THE FUGUE: THE PARLEY FOR THE WAR FOR THE WEST AFRICA FEDERATION REPUBLIC...

It felt breezily warm; it was yet early dawn, though. The traffic on the trunk road in the direction of Kumasi was light. Occasionally, a truck-bus loaded to the fill with passengers, its roof piled high with cargo for the northern region of the country, wound trundle over potholes and sweep by. On the edge of the outskirts to the market town, Oti-Ansere drove past two farmhouses, mud structures of hovels in dire state of disrepair. The four-wheel car was running 60 kilometers per hour. Then the road dipped gently for twenty-four meters to a dale to a rickety timber bridge beneath which ran a rivulet the banks of which sprouted thickly with brush and briars, much lusher along the dale track than higher up the incline.

The car climbed the incline higher and higher to a wide sweep of tropical rain forest. The vegetation on either shoulder of the road seemed to hem in the road; it felt cool and somber. A massive sweep of thick vegetated tropical rain forest whose canopy sheltered on its forest floor carpet tracts of shrubs and briars spread in all directions of the compass. Flower plants grew wild here and there. Here and there thick bundles of palm and bananas and plantain shoots sprouted wild, uncultivated: an habitat that teemed with all classes of tropical birds – rushes, thrushes, bulbuls, pheasants, guinea fowls, robins and brightly colored butterflies; and beneath thousands and thousands of useful tropical insects.

 Suddenly, a hunch dropped. Why hadn’t any of his siblings thrown a response to his lecture? His report carried his concern; they seemed to have noticed. There were facts he wouldn’t for any reason gloss over. They needed to know; and he did mention them. Had he left their company all in haste for them to care to say something? They are facts they cannot possibly evade. Polished facts that cut exposing truth that needs to come to light one way or another. He believes none of the siblings that now feel guilty can exonerate himself/herself. Their objection to the exposures in their faces might be black; but there they were. There they were: their mother’s overt mind; their mother’s offensive occult indulgences in witchery practices; and what to him counted the most – Afua Nyarko’s failing as a parenting mother. She did have her priorities wrong, not having been fortunate enough to have been given an education, which is undeniably factual. Oti-Ansere would definitely decide to punish his mother for this debt she owed him. Now, however, he felt relieved of a burden: her mother was safe in her grave, facing the onus of having to answer honestly directly to God’s Judgment Seat questions to her.

 But his living siblings! That was how their parents had chosen to leave them; each to their individual fate, the whole world…the whole universe spread before them. Nothing is ever too late in this universe. We could be of assistance to one another, though, when the need and the circumstances permitted. However, the intrusion of a Yaw Saffoh into their individual lives, into their collective lives! Knocking their heads one against the other’s, which didn’t seem to bother them until he stepped in to knock him away and off. How did they feel yet about this? Oti-Ansere would like to know. Akosua Afi appears to toe that man’s evil line, which makes her a threat to his life. This should spell doom for her and her family, Oti-Ansere swears. So will it for any of the others who has already shown a leaning to the evil Yaw Saffoh represents. Let me cut off this troublous rumination, he tells himself. The line is already drawn. I have without the least ambiguity established my stance against any black objection they may be nursing, individually, or collectively. Oti-Ansere had hardly done two hundred kilometers, considering the looming situation behind his steering wheel. Siblings with families are the direct responsibility of their immediate families. Then another hunch dropped.

His four-wheel car appeared to be assailed from all sides. Wild flights of black and white plumed crows had rushed crashing into the vehicle on all sides. They zoomed in from four angles. Into the windscreen they crashed, cawing and cawing and cawing. Their wings beat with fury flapping as their wild peaks pecked holes that would not allow them in. They cawed and cawed in fury. From the rear of his four-wheel car, Oti-Ansere felt them. Their invading caw-cawing fury announced concurrently the blasts their peaks and claws dealt. It was as if all hell had broken loose. Against the locked panes in the windows on both sides, they birds of prey shot intermittently.Then a stroke of ill luck struck. Wild swarms of hornets sailed in invading. So thick were they in their flights, the car went dark inside as if night had suddenly fallen. Then Oti-Ansere felt them on his body. The bees and hornets stung him all over. As he screamed, Oti-Ansere seemed to have come in direct physical contact with the raging Bomso djinn: A phantom! Yaw Saffoh stared him nakedly in the eye, obviously gloating with glee. His attention divided between the stings and the phantom attack Yaw Saffoh was staging, Oti-Ansere seemed to have lost control over his car. The four-wheel car skidded and swerved with fury to the right, climbing over the right shoulder. He had driven to the edge of a ravine. The four-wheel bolted over. Scooped up in his car, Oti-Ansere felt the plummeting. The car was somersaulting, having tumbled over into an open gulf. The car somersaulted over and over and over; countless times to an abyss in a whorl of cyclonic twists. Then Oti-Ansere felt the abrupt jolt. He was gone. His mind told him: ‘Abayifoo!’ he snarled.

‘Live Bomso abayifoo! The wizards and witches are hot at it yet, working live!’

Then he seemed to hear them. He could place them, even in his unconscious state, by their voices: Akosua Afi; Ama Kisi; Akosua Dede Kowaa; Yaw Saffoh; Kojo Amponsah; Kojo Wusu; Kojo Manu and his squire Kwabena Gyamfi. Human voices croaked from ravenous hawks and crows. Human voices snickered, jeering in forked cobra tongues. Human voices roared with contempt from ammoatia dwarf throats. They were in in full hilt assaults to evil effect.

          “We did not agree with you one whit all that you preached.”

          “We did not believe you. Afua Nyarko was not a witch….never is a witch.”

          “We will have her vessel of corpse back for burial in her ancestral home.”

          “Where have you taken our dear mother? We demand you return her to us!”

 Then from afar, Oti-Ansere seemed to be protesting wildly, his hands and feet flaying and throwing in all directions, protecting his head that appeared to be receiving some bashings. The bees and hornets stung yet.

          “Kojo Wusu was not a djinn!”

          “Yaw Saffoh is not a djinn; he is no wizard!”

          “Kojo Manu was no sasabonsam; he was no djinn!”

          “Nor was your grandpa Kojo Wusu ‘benbonsam’!”

           Oti-Ansere appeared defenseless, entrapped in a vicious web of wild Bomso and Aketegu thugs, demons sworn to hit with vengeance.

          Yaw Saffoh threw most bold. Warrior commander of the Bomso and Aketegu demon war soldiers, he betrayed the demonic stuff of his sire Kojo Wusu. He raised his wand to shatter Oti-Ansere.

          Then Oti-Ansere’s voice burst out, “Ohene Akwasi Tenten!”

          The Akropong Akwapem warrior name put to instant flight the Bomso-Aketegu gang of demon warriors. In tumult, they vanished, dashing against rocks and wooded boles.

           Then Oti-Ansere winked his eyes open.

            He winked his father’s name one more time, “Ohene Akwasi Tenten!”

            Oti-Ansere was back to healthy health. He found himself seated secure behind the steering wheel of his four-wheel car. He had come caught in a trench by the road some five hundred meters to a joint to which two other roads bifurcated leading to different regions of Ghana. Bekyemu Nkwanta!

            The Bekyemu Nkwanta joint!

Oti-Ansere sat wondering behind the steering wheel of his car yet, ensconced in the canopy umbrella of four giant tropical trees: Akata; Yew; Baobab; Onyina.

There was a sudden change in the atmosphere that was eerie. The sky turned overcast. Storms started raging with blustering howls. Thunders rumbled and reverberated. In the distance, bolts burst with intermittent insistence. A sweep of scudding clouds, dark with precipitation, had brought them. Yaw Saffoh was riding on the wings of the buffeting clouds beset with the control Oti-Ansere was exerting over the affairs in the Afua Nyarko home. He was leading a huge stream of battalions compartmentalized into three columns. These were warriors anxious in their intent.

The storms whirled yet in cyclonic whorls, pitting energy about. Lightnings flickered intermittently. Thunderclaps reported in vicious claps yet. The roof of the tropical rain forest was in wild agitation; swooshing and howling in the rage of blustering cyclonic whorls of crashing winds. Dead leaves whirled, stirred from the forest floor. They turned and crashed into boles. Darkness rolled in the firmament east, west, north and south. It had turned ink black, lit intermittently with lightnings that seemed to define space. The roaring storms were a wild hell, blustering and roaring and tearing. Giant emergents were torn off their roots; they came crashing onto the roof of the rain forest. Huge boughs snapped clean off giant tree trunks and crashed to the forest floor. It felt like hell-fire raging with justifiable ire. From behind, Oti-Ansere felt his car pushed forward in spiky jerks and jolts, crashed into with regulated attacks that were no human. The wild winds! The spooky storms! The thunderclaps! It would be suicidal for him to drive his car in this weather. Oti-Ansere pulled the gears and the breaks fast and tight. Yet he felt his car moving jerkily forward and twist-shaking from side to side. They were bothering with his car! They were bothering him! His mind went to the witches and the wizards: those Bomso and Aketegu djinns! Then the precipitation came loose. Raindrops battered loud about. It poured buckets. Soon, muddy rivers gushed past by the ditches along the road. The running rivers rose to merge, flooding the bed of the road.

Just five meters to the Bekyemu Joint proper, Oti-Ansere descried them. Flickers of torches shot in his direction from the road on his immediate left: the route to Kumasi. Giant tortoises, man size, bore down on him, clacking and cracking in a military march, their paces measured and regulated. They looked disciplined, like ancient Roman soldiers. They covered the entire breadth of the road from one shoulder to the other. From the rear of each tortoise shell was raised high a wand that released unremittingly laser shots that denatured anything organic they touched. They were that much lethal.

Then to his immediate right another road forked in the direction of Ahafo-Ano. Along its breadth for as far as Oti-Ansere could see into the distance pounded forward packs of wild tropical pumas in their black and white fur. They tore forward, wild, their snarls grating on the air. Their eyes roiling and turning red in their sockets, the tropical wild cats bore forward with stern mien, intent on their mission. Trouble! Oti-Ansere mused to himself, his eyes staring with care at the army of horror puma warriors. Yaw Saffoh must think himself invincible!

Then he felt the jerks and jolts from the rear of his four-wheel car. Vicious blows were crashing into it. Oti-Ansere turned. His car was enduring forced pushing forward. Then he saw them. Giant ammoatia forces had climbed, and were scrambling onto the roof of his car. Instinctively, Oti-Ansere touched the ignition button, releasing at the same time the breaks. The four-wheel car jerked and sprang forward with a force that threw all the invading ammoatia forces about. They screamed, jolted out of their complacency. Helter-skelter they rolled backward in their flight, knocking into one another. The four-wheel car flew off the road and soared into space. It wove its way out the forest roof and sailed, cruising and cruising over a carpet roof spread of foliage verdure. Oti-Ansere had instinctively called his father’s name, Ohene Akwasi Tenten!

Behind his sailing steering wheel in space, Oti-Ansere saw wonder. The treetops that build the roof for the rain forest rolled out in an amazing vast track of vegetative verdure. Up about in sparse isolation stood emergents, mighty woody boles that carried canopies. The canopies seemed to turn as Oti-Ansere wove his car leisurely about them. Space! Spectacular, arresting carpet rolls of green organic verdure sailed before his eyes. Occasionally, he crushed into moody precipitations, stern clouds that would not allow easy entry. This is the sahelian rain forest stretch, he mused, soon to harbor a federation of the West African States. The thermometer fixed to his windscreen told the temperature: 19 degrees Celsius. Cool, fresh and stern. Oti-Ansere cruised his four-wheel car eastwards. Over the rain forest to the Jos Plateau Heights, it felt freezing cold. Oti-Ansere U-turned his car. He sailed westward over the home Sahelian vegetation roof proper. In the distance to the western border roof end rose clouds hazy and murky. This is Sene-Gambia, he murmured.Then he saw them again.

 From the west, riding on the wings of rain packed clouds above the skyline of the emergents rolled in the eerie sight. A sight that announced its onrush with screeching fifes and pipes winded to the accompaniment of castanets. The windpipes screeched shrilly hinting at unmitigated anger, the anger vociferous with war.

            Wraiths?

Wraith warriors? A massive mass of armed air force combatants stared in his direction. They released fires of reports about them. They wore their heads protected with bands of amulets and talismans that shot laser beams from porcupine spike wands. Their trunks were swathed in black bulletproof seasoned smocks, the smocks packed thickly with leather-ed talismans and amulets. Each right hand bore a musket, the left a bow whose sheathe of poisoned arrows showed girt to the shoulder blade.

Oh, there he was again, phantom Yaw Saffoh, eager for war, intent on reparations for sins he thought insulted his sire.

Yes, Kojo Wusu was a murderous sinner! He never deserved to tag his idolatrous name after Afua Nyarko’s son by Ohene Akwasi Tenten of Akropong Akwapem, Oti-Ansere had boldly betrayed to his mother’s recalcitrant sibling’s mind.

Yaw Saffoh’s mien rode high above and before the invading battalions of air force warriors of Bomso and Aketegu, a massive mass of belligerent air force combatants protected on both flanks with reinforcements from the sister-sister women only group Amazon fighting battalions; on the right and on the left, the charismatic churches forces under the command of Apostle Senior Pastor Nicholas Asare Boadi. General Commander Staff Sergeant Dufie Kyeiwaa commanded the sister-sister warmonger Amazon forces.Yaw Saffoh reared his head high and signaled to ammoatia dwarf attendant on his right, his whisk wand directing.

 “War! We shall have war!” the ammoatia declared, his voice hoarse and stern.

 “We demand you restore to us the vessel of corpse that gave being to Afua Nyarko while she lived,” the ammoatia dwarf squired to the Commander on the left declared the immediate purpose of the war.

“We will bury our mother on the grounds of her ancestral home on Bomso-po grove cemetery. We demand her body back, this instant!”

 From afar, high above the winds, Oti-Ansere replied, “None in your group is legitimate about your demand. Afua Nyarko dead does not belong to Bomso; and never will. She belonged, alive and dead, to the man who first legally married her before her parents and her clan. Ohene Akwasi Tenten of Akropong Akwapem did. Afua Nyarko dead is his, even if he died before her. Yaw Saffoh has absolutely no right to proffer the cause he appears to be championing.

“To you, Ama Kisi, ever brash and insolent even to your dead mother’s memory! You are a prostitute daughter who would not be where you are now had Afua Nyarko, your unlawful mother, proved faithful to her marriage vows by Ohene Akwasi Tenten of Akropong Akwapem. Know now, as well as the others of your like, you are a prostitute daughter that should be dead by Asante-Akwapem marriage statute. Silence your war cry then!

“It is war you are roaring now. You shall have war by your demand and on your terms. However, we shall have a war declaration parley by which you exercise every right to redeem your demand or pursue it by the reasons, all the reasons, you can marshal for the war cause.”

Storms howl, raging over the Aketegu-Bomso aerial forces drawn in correct war combat formation. Then they subside to chilly breezes upon which sail in a troubadour and his two accolades. Flanked on his right by a piper and on the left a castanets rattler, the troubadour pulls out a huge fife and winds. He plays so loud he commands silence over the firmament. Then he assumes a position, raised high above Oti-Ansere on his right and on his left Yaw Saffoh and the entire contingent of forces under his control.

The troubadour now introduces the fugue. He sings in lyrics the war declaration parley that spells the position of Oti-Ansere and his forces yet unseen and undeclared. As the parley plays out the two accolades perform, most mournfully, on their instruments – the Frafra flute and the castanets.

 

THE FUGUE

 

The call to arms: We respond to your call to arms.

The War Declaration Parley:

 

Stanza 1

 

Justice measures symmetry

of human performance

in conformity with Time and Space

execution for fairness, know you,

Yaw Saffoh, you vile Bomso djinn!

Precision of action that conduces

to worth and honesty justice is.

It is absolutely human,

never divine or spiritual.

Didn’t you know this, Afua Nyarko?

 

W A R!

 

Stanza 2

 

Conscience grows and develops

by what and by how much factual information

the human person, per the senses, per the brain,

Collects and earns.

We live and grow by the factual science information

Of being and of the environment we have

Where we are, doing.

We do to live, to save.

Man saves self, doing.

Man is auto-salvation! Know you, Kojo Amponsah and Yaw Saffoh.

 

W A R!

 

Stanza 3

 

It was, it is, a depraved ploy to take advantage,

By deception, of innocence and insecurity.

It is a heinously depraved design of a grandfather

To take advantage by deception of a helpless,

Innocent, insecure child in the absence of his/her father…

to steal an innocent grandson to a Tigare juju oracle home

for a fetish sika-duro immolation ritual.

The evil misdeed defines Kojo Wusu, Kojo Manu,

Teacher Amposah and Kwabena Nkrumah –

accursed, evil, neurotic minds damned

to perpetual hell-fire. Their descendants

suffer eternal annihilation, know you,

Yaw Saffoh and Kwabena Gyamfi.

How dare these evil idolatrous peasant thugs

claim a relationship to Oti-Ansere:

Yaw Saffoh

Kojo Wusu

Kojo Manu

Kojo Amponsah

Afua Nyarko!

Could you have done what you did

Before a caring Ohene Akwasi Tenten?

 

W A R!

 

 

Stanza 4

 

Duped for her illiteracy and ignorance,

Afua Nyarko worked furtively, colluding

with Kojo Amponsah and Yaw Saffoh, her siblings,

in their several evil plotted schemes to pull through

a covert destruction of her biological son, Oti-Ansere.

To no avail the covey labored.

Afua Nyarko now stands an active strand

in the evil weave of Aketegu-Bomso

demonic idolatrous witchery machinery…

Kojo Amponsah now dead, and Yaw Saffoh festering

To self-destruction with prostate cancer.

Where is Afua Nyarko, think you?

What should be her destined fate, you think?

 

W A R!

 

 

Stanza 5

 

A huge problem we are onto ourselves

by our individual acts of dishonesty and inaction,

tolerating and suffering ourselves

for what we know we’ve done wrong.

Dufie Kyeiwaa comes confessing love;

Feigning love, she steals into food to befuddle

the mind of the man she acts love to:

so she could steal;

so could kill to steal;

her love potion aphrodisiac of menstrual flow

and feces in fermenting urine.

But Abe-ase Nkramo has taught: female urine

ferments feces and menstrual flow into toxic viruses

that denatures anything…everything organic.

Aduwaa’s love elixir potion kills to destroy.

It destroys to kill to painful death.

Dufie Kyeiwaa’s love elixir potion –

it kills to destroy;

it destroys to kill with painful death.

It stops man’s manly thinking.

For wealth, Aduwaa immolates the growth of her race!

For wealth craving, she immolates the growth of her race!

 

W A R!

 

 

 

Stanza 6

 

By our individual acts of dishonesty and inaction

tolerating and suffering ourselves

for what we know we have done wrong,

we become a huge problem, well nigh unsolvable, onto ourselves.

Adwoa-Cudjoe Mensah sneakily strays, trespassing

onto Property 2/SCX-6 and Property 2/SCX-7

from Property 2/SCX-5 and Property2/SCX-8.

By this willful act of misdeed, Adwoa Cudjoe-Mensah

strangely claims ownership; she attempts to expropriate.

The illegality and the dishonesty of the deed

drive Adwoa-Cudjoe Mensah to a fetich oracle home.

She seeks succor and confirmation

to legalize her expropriating misdeed.

One minute to midnight Pastor Eric Owahene Frimpong

sneakily strays onto demesne 2/SCX-6 bearing a mighty machete.

Stripped to the waist Owahene Frimpong bends and buries a fetich juju

in the yard.

02:25:00 Pasto Kwasi Tawiah steals his way in,

trespassing from 2/SCX-5 and2/SCX-8 oracle home.

Akwasi Tawiah bears a bucket of holy water

and a tube of anointing oil:

Oh Jeeeesus…Jeeeezuz! We calim for you

this property2/SCX-6! By your command, Hooooli Ghhoooost!

Aya!Ya!Ya!Ya! Yaaaayah! Ebelebelebe! Ebelebelebe! Bey! Bey!

And Akwasi Tawiah left hand offends! It throws and throws

spraying profusely the entire contents of the tube of anointing oil

on property 2/SCX-6 – the evil anointing oil sprinkles about

polluting: Ooooo Hooli Ghooost! Oooh Jeesesu! Jehoooovah!

Akwasi Tawiah right hand offends: Plogh! Plogh! Plogh!Plogh!Plogh!Plogh!

Profusely it empties the bucket of hoooli water on the fetich god

Eric Owahene has interr’d. Akwasi Tawiah’s

water anointing came with flower planting:

Instantly violet petals bearing plants sprout.

Oooh God! Oooooh Jehovaaah! Thank you! Thank you!

Aya! aya! aya! Ya! Ya! Ayaya! Thank you Gyeeesus! And he peters out!

09:20:00Senior Pastor Nicholas Asare Boadi gallivants, straying

onto Property2/SCX-6, chanting incantations. He bears a mighty pair of

scissors: Aya! Ya!ya!ya! ya!ya!HoooliGhooossst!

Egbelepelepupu!Pupu! Chanting incantations, Osofo Nicholas Asare Boadi

stoops over the trespassing, illegal violet petals plants;

Thou heareth us, Oh God! Thou always heareth us! This is now our property!

Eventually, this is our property! Thou Jehovah hath granteth it onto us!

Clip! Clip! Clip! Clip! Clip! The senior pastor prunes and clips

the HooliGhoost anointed flowers!

Whaba!Wahababab! Shaki!Whahababa! Shaki!Sakayasha!

Hoooli Ghooosst! And Senior Pastor Nicholas Asare Boadi

sneaks his stealthy way out the insulted Property 2/SCX-6.

10:00:00 on the tick, Oti-Ansere marches out to demesne 2/SCX-6

out of his 2/SCX-6 office. A bucket of fermenting urine

he douses the anointed, pruned flowers with on the bed 2/SCX-6.

Soon after, he sees him through his office window

Adwoa-Cudjoe Mensah’s oracle man, swathed in off the peg

clothing worn to threadbare, his left hand wildly throwing

about, hobbles past chanting and conjuring with incantations.

Calvary Charismatic Centre and Adwoa-Cudjoe Mensah,

their oracle man conjuring, collude to expropriate 2/SCX-6

and 2/SCX-7 to no avail.

 

W A R!

 

 

 

Stanza 7

 

On the Polo Grounds before Parliament House

6th March, 1957, Kwame Nkrumah touted

he’d won freedom for the Gold Coast

from the British Colonial Administration

at Westminster Abbey.

‘Freedom! Freedom!’ he declared.

Has it ever hit any native mind

why the Gold Coast ever lost its freedom

at all to colonialism?

Kwame Nkrumah actually substituted

for freedom responsibility.

Nkrumah had misread his gold Coast situation.

Irresponsibility cost the land more than

its freedom; it has virtually dispossessed

the land of its ability to grow healthily.

This is the problem Independent Ghana

is grappling with now.

Even now!

 

W A R!

 

 

 

Stanza 8

 

By our individual acts of dishonesty and inaction,

tolerating and suffering ourselves

for what we know we have done wrong,

we turn a disconcerting problem onto ourselves.

Can you, can anybody isolate the evil

Yaw Saffoh constitutes in his morbid hounding

of Oti-Ansere to destroy

from what Afua Nyarko embodies

in her witchery demon’s machinery to manipulate

by her Aketegu-Bomso itch for sika-duro?

Yaw Saffoh betrays: Afua Nyarko de ne ba barima

ako aduro so ako gye sika-duro!

Awhile yet, leechy fashion, dunning for grungy money

Yaw Saffoh steams hot, poor and famished, in his sire

Kojo Wusu’s white calico draped calabash ritual in the glare

of Bibiani Old Town refuse garden…

for failed Aketegu-Bomso sika-duro pursuits.

A failed Aketegu djinn,

consumed with envy for what graces

he sees crown Oti-Ansere’s efforts,

Yaw Saffoh claims a right,

for his sibling link to Afua Nyarko,

to malign a nephew, plot murders and cheat

eerily even as he schemes to steal and plunder

a nephew’s chattels and being,

all with impunity

all to no avail!

 

W A R!

 

 

Yes, we call to arms to right wrongs perpetrated with impunity! We respond to your call to arms to right wrongs perpetrated with no justifiable reasons. We seek justice, now! Justice from and against Aketegu and Bomso evil men and women, demonic idolatrous djinns who insult, without justifiable cause, by fetich clandestine ploys, innocent targets into whose dishes and drinks they trick fetish poison to get them immolated for their evil sika-duro fetich ends!

As Yaw Saffoh here did, and is at it yet; and before him did his sire psychotic Kojo Wusu, did Kojo Manu, did Wahab Bello, did Akosua Afi, did Christopher Manu, did Kojo Amponsah and as Afua Nyarko was bent on doing.

       For no reason whatsoever shall Oti-Ansere tolerate anything evil, anything that has to do with Yaw Saffoh and his immediate source. Evil persists, we know, in the world. But anything evil, like the lethal microbes and viruses that hound life, human life in particular, must be denatured.

       War!

       Yes, we respond in all readiness to your call to arms; to arms to war against evil!

       An evil mother is evil; it is intolerable!

       An evil sibling is evil; it is intolerable!

       An evil pastor is evil; it is intolerable.

       War!

       Now, to you, accursed demonic enemy, for your parley.

       The flute pipes to a quiet note and dies away. The castanets cease rattling. The troubadour closes his message. Absolute silence descends and reigns awhile on the firmament as Yaw Saffoh reins in ahead of his enormous aerial combatants of fierce fighting army drawn in correct aerial war formation. There are three distinct columns of air forces: the notorious Aketegu-Bomso evil men and evil women djinic soldiers make the core of the air force. They are flanked on the right by the sister-sister women’s only group Amazon airforce, on the left by the fighting column of charismatic churches aerial forces; these bristle with copies of the Holy Bible. Quiet appears to deepen the presence of the silence. Then two ammotia squires attendant on the Commandant, General Djinn Yaw Saffoh, shoot three neat laser beams off the bodua-wands they wield east and west of the Commandant.

       In the reigning quiet and silence General Djinn Yaw Saffoh huffs and puffs, blowing thunder clouds for his parley in response: “We will not allow you. We will not suffer you cross over.You are bone of the ancient Kojo Wusu stock. We use you. Blood of Afua Nyarko nton: ekoona. Your complaints we hear, but we do not listen to. You are our property: Bomso ekoona property!”

 

       Oti-Ansere roars: From where do you feel justified

       crossing over into Ohene Akwasi Tenten’s

       camp to cause havoc, wheedling and cajoling,

      Yaw Saffoh, you farcical yegg?

       We do not cross words with Aketegu-Bomso

       djinns and witches. We do not tolerate you

       one whit attempting to frustrate our efforts

      where you do not belong! We do not tolerate

      you in our homes from your fetish idolatrous shrine homes.

 

       War!

 

War for your unjustified clandestine

       poisoning insults and stealing; you lousy pests!

       We do not tolerate evil for what it is!

       We do not tolerate you, Aketegu and Bomso.

       I, Oti-Ansere Preko, de-witch Afua Nyarko;

       My mother does reparations by me,

 even in her death.

 

        War!

 

        Ohene Akwasi! Oti-Ansere breathes to himself: The heavens crack and crush with lightnings and bolts.

 

  War!

 

In the evil hands of an evil insulting mother,

      Ohene Akwasi two daughters have turned

      djinic witches! These now work for the Aketegu

      and Bomso sika-duro demonic clan:

      Akosua Afi and Adwoa Baby!

      Unmentionable traitors to the memory of

      their Akropong Akwapem stock.

 

War!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

C H A P T E R  T W E N T Y- T W O

 

 

Ohene Akwasi! Oti-Ansere breathes to himself. Worse cracks and crushes, rocking the firmament.

The two Akropong djinic witches, Akosua Afi and Adwoa Baby, appear directly behind Yaw Saffoh.

 Oti-Ansere sits ensconced in his four-wheel WDZ car that hovers, suspended above the sahelian clouds, monitoring. His craft is under a special invisible protective cover. He has called upon the soul of his Akropong Akwapem father, Ohene Akwasi Tenten, for this military confrontation. Before him spreads out, panning back and back and back the entire contingent of the enemy military air forces the Bomso-Aketegu Djinn, now an air-forces combatants Commander, controls. The scene is awesome, eerily intimidating. Three distinct columns of belligerent air forces bristle with impatience, eager for action. They are war-combat ready, their irritation rippling in the buzz of vibrations hung about them. They appear drawn in a correct air-force combat formation. Three solid columns of forces taper in the middle to a commanding arrowhead Air-Force General, Djinn Yaw Saffoh.

Air-General Djinn Yaw Saffoh appears safe in his native armoury. He is girt tight from head to toe in a Bolga smock war gear, the smock patched tight with leather talismans and amulets that leave no border space. He wears a simple poisonous black leatherhead gear that is fettered with bodua-wands: north, south; west and east. Two three feet tall ammoatia squires are in attendance. Behind this all-seeming powerful air-commander lies in a spread backtrack his three columns of air forces combatants.

 Directly behind him come packed his forces proper in the centre column - the Bomso and Aketegu evil men and women djinns, now evil sakawa warriors, Kojo Wusu, Teacher Amponsah, Kwabena Nkrumah, Kojo Manu, Kwame Nniako, Ama Nnipa, Kojo Amponsah, Kwabena Awotwe, Kofi Badu, Adwoa Nyarko, Akua Afriyie, Kisiwa, Akosua Afi, Adwoa Baby, Kojo Fosuhene, Ama Kisi Wahab Bello and Akosua Kowaa Dede, all wraith soldiers. They bear two muskets each, beside the bow and arrow case that show from behind on their shoulder blades. To each warrior chest pouts riveted a bodua-wand. Their individual miens are inflamed red with cola-juice spray. Flanking the centre column on the right is the column forces of the sister-sister Amazon vizen warriors. They are under the command of Air-vice Marshal Dufie Kyeiwaa. They are armed to the teeth, rifles and muskets in both hands. Strapped to each foot below the kneecap are two scimitars. Behind on each shoulder blade are riveted a bow and a case of arrows. Their hips and seats project loud, protected in sheaths of talismans and amulets. These women soldiers look most stern. Packed on the left flank of the centre column of the djinn wraith warriors roll the pastor warriors. A copy of the Holy Bible in the left hand, in the right a musket, the pastors are heard loud, chanting incantations and conjuring in Holy Ghost tongues. They roar their discontent that reports above the fire reports of their muskets and rifles.

The battle line is distinctly drawn. The evil witches and wizards croon for sika-duro fetich idolatrous machinery control. The sister-sister women only group Amazon soldiers fighters will not let up; they must continue to extort their worth of blood-money and property of their men-lovers. They should hold sway, they strongly believe, callous sinners. Deceptions, the deceiving men of God would want to keep preaching corrupting sermons to extort tithe moneys, source of their livelihoods. The pack looks grim, stern in their determination for conquest. They are ancient and modern as their contemporary Ghana culture defines, set in a variegated mix of eerie war gear.

Oti-Ansere watches in anxiety from his niche. He perceives with concern the danger with which the Ghana Community is battling. Worsening tribulations the new Ghana nation state should have to learn to rid its being of: entrenching corruption.

The entire contingent looks confused. The war declaration parley the enemy force heard piped from the troubadour’s team, which is now invisible. It is only the weird craft of vehicle that appears for them to do battle with. Oti-Ansere’s aerial war forces remain unseen and undeclared. The confusion deepens.

His teeth set on edge, Air-General, Djinn wizard Yaw Saffoh suddenly fires into Oti-Ansere’s craft. Instantly a volley of bullets, arrows, wand shots and musket fires break from behind him. They come in a blitz into the weird craft before them. The fire shots and arrows and the wand laser beam releases are not deflected; they are not parried away. Traceless, they are absorbed before they are able to touch target. From the guarded niche of his craft, Oti-Ansere calls, “Ohene Akwasi!” All the enemy fighting soldiers this instant show absolutely bare before Oti-Ansere. These are the forces doing war directly with him – the pastor warriors; the sister-sister women only group Amazon soldiers and the Aketegu-Bomso evil wizards and witches djinns. They look utterly confused now. Then Oti-Ansere touches the ignition button of his WDZ four-wheel car. The craft zooms and then shoots into the enemy forces, giving them some cause to respond. They get knocked helter-skelter, sprayed about in tumult. Now all the bullets and fire-shots and arrows and laser beams from the wands return directly from their munitions into them as targets; they get nowhere near the direction of the weird craft they are now pursuing. The aerial combat space is rumbling with reports of wailing woes and gnashing teeth; the evil men and women aerial fighters die away, thinning out of their fighting might and number. The Amazon sister-sister soldiers reduce considerably in strength and quantity. Their cries report loud, cutting across the firmament. The dead do not tumble to the soil; they are burnt to ashes above the roof of the tropical rainforest. It is all horror! Horror of horror as the enemy forces dwindle to the last resisting fighter djinn. Aketegu-Bomso wizard djinn Yaw Saffoh! The aerial combat rages for well over thirty minutes. Yaw Saffoh flies about, pursuing the line of conduct the weird craft runs as it weaves its way about over the sahelian air-fighting spaces. The WDZ craft cruises about. In pursuit, Yaw Saffoh the Air-General Commandant aims his fires. His fires clap with thunders and bolts; in their amidst shoot lightnings that dazzle the space with refulgent explosions. On and on and on rages the air-war. It rages eventually to a lone djinn fighter. In his tenacity to hold onto the evil Kojo Wusu calabash curse that now afflicts him, Yaw Saffoh finds himself at a weird spot, fighting to redeem the Aketegu image. Right from below him where he hovers, suspending, Yaw Saffoh sees a flight of voracious vultures emerge above the roof of the forest. They gun for him. From all angles, the scavenging birds wildly attack. They peck and maul, tearing at him. His protective war gear serves no purpose now. His wands fall away in the melee of wild self-protection parries. His muskets drop off. His smock the wild birds tear to shreds. Then at his naked skin the scavengers go, pecking and mauling to gorish meat pieces his muscles. Yaw Saffoh pierces the entire sahelian air space with his cries of woe and lamentations. He wails and wails to no avail. There is no redeeming soul in sight. The last he perceives, Yaw Saffoh finds himself plummeting to a huge refuse garden that is all very familiar – the Bibiani Old Town refuse dump where Kojo Wusu, his evil sire, performed the infamous calico draped calabash ritual for their idolatrous Aketegu sika-duro machinery. His screams report yet, even as Yaw Saffoh’s skeleton plunge. The instant the evil skeleton touches ground a huge fireball bursts. It burns and burns and burns, amidst wild explosions, transforming all refuse, all the refuse to harmless soil improving addition - ashes. Above all Bibiani town now hung murky clouds that refuse to dissipate, it appears. Then of a sudden, they burst apart from the center. The clouds break, going in different directions. They scud away in the four directions of the compass, sweeping in four fresh thick cloud masses east, west, south and north. Right in their wake the firmament goes overcast. Precipitation tumbles down in buckets for six hours running, amidst lightnings, claps and bolts.

Then quiet descends.

The entire earth-planet globe comes clean of all refuse.

Then Oti-Ansere comes to.

He has just driven past the Bekyemu-Nkwanta Joint on his way to meet his family - Fati Hadjia, Obiriwa-Akoto and Ofeibea Obuobiwa. Behind the steering wheel of his four-wheel drive, he muses about their future. They have a lot to talk about. They have a future to chart; his nuclear family does have! The cleansing work done, they have their new projects before them.

Oti-Ansere honks his DWZ four-wheel car before his house in Tema. In Tema, it is still pouring with rain. Obiriwa-Akoto pounds her way through the rain, having torn out the porch. She cries,   “Daddy! Daddy! Daddy! It’s rained for hours! You’ve kept us waiting on tenterhooks, Daddy!”

“It’s been raining all through where I am coming from,” he tells his daughter. “Rain is water. Rainwater washes and cleanses. Water brings food and nourishes for healthy living.

“What became of your biology lessons, Obiriwa?” He throws a chiding loving smile from behind the steering wheel.

 “Where is mum?”

“She is waiting in the doorway!”

“Let’s dash through. One! Two! Three! Go!” he directs. Father and daughter hurry away from the weird craft in the direction of the portico of their house, holding hands, to waiting Hadjia Fati and Ofeibea Obuobiwa.

 

THE END