Celebrating AFRICA with AfroBloggers

africaweek2014

 

Out of the blue, my very annoying sweet sister, nutritionist and chef, therapist and friend; Amma (@MsAnarfi) nominated me to hop on the CELEBRATING AFRICA WITH AFROBLOGERS train, well well well, ain’t that deep? (oya snap your fingers, I did something here.)

 

I recently followed afrobloggers, one beautiful Wednesday evening after I saw them appear on my timeline on twitter (I should think it was Doctor Albert; @al_Bert_ who did retweet them) and they were asking for links to blog posts and poems on LOVE. Caught my attention. I did share one of my poem I did on love, a duet with Naa actually; https://bragiapollohaven.wordpress.com/2015/07/10/366-rollercoaster-days/ . so yeah that’s how I got to know of AfroBloggers and I think they are doing a pretty awesome job of connecting bloggers in Africa and this challenge is a proof.

 

I talk a lot, so you will have to pardon me when I someway somehow somewhere seem to beat around the bush in this post but I will do my best to try and contain my excitement and do justice to this.

 

Chale Amma, thanks for Nominating me.

 

So my Names are Prince Enoch Kojo Afful, but I am more accustomed to Prince, mainly because I’ve been called by that since I was born, even my parents hardly call me Enoch or Kojo, just Prince. You’d be saving yourself the trouble and not try to call me Kojo or Enoch, I might not respond, I always most often forget that those are my names too. Maybe its about time I let people actually call me by those. Anyways I was born and raised in Nigeria, Karu Abuja, to be precise. Although my parents are Ghanaians, myself and my two younger siblings all grew up in Nigeria before we recently moved to Ghana for the first time in our lives (for my siblings and i) somewhere in August 2007. At some point in time, I even started to feel like I am actually a Nigerian. As to how my parent ended up in Nigeria, is a story for another day. But then I love to see myself as half Ghanaian, half Nigeria, and I love to see it as a blessing having to experience two different but almost the same side of Africa. Thanks to growing up in Nigeria I, Yoruba, Hausa and a teeny weeeny bit of Igbo, isn’t a problem for me (doesn’t mean you should start asking me what some words means oooo, you’d have to pay) and Ow! Did I mention while in Nigeria i was given two names, Emeka (Amongst my Igbo friend) and Monday (amongst mu Yoruba friends). To cut the story short, I spent the first 15 years of my life growing up in Nigeria, and it went a long way shaping me, I dressed like them, behaved like them, I even had their accent, a thick one, so much that when I came to Ghana I felt a little bit like a stranger and no one would believe me when I said I was Ghanaian.

 

Having to have had the chance to experience life in Nigeria and In Ghana, I must say that Africa is really a dynamic culturally diverse but amazingly united continent. The Food, the languages, the cultures, the heritages and histories, the traditions and festivals, the Norms all of these diverse in many ways but somehow they seem to be connected, you can actually draw a single line through Africa without a break to show that two or three or four or thousand things that every African Country share, like how I got to discover that the Ga’s of Ghana have a link with the Yorubas of Nigeria (and the similarity in culture is amazingly striking, to think they both have the “silent H” articulation) having to experience life from this two different places, I can for sure say something about other Africans, they are amazing people. Look past our woes, and you will see how beautiful of a Continent Africa is.

 

Africa is really blessed, from all of our natural resources down to us the beautiful strong Africans, we just have to sit up and do things right in terms of our governance, educational sector and resource management, I feel we have delayed in becoming the great continent that other continents are supposed to look up to. But I do have faith in Africa, I mean look around you, we are slowly but gradually taking over and with time, very soon we will actually be the yardstick for other continents. God Bless Africa

 

(I actually can’t believe I am ending the post here, I want to rant more)

 

But I should end so that others will carry on from where I stopped and i’d like to nominate these aweome bloggers as well to continue this train;

  1. @shep_jnr
  2. @_NaaMomo
  3. @M_animah
  4. @_insideout_Oreo
  5. @truecoaster
  6. @_Reedah
  7. @Ozion
  8. @al_Bert_
  9. @NJbraso
  10. @eli_sabblah

I really want to nominate more than 10 (but for rules) but it won’t bite if I add some more . Would it??

  1. @aghanaiangirl
  2. @Okundayor
  3. @mr_Asante
  4. @SwayeKidd
  5. @MrCyrilBanya
  6. @Ms_AAjay
  7. @worthyblvckGh
  8. @Afadjato

I hope I don’t get into trouble for going beyond 10 but hey!! Anything to get people celebrate Africa is worth breaking a leg for. Love you all, ow and you reading this alone, makes you a nominee for this challenge.

 

This is how the award works:

  1. Once you are nominated, make a post titled CELEBRATING AFRICA WITH AFROBLOGGERS.
  2. Your post should share a brief on Afrobloggers and the work they are doing. Also thank and link  the person who nominated you.
  3. Celebrate Africa in the way you feel is more appropriate and in line with your blog”s overall theme.
  4. Nominate 5 -10 other bloggers who you feel are worthy of this award. Let them know they have been nominated by commenting on one of their posts. You can also nominate the person who nominated you.
  5. Ensure all of these bloggers are of African heritage.
  6. Lastly, COPY these rules in the post and include the link to this original post.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Advertisements

These Hands 

These Hands 

Feels like brain massage

Sting like Bee

this piece is inspired by this image which i saw on instagram , posted by @bebeautifulla photohraphy by @pauljungdiary
Do you know how many times these hands have bled?The tears these hands have wiped away ?

Even when they’re covered in grime and sweat

I bet

The creases and the scars are deeper than the Canyon grand

Than the path that the Ephesus has conjured.

But the darkened pigments aren’t darker than the ageless night
Do you know, how many generations these hands have fed ?

From your father to your father’s father, and your mother before him

To the time when all women were queens and the men, kings

To the age when these wrinkled fingers wore diamonds and gold that it picked rather than slaved for

That only unfold to spank the Kings behind
Do you know how many times these hands have clawed at the metal chains…

View original post 97 more words

HUSH IT!!!! LISTEN

Have you ever wondered why the sky chose to be blue

and the ground beneath our feet lies just there with no clue of what colour it want to be??

Like how at some place it’s grey, red, black and sometimes you just can’t tell

Have you ever wondered why the sky never gets to kiss the ground, though it spends every single passing seconds staring hungrily at it, come rain, thunder bolts, lightening, hurricane and sunshine??

Have you ever wondered why your fingers twitch when you are hungry?

Or why your eyes blink for no apparent reason?

How about those moment when you smile so hard to yourself when you are all alone, do you know why?

Make me sandwich, or maybe just toast that three-day old butter bread you bought from Aunty Ama’s provision store

I am sure you are also quite wondering how the above statement has anything to do with this whole piece(or should I call it a poem or short story or maybe an articulated thesis {NONFA!})

Back to business, have you ever by chance been bitten by a mosquito on an odd place like your balls (for the guys) or your ni*beep sound*le (for the girls) and you just go like,

“for real??? Of all my body parts, that’s where the mosquito chose”

Let’s get a little bit more serious

Why can’t we get what we want?

Why can’t the people we love, love us back?

Why can’t we go the places we really want to go?

Why can’t we just have things just the way we want them?

Why can’t just our twitter crush just @ at us. (or at least retweet our thirst tweets)

Why can’t we just get laid like how often our bedsheet gets laid?

Why can’t God just help us out of our reckless situations, without no delay and us not having to go through all the stress in the name of growing strong in the faith?

Most importantly, what is this piece driving at?? (and fuckingly heck yeah, how does that picture relates to this post?)……..wait!!! there wasn’t even a picture in the first place, but for once you thought there was…so you see

It’s Simple

DON’T ASK TOO MUCH QUESTIONS, THAN YOU OBSERVE

Poetyk Prynx

Night

image

The slow ageing night with it’s darkness,
Creeping slowly over the landscape,
Lying still underneath the Constellation.
A group of fire, balls of hot sulfur
Beautifully scattered across the sky,
As they busy twinkle and dazzle and gracefully,
Staring out the window, they tell stories.
Keeping score of pasts, presents and futures.
Alive to see days grows into months and years.
And babies grow into boys and girls.
Boys who once ran out at 7pm with their telescope in awe of such existence.
Girls who sat on the front porch waiting for a shooting star to whisper to the boy to name one after her.
And generations rise from the passions that burn under its light.
Yet their tiny sparkle never dims,
Yet they never get too tired,
Too tired to fall off.

Stars,

Fire,

book of the universe,

On which every eye has penned light, Lying still underneath the Constellation.
A group of fire, balls of hot sulfur
Staring out the window, they tell stories
Keeping score of pasts,

presents

and futures.

Alive to see days grows into months and years.
And babies grow into boys and girls
Boys who once ran out at 7pm with their telescope in awe of such existence.

I read this poem at night
Smiling hard to myself
I still remember
Deborah Braide

Ow snap!! Back to:
Girls who sat on the front porch waiting for a shooting star to whisper to the boy to name one after her.
And generations rise from the passions that burn under its light.
Stars,
Fire,
book of the universe
On which every eye has penned light

Poetyk Prynx

THE NEW BLACK

THE NEW BLACK

image

For each precious time
I cherish.
For each dime
I spend.
For each heinous crime
I am falsely accused of.
For each top notch prime
I strive to achieve.
I beat all odds of not getting selected
I snooze all alarms trying to slow me down,
And make me not feel like my presence, efforts and contributions are not needed.
I beat all odds of not making it,
Because I know the black magic
As they call it
I’m made of and I believe in it.

For Every chain
History has shackled me to.
For Every reign
Slavery has heckled me with.
For Every rain
That poured down heavily on me
Beat me,
Hit me,
Wash my pride away,
Push my home out of the way,
I never let them take it all away.
I never let them push me off my roots.
For they go way beyond black holes and Galactica portals,
For they go deep
As deep as an inch deeper than the very depths of Mariana trench.

For Every songs my ancestors
Have written;
Out of pain
Out of joy
Out of being homesick.
For Every plantation
They’ve worked on.
For every stressful situation
They’ve been through.
For Every block of civilization
They’ve laid for “whites”
Yeah,you heard me right
Ow isn’t it about skin colour??
well I thought so too.

Because dawn has broken
It’s a new age
Because the spot light was mistaken
Look at us, we run the stage
Because history has been just a token
Flip it, we are on a new page

I can’t be put down Because of my pigment.
I refuse to remain in this shackles.
I’m breaking away from your mental boxes
You placed me.
I know what I carry in me,
A heart of gold.
I know that I tarry but with grace,
In this path for the bold.
I can’t lack.
I strive for the best.
Hoping, no not hoping.
I know it will be awesome,
Because right about now,
Look around you.
See the clue??
change is here.
A new revolution that refuses to stay put,
Until we are heard and noticed
Because you and i
We are the new black.

Poetyk Prynx

This Poem

This Poem

image

This poem is the voice of a million hearts out there.
The Voices out there that cannot be heard.
Wishes and request of hearts still on the waiting list,
Desires and yearnings taking so much and so long to accomplish,
articulations that are forever overshadowed by fears and insecurities.
This poem is for those out there who got so much on their heart
So much to carry.

This poem is for:
The hardworking student who keeps struggling with his or her grades
The passionate lyricist and rapper who still has problems coming up with lines
The artist giving it one more shot after having lost so many signs
For the poets and spoken word artists fighting to be heard for what seems to be decades

This poem is for:
The kenkey seller on a bad day
The little boy at the foster home,wishing for a real home
The orphanage kids who daily battle the feeling of being cut off.
For the graduate who can’t find a job and its been four years past graduation
For the dejected, frustrated,lonely,hungry and thirsty
For those who can’t afford a three square meal
Always looking up to a heaven they made up in their hearts and hoping for manna

This poem is the voice of mama who cries every night
And holding on to her blanket so tight with a heavy heart
And hoping that her raging husband would once again be mild
That her lost son should find the light
And that her wayward daughter would return to the path of a true African child

This poem was requested for, by the father who had walk away from his family not because he chose to but because he was scared to drag them with him into his dark lonely world
For the father hoping that his child would have to grow up without him would find a place in his or her bitter heart to forgive him when the moment of truth comes

This poem is the sobs of the girl who keeps getting broken hearted and wondering if true love exists
This poem is the alphabetical manifestation of the excruciating pain of the guy who just had his girlfriend snatched and doesn’t know what time it is.
This poem is the positive pregnancy test letter of a confused teenager hidden in the closet, thinking of whether to abort or to keep it
With tears of pain and regret pouring out of her eyes
The supposed baby papa is busy in between the thighs of his next victim

This poem is the left covers of a mixture of tissue,Vaseline and lotion, cucumbers and smoothly shaped bottles owned by they that really want to stop their addiction of self enlightenment but they can’t desist
They can’t resist when the temptation comes calling
For those whose life and their addictions seems to be forever latched

This poem is for they that have a good heart but not appreciated
For they that have a heart fallible to evil but wanting to repent but never given the chance to
For the little kids down the streets with nothing to cover their feeble fleets
for the homeless, the jobless, restless, childless, motherless, fatherless
And for those who smile less

This poem is the handiwork of a activist for those behind bars for crimes they never committed.
for those repentant of what they did, counting the days left off their sentence, so they could come out and show everyone that they deserve a second chance.

This poem is for
The trotro driver And his mate, the pure water sellers, the pk seller, the pushers, kayayoyos,
For all those hoping for a better life someday
For those yet to find happiness
For those whose struggles seems endless
For the millions out their sharing similar pains,stories, wishes and desires that forever remain countless

For those that this poem cant find words to express what they go through
This poem is for them all
This poem was written by one of them
This poem was inspired by one of them
this poem is a message to let them no that no matter how long it will take
Everything will be fine!

Poetyk Prynx