Dear Nyaaba
When I woke up yesterday, in the savanna, in Tindonmoligo, a banlieue of Bolgatanga, to be specific, my ears were greeted with 3 competing sounds.
First there was nature’s sound, the cockcrow, universally acknowledged to rise millennia to their tedium called life.
Second was the summons of the Muezzin, known and respected by all adherents of Islam, as the call to the first of five compulsory prayers and where time and circumstance allow, many more prayers.
The third sound was that of traditional drums rousing mourners to continue funeral proceedings.
I now recollect there was a fourth, the report of a Charismatic Christian choir, waking God with their prayers and supplication. Civilization!!
Or some incarnation of it.
Today I woke to the rumbling of tipper trucks complaining under the excess weights of greedy drivers.
Then there was my alarm, drowned-out by the evidence of city life. I gathered my bones and stepped out to confront life but a flat tyre decided otherwise.
I spent the day working from home through the white man’s witchcraft, and in between I gathered my thoughts into my column’s article for this week.
All this while something kept playing at the back of my head, that no matter who we are, on the day that our name will be prefixed with “late”, the sun will still go at its pace to evening and if we are not lucky, that night may not even have stars.
Humbly then must we traverse this set, play our part to the best of our ability, being careful not to be inebriated by applause and exit with as much respect as we can muster.
All considered, you can only be you, allowing only for the best you!
Kasise Ricky Peprah
The Honourrebel Siriguboy!
THE RAMBLINGS OF THE FORGOTTEN SEER. 