“oh fine air, I’d like myself some kenkey and shy tall”
the kenkey seller eyes me strangely.
a look of disgust twerking on her face
and utmost amazement almost oozing from her lips.
i can hear her say, tradition is fading away, in her mind.
“me daa-say right there!”
the taxi driver blinks, uncertain of what he heard.
his gaze followed me as my language
dipped his mind deep.
Accra itself glances at Accra,
knowing it lost its originality.
it watches the sun collapse behind Jamestown lighthouse
and sleeps again.
it watches the 2-2 girls
don in stretchy exotic fishnet
and yawns—
and shuts its eye.
it scans the unemployed guy’s pocket,
as he dey toast one fine shoddy.
it exhales softly and
tightens its eyelids.
but danger strangely traces me
for flattening my tone
and speaking in a hybrid.
air yeah asɛm.
but one time when the blistering sun barks
and your mind is boiling,
a lunatic randomly spits on you,
kwɛ!!
the brofo ratio diminishes
and there
we all will know bɔdam is not being disgustingly hot around Accra’s pavements,
it’s truly in the mind.
i fit beat you till the madness komot for your eye top.
it will collect hands,
and we will exchange coins for mercy at the police station.
but as the taste of coconut changes every day
I—
brofo-lised as I am—
stand in the middle of it all,
translating myself
back to the beginning.
standing in the middle of it all,
watch myself brofo-lise,
linguistically and psychologically.
Paakow Anderson is a Ghanaian writer and student whose work explores every bit of Accra’s undercurrents. He also writes short fiction and prose poems influenced by Ghanaian rhythms and urban folklore. Paakow loves singing, cooking and and spending time with loved ones. His Instagram is @paa3kow.
