(For Rev.-Col. Eugene Boapea Boamah Sintim[-Brown] Aka Kwaku Brown,
Retired Chaplain-General of the Ghana Armed Forces, 1941-2017)
The ride
from Abetifi
to Asiakwa
with Reverend Bromley
and his
Kukurantumi-born wife
felt as calm
as never before,
I was all attent,
all ears,
as Obama
would say,
rapt with attention
I mean,
for I had never heard
a Ghanaian-born
adult woman speak
so white
as snow,
the American lilt,
I shall later
learn;
Mrs. Bromley
was jet-black,
which made the contrast
with her voice
even more sharp;
of course,
I had heard
American blacks speak
their deep
African-inflected
lilt before,
but Mrs. Bromley
spoke white,
which was not
all that strange,
being that she also
slept white…
I quickly made up
my mind,
maybe one day
I would also fly
to Yankeedom
and marry me
a snow-white wench,
then I would acquire
an accent as white
as snow –
there is something funny
about a smiling goat
on the way
to the slaughter house,
feeling jolly
and hopeful
like it was all
rosy and
merry
on the other side
of the deep-blue sea…
when I left Abetifi,
I had been prescribed
two dozen shots,
I was yellow
with malaria,
something
I had been suffering
from birth,
I still had a dozen
shots
to go,
I was deathly sick,
the dispenser
at the clinic
had said,
but nobody seemed
to have noticed
or they simply
couldn’t give
a hoot,
and I was certain
I couldn’t give
a hoot
myself,
pushed into a
free-fall
with Aunt Bea’s
forefinger,
I was ready
to die
and find my way
back to God,
whoever He was,
wherever
He was –
three days later,
the lady dispenser
would go to
uncle’s house
and ask
for me,
only to be told
I had been sent away
on account of
something bad
I had done –
“But that child
is gravely ill,
he still had
a dozen shots
to take…”
Uncle,
I deeply hurt.
What does it matter,
a wayward waif
is as good
as dead –
Dear Uncle,
I deeply hurt…
You would later come down
to Asiakwa
and bashfully complain
I had made you feel
like a bad man,
that I should have told you
I had a few more shots
to go…
what did it matter,
my rude send-off
would merely
have been delayed;
besides,
you were no bad man
at all,
just a good husband
who rightly doted
on his wife,
I was the tare
a nuisance
to be uprooted
and burned –
besides,
haven’t our sages said
a nearby slap
had better been
promptly received,
lest the recipient
prematurely
die of angst –
a slap in time
can save
a dozen
deaths –
Uncle,
I have been deeply
hurt,
it was not
your fault,
I simply ought not
to have been
born,
then you wouldn’t
have had to bear
another’s load
of crock –
I am
the waste
the night-soil men
forgot
to lug,
yes,
I am
the waste
that ought not
to have been
discharged,
I am
the waste
that escaped from
the septic tank,
the trap
that ought not
to have been
set –
Uncle,
I have been
deeply hurt…
I am
the baby poop
that escaped
the nursing mother’s
mop –
I am
deeply ashamed
of my birth,
I look forward
to my death,
happy to end
it all
and dissolve
into dust,
my birth
was also
my death,
my death
shall be
the beginning of
my birth,
Uncle,
peace,
be still…
7/13/17
(RIP)