure and cleansed heart. He hopes that his sins be forgiven and prayers answered by his creator. He lies down on his back thinking about nothing except where the next meal would be coming from.

Nnaa-kwana, how was your sleep? Our young man greets the old woman in the house. She responds nicely and then says; I have no left overs, she already knows what he is and what he has been asking for. Feeling disappointed, he gets ready to take his bath and try making ends meet. He walks along the poor graved road heading towards Antie Muni’s Koko joint where he puts his last hope for breakfast. She sees him and with a warm welcome of a beautiful smile and a sense of love, she says; "don’t be sad about the empty koko container, yours is specially reserved for you in that jag, help me pack my things into the taxi and it’s yours". With passion and pleasure, Nagode, he responds in respect and submission. At least the sweet aroma of very hot Koko and the sparkling oil spills on five rings of Kose gives him reason to have the first smile of the day. "I surely will enjoy this" he says;

Mohammed, Awuche! Awuche!! Awuche!!!, Shariff calls and says; "Hajia Nafisa is getting married today and the groom wants you to help us work on the cow, Quick! Quick!" With his Koko and Kose in hand, he runs as fast as he can and jumps into an old Nissan hard body to join Shariff and others. Oops! A little cut on the knee as a result of the jump. 'Bad one there' says One Barron as he speeds on the rough road to Hajia Nafisa’s house. With a feeling of happiness written all over everyone's face, Mohammed is happy because he will make some money that may last him a day or two.

Behind the house, Alhaji Ishaq cries out. As an unprofessional in slaughtering, Mohammed stands aside and waits for the action to be done and then after he joins them and all hands on deck. After an hour or more, the women came for the meat. Feeling very tired, he relaxes in a plastic chair few meters from the DJ Bayawa, who is holding it down for the day trying to acknowledge the beauty and the uniqueness of life. Just before he was eluded by sleep,  he heard, once again the call for peace, submission and worship.The Ikhamat for Zhur prayer wakes him up and this time, he had to pray alone because he missed the congregation. As a good Muslim he felt sad and walks with a long face from the nar by mosque to Hajia’s house and just as he got in the mist of his pals, A mountain of rice standing up right in a big bowl gives him reason to smile again. Without washing his hands, he quickly runs to join his friends and start eating.

He must be very hungry, because he still looks unsatisfied as he lies on a bench isolated from the crowd. You must be Samira, the sister of Hajia Nafisa; he asked a young lady as she walks pass him to serve food. Yes she replied. Without hesitating, she gives him a ball of Kenkey and canned fish when he asked for more food because she knew he was a very good friend of her sister. Nagode, he thanked her and finished it in no time, but he made sure he was not too full so as to be able to finish the job given to him by Baba Musah, a very impatient farmer in his late70’s.He leaves Hajia’s house immediately after  praying Asr  for Baba Musah’s plot of land. With a very good machete, the work was done in 30 min.

Baba Musah, feeling angry and desperate for the 10 min delay of work, gave him GH¢2 for 2 acres of land. Feeling very disappointed, he takes it in shame, but he was not soo sad because he knows that such are the principles of life; sometimes you are up, the next moment you are garbage. Not minding how small he was given, he gives one cedi to Baba Ali, an old beggar and receives lots of thanks for that. As he walks towards Imam Abdullah’s house for earlderly advice, Shariff faithfully gives him ten cedis, his own share of the work they did for Hajia Nafisah and confessed how grateful she was. He was so happy because his prayer has been answered. He tries to make a short chat so that he can get more advice from his Imam.

Salamualaik, Mohammed approached his Imam with a greeting of peace. He responds warmly and offered Mohammed a seat and local tea-ataya- as usual. Imam Abdullah could not say a lot because it was almost time for Magrib prayers which they did together.

On his way home, he tried to remember the advice that he was given but he could not. Who knows may be he was carried away by the little token from Hajia Nafisah. But one quote that rounded up the advice of which he will never forget was “success might seem only a word but takes time to spell”

He tried to analyze the meaning and just as he needed someone to help him do that, there came Munta, a very intelligent school mate of his and just like Mohammed, he also dropped out of school due to financial constraints.  Munta like Mohammed was heading towards the mosque after hearing the Adhan for Isha prayers, the last of the compulsory prayers.

He Mohammed sat with Latif, Mugis, Abu, Nasir and three other ladies; Fati, Oloye and Nasiba who are all interested in making a difference in their society as usual. After three hours of peaceful and harmonious argument, they came to a conclusion that success can be achieved only through patience and taking advantage of the right opportunity.

After departing, our young man heads towards his single room with just a little radio, a mat and his Quran as well as his buta (kettle) to keep him company. At the end, he lies on his back and says these words as always; “the things that I do every day will determine who I will become tomorrow. Life is a struggle but at the end it all makes it fun. Nature gives me not what I deserve, but what I fight for. It’s only a matter of time, the world will hear my cry, falsehood will come and die and the truth will come alive. Insha Allah, tomorrow will be a better day” he smiles and then goes to bed full of hope for the beginning of new era that might be the turning point in his life.

Indeed, this is how the day ends for numerous young Muslims like Mohammed who are tirelessly trying to make a difference in their lives and that of others as well. This indeed, is a lovely weekend, in a lovely place like Zongo, for a lovely young man like Mohammed.