Obolo Affinity

Now before I begin, I would like to state for the record that the word “Obolo” is usedy in a sataric and playful sense, purely for comedic purposes. I don’t need any oversensitive individuals breathing down my neck. People just can’t take a joke no more. Ah well…
For my foreign readers, as well as the non-twi speakers, the word Obolo loosely translates to mean a fat person.. That simple.
Now that we’re through with the niceties, let’s begin, shall we?
For a very long time now, I’ve observed, to great dissatisfaction and unhappiness, a rather worrying and disturbing trend. It’s something I know for a fact most of you will not relate to, some may even scoff at it, others may well yet take it up a notch to even laugh at it. But do I care? I most certainly do not. I’ll still present my case with utmost grace and diligence, or at least as much of each that I can muster.
My problem is quite simple: Anytime I take a seat inside a trotro or taxi, I am almost always joined by an Obolo. Yeah, you read right. Go ahead, snigger. Laugh at my pain.
I just seem to have a certain quality or aura of ‘come for your salvation’ to my Obolo folks and I just can’t simply for the love of me place a finger on exactly what it is.
It doesn’t matter what time of day: dawn or night; or even the place: Pokuase or Prampram. It just does not  matter where or when, the likelihood that I’ll be seated next to by an Obolo is almost always guaranteed. Mathematicians will say the probability is almost zeroing in on a one (ignore the pun)…..Let’s be clear on one thing, I don’t really mind being seated next to by an Obolo. I mean I do mind but not really in that sense. Get it? No? Don’t fret, me neither.
Let me clarify without stepping on any toes or pissing off anyone, a very tough task indeed. Let’s use my brother for the scenario. I love him and I honestly wouldn’t lose any sleep if he’s offended or not. What are siblings for? If not to help one explain one’s sensitive point of view. Everyone wins.
Consider this, I won’t mind a fat version of my brother sitting next to me if he didn’t engage me in the most pointless conversations about the most mundane and mind numbing issues. No, I won’t.
I won’t blink twice having him sit by me if he didn’t eat anything and everything vendors sold in traffic. Not forgetting the plethora of smells emanating from everything he’d buy that gang up to assault the nose. Nauseating.
I certainly wouldn’t mind if he didn’t invite me to join in the three course meal he’s having on a very short trip from Teshie to Nungua. Uh uh. I wouldn’t.
The list is pretty lengthy but I’ll conclude with the most pressing concern (pun very much intended). I would definitely have no qualms if he sits next to me without taking up all the space on the seat without any regards to my comfort or ability to move or even breathe. No sir, I would not mind.

I term this propensity to be get seated next to by a fat person as my Obolo Affinity.
I know for a fact that most of you have already started dishing out solutions, in your heads or even out loud, and I must tell you, I really don’t like your tone.
Now now, I know the simplest solutions are to either walk everywhere or get myself a car. Walking every place I intend to go to is an insane thought, even for me, given such welcoming weather conditions that make strolling an all the more pleasant endeavor. . More importantly, I am quite a distance from laying eyes on the amount of funds needed to get the car I want, let alone acquire them. That leaves me with facing my current predicament on a daily basis for now.
To end, I leave you with a tale of the height of my Obolo Affinity.
It was a bright Saturday afternoon with the sun showing off like it had a point to prove and I was visiting a friend at Prampram. When I got to the taxi, I noticed the front seat was occupied by a fat man. Thinking nothing of it, I joined the back seat which had one passenger already seated. Halfway sliding along the seat I realized I couldn’t go any further because I had collided into the seated passenger, a rather large woman. I looked up, greeted her and proceeded to listen to my Daddy Lumba. The last passenger didn’t join till about ten minutes later, at which point I ws already sweating only because vehicle was stagnant and it was very warm.
Suddenly, I heard the door turn to open. I looked to my right to my horror and complete dismay, to see this very huge woman dragging her feet to get into the taxi. I was halfway out of the car to escape when the driver started the car. The woman crashed into the seat, knocking me back into the car as well as almost breaking my right arm by sitting on it.
Ladies and gentlemen, the distance from Tema to Prampram is about 15 kilometers, if not more. And oh, did I mention that the sun was beaming like a proud dad? Beautiful. Let’s just put it this way, I got an appreciation for bread when it is put inside a toaster. It is an experience that sends shivers down my spine anytime it comes to mind. A memorable day  indeed, one I won’t forget in a hurry, brought to me by kind courtesy of my personal Obolo Affinity.

We Are Who We Are

People are set in their ways. This might sound like an oversimplification of the fact. Others might consider it an excuse to get away with their actions and deeds. No matter how you look at; regardless of the angle you come at it from, the one fact that remains is that people are what or who they are.

The story is told about the scorpion and the frog: The scorpion got to a river and needed to cross to the other side. He solicited help from a nearby frog to get across. It is said that the frog was hesitant to help because the scorpion had the propensity to sting other creatures. The frog only agreed to help after several attempts by the scorpion. The scorpion argues that if it did so, both would sink and the scorpion would drown. He jumped on the back of the frog and then began crossing the waters. Then, in the middle of the journey, what happens? You guessed correctly: Lo and behold, the scorpion stung the frog that was helping him cross the river. Unable to swim anymore and with both of them at the verge of drowning, the frog asked the scorpion why he chose to sting him. The scorpion’s reply was quite simple: ‘It’s just my nature’.
In the middle of vast waters, with its very own survival hinging on the creature carrying it across, the scorpion could not help but sting. It’s a pretty cynical outlook to life to take but that is the reality we are faced with, and we must accept it as it is. People are just what or who they are.

There’s even biological evidence to support this train of thought. Scientists have discovered a gene CDH13 that predisposes people to extreme acts of violence. It has been found in most serial killers, but that’s an argument for another day. Believe me, we’ll come to it.

On the subject of serial killers, one of the more famous ones, Carl Panzram, had this to say as his last words ‘Hurry up, you Hoosier bastard. I could kill ten men whiles you’re fooling around’. How about that for last words of a man who was facing imminent execution. No remorse, guilt, penance or shame whatsoever.

People can change, no doubt about that. It is a possibility, hell, it happens every day, everywhere. But the point I’m trying to put across is that it’s much easier for people to give in to their basic desires and urges. That innate drive for the satisfaction they crave above all can be intoxicating and lead them to forget whatever change they promised.
So the next time you hear someone say they’ve changed, do not throw it to the dogs, do not readily discard it; but rather take it with a pinch of salt because its true people change. But want to know what’s truer? You guessed it: People are who they are. Sharks will always attack if they smell blood. No matter how hard the economy of the jungle, the lion will never chew grass.

What better way to end than with an Albert Einstein  quote. He says “Men marry women with the hope they will never change. Women marry men with the hope they will change. Invariably they are both disappointed.” I couldn’t have put it any better, Albert.

 

Do it now! Do it, now!!

                                                                                              You’ve heard it a million times and over. Read it more times than you’ve read you’ve read your own name. Used it more times than you care to admit. It is the very embodiment of the term cliche.Well,  you’re about to see it one more time: Procrastination is the killer of time. I daresay more than a fair amount of the world’s writing and stories have been dedicated to it.

Another adage goes, opportunity knocks but once. Opportunity is in fact a close relative of time. So I ask then, what is the slayer of opportunity? What slams the door in the face of possibility like a jilted lover on an ex? The answer is simple enough: Hesitation. By virtue of my innumerous observations, I have come to the conclusion that, opportunity does not just come once but neither does it also hang around for long.

Allow me indulge you in my rather vague musing. Hesitation is an act of pausing before doing something. This act is a far more potent murderer than it is given credit. A moment’s hesitation or indecision can eliminate a very glorious opportunity in your life, and there’s no guarantee it’ll pull a Jesus and resurrect in your lifetime.

Now, take a moment and think back on some of the opportunities you’ve let slip through your fingers all because of one or two seconds of hesitation, and how it made you feel after.

I can’t count the number of times I’ve seen a beautiful girl from a distance, made up my mind to have a conversation with her, only to hesitate at the last second and then finally chicken out because she went past me and calling her back would be too much stress (me, trying to make myself feel better). Or the sheer volume of invitations I’ve turned down to have a meal with someone. The point is any of those girls could be a very influential figure in the future (Girl power, yeah!!) and I could have been friends with them. And let’s be honest, having friends in the right place never hurt anybody. Also, any of those meals could have turned out to be the best I’ve ever tasted. It just goes to saying, missing an opportunity is one of the worst feelings you’ll ever experience in your life

Now back to you. It could be choosing a school, selecting a course, accepting a job offer, inquiring about an opening, writing that proposal, eating that food or even taking that call. It could any one of any a million scenarios. The list goes on ad infinitum, but one thing is guaranteed: If you do not act swiftly, the oppurtonity will be gone before you can go back and see that the spelling of the first opportunity in this sentence wrong.

Another thing you should know with opportunities is that they come in waves, like an attack of CR7, Rooney and Tevez (God bless Ferguson’s United). Miss one and you are more than likely to miss them all. A “petard” is, according to Google, a small French bomb used to destroy flimsy structures. A moment’s hesitation could be like one of these nasty little buggers that can damage or destroy your prospects. But seize the opportunity, knock one down and watch them all come crashing down beautifully like a set of dominoes arranged by expert hands.

Then again, caution must be advised here, at the risk of sounding like a rapper, do not mistake hesitation for deliberation. Mulling over a decision is a sensible and an all-round good thing to do. In fact it is of paramount importance. Go ahead, weigh up the pros and cons of your decision. But once the choice has been made, do not dither, straddle or waffle. In brief language, do not be a pussyfoot (Run for your dictionaries)

I’m a real sucker for languages. So kindly allow me to end this rather worthless piece by using this particularly tasty Latin aphorism ‘Carpe Diem’. This loosely translates to ‘Seize the day’. It simply means take that opportunity by the scruff of its neck, take that bold step and watch something magical happen.

 

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What’s your ringtone? Sounds like a very strange question to ask someone. Right? My readers based in Ghana will be familiar with a particular song by Tinny called Ringtone. Now casually ignoring the fact that the artiste says “Where is your ringtone?” instead of “What is your ringtone?”, it actually got me thinking about the whole concept of ringtones
A ringtone is basically a sound made by a mobile phone when an incoming call is received. I just have to chip this in, that I feel so old using the term mobile phone. Okay, back to topic.
Lets get a little technical, shall we? There are several kinds of ringtones these days. Some are simply a sound effect: one annoying sound that keeps repeating, more commonly known as a monophonic melody. Others are polyphonic: a mix of instruments, and sound much nicer than the predecessor. The last kind is the form of actual songs. This is the most complex form in terms of both composition and effect.
So what’s your phone’s ringtone? Go round, ask people you see and get the weirdest answers. I’ve tried it. First thing you notice is that most people don’t remember theirs off head. More often than not, they have to check their phones to be able to tell. And did you know you can tell a lot about a person by their ringtone? No? Well I’m telling you, a lot. Mine is the theme song for Pink Panther. Yes you read right, Pink Panther. You know it? Yeah. It’s this very playful and catchy tune. Everyone can hum to it. Sometimes, when a call comes through, I find myself humming to it for so long that I miss the call. No no, don’t judge, you’ll hear weirder ones. So what does my ringtone tell you about me? I’ll tell you. It says I’m fun, warm, kind, sweet and young at heart.
Some people are just not bothered to change the default ringtone their phones came in. That could depict a lack of time or interest, depending on how you look at it. It could even point to a lack of an eye for detail. Yes, it can.
If someone’s a Mozart or Beethoven, you can safely conclude with one word: Class.
I’m not even going to touch on your issues (yes, issues) if you use the old telephone bell. Nope.
The guys that use the annoying monophonic melodies are sly and calculating.
Now with the music ringtones, the person could be mirroring the artiste or the message of the song. For example a Kanye ringtone could tell me you’re egotistic, a Marshall Mathers points to Misogyny
What? Why are you surprised. Yes, you can get all that from a something as mundane as a ringtone.
So next time you hear someone’s phone ring, pay very close attention. You never know, you may be seated next to the future mother or father of your kids or more probably, a stone cold killer looking for their next target. The last one was also probably listening intently to his or her ringtone too.
So basically, ringtones are interesting. Very interesting.

How do you do?

It was really hard coming up with a title for this post. I won’t even lie. Have you ever had a million ideas run through your head at the very same time? Surely not a  million but you get the gist, don’t you? Of course you do, clever you. So yeah, it was tough. That’s all I’m trying to say.
This piece orbits around one of the funniest stories you never heard. Now now, don’t put on your stern face. It’s utterly unsettling, honestly.
I read somewhere that in situations where people know beforehand that they’re going to be coerced into laughing, they instinctively put on their ‘game’ faces in order to make it more of a challenge. This piece is not meant to make you roll on the floor in laughter, or at least I can’t promise that. No no, I can’t. Honesty, they say, is the best policy. Let’s get on with it then.
Today’s category is Security men or more popularly known as watchmen. Weird? Yeah, I know. Alright, let the class commence. What are some of the things you associate with the aforementioned category of workers? And please, don’t be afraid to stereotype….. at this stage only though. Oh yeah, I hear some of your answers: Uneducated, lazy, sleeping on duty, dreaming whiles sleeping on duty, womanizing and a whole lot more. Wow, you guys can be mean!!! You really let loose there. Nice. I asked you to? Well I asked l to but didn’t say be so cruel. Agree to disagree? Sounds good to me too.
Now I know I must be sounding like a real arse (excuse my choice of words) right now or you might be wandering what the whole point of this is. Ladies and gentlemen, allow me to be the hero of the day like I’m supposed to be by telling about the first encounter I had with a particular security guard. You sat up? Good!
Believe me, I was also as prejudiced as you lot before I met this man. The name Mr. Amos Quito will be used in order to keep him anonymous. Hey hey hey, it’s a name and I like it. One of the very first things I noticed about Mr. Amos Quito was his command of the English language. Now, we all know most, if not all, watchmen hardly speak the queen’s tongue, not to talk of being fluent. The very first time I saw him at his station, I greeted him like the good and well mannered young man my parents brought me up to be. Oh shut up, I am. Amos Quito responded in kind and asked of my health by using the phrase “How do you do?”. Now, take a second and let that sink in. That particular statement registered very prominently on me because even though a perfectly normal question, it’s not a term you hear very often. I’ve already said that I was predisposed to your earlier barbaric thoughts, so imagine me hearing this from the most unlikely source. Naturally I got confused, perplexed, bewildered and baffled all at the same time and in turn replied in a very timid voice “I’m do fine” instead of a simple “I’m good” or the more sophisticated “How do you do?”. Ha ha ha….. Very funny. Go on, have a laugh. I’m not hurt. Really, I’m not. I don’t want to blow my own horns, but the truth is that I  have an excellent grasp of the English language. Admittedly, that wasn’t one of my finest hours. To put things in context, it was one of my most embarrassing moments. After further and more extensive interaction with my new found friend, I discovered he was a degree holder, Bsc Political Science to be very specific. My respect for Mr. Amos Quito soared. But I did learn a very important lesson that day: Appearances can be deceptive; Never judge a book by its cover; and any of other cliches you can think of. It was truly a humbling experience and one of which I’m not shy to share.
This and other experiences, which I’ll share with you on this platform, have helped steer me from further prejudice and stereotyping. So, after reading about my experience, I hope you lot will restrain from your binary, archaic and quite frankly medieval mode of thinking. It’s time we put such outmoded way of thinking to bed, for it’s a new day. So the next time you’re tempted to act or think like I did, pause for a moment and ask yourself “How do you do”?

Forever

I’ve always wondered what happens after we die, and I’m not talking biology, you geek-heads out there. Neither am I inviting you religious fanatics to a buffet. No please.
I’m merely pondering on what happens to the relationships we had, the confidantes we keep; in short the memories people hold of us when we’re gone. Are they ephemeral or long lasting? Are they a true reflection of who we were or just fibs our loved ones tell themselves? Do they encapsulate our entire personality or just briefs moments when we were at our best? Does everyone have  the same story or to each their own version? Okay. I know, I know…. I got a little carried away. Back to the headline then, shall we?
The real answer here is: IT DOESN’T REALLY MATTER. I know right? Sometimes I surprise myself too. Here is why. No matter our religious affiliations or educational background or geographic orientation or any other colorful words that equate to diversity, we all have the the same deep seated desire that cuts across all these borders: To be remembered long after we’re gone. In just two words, LIVE FOREVER.
To quote Jay Z “Ain’t in it for the fame that dies within weeks. Ain’t in it for the money, cant take me when you leave. I wanna be remembered long after I breathe; Long after I’m gone, long after I’m gone. I leave all I am in the hands of history”. Now I know History is playing in your head right now, but please; and I never thought I’d ever say this as huge HOV fan, pause the music for a moment as I conclude this rather pointless piece.

I believe it was Terry Pratchett who once said ‘a man is not dead whiles his name is still spoken’: giving more grounding to the fact that we are only truly gone when we’ve disappeared from the memories of those who truly loved us; meaning a great artiste never dies as long as his books are read, his paintings admired, his music still evokes emotions, his inventions still used, his poems still fascinate, his movies still watched, his works remembered. As long as our songs are sung, we may each of us, in the annals of time, live forever. Forever.