Bringing to play the evil artifice of fiendish friends, some two inseparably lovers were separated. The lovers sworn to each other how unbreakable their fidelity was, and till the hated death do them apart, they’d remain bonded. Such chosen life of these two lovebirds who share in common the pursuance of knowledge, the need for noble life, and the burning desire to serve humanity, gnawed the very livers of detractors of human progress.Those my native Goka people call: nation wreckers.
They schemed to poison the innocent fertile hearts of the two lovebirds.
In the end, the lady was injected with toxins of falsified stories about her lord, synchronizing that with the damaging scandals supplanted to occupy the very loving heart the lord not long ago reserved for her lady.
It didn’t take long, exchanges of lovely glances and complimenting words gave way to animosity and foreswearing of each other’s company. They never met, but exchanged raillery words to reveal the secret sides of the other, ones they’d foresworn not long ago to remain only known to the lovers’ brains.
Dissembling, showing false love, the evil plotters played a caring drama to mimic a goodfaith for the wellbeing of the now separated lovebirds. They were fed with food, it fed their stomachs, but none got satisfied in the true body and soul. To the eyes of consummate lovers, the male gender ever met, doted on the lady, as did the female’s, the lord. You can’t choose between them who indeed represented the exquisite, the paragon of beauty and nobility.
Such unsolicited for advances never filled the place emptied by their separation. Outwardly, they were seen well fed, well bred, and well tutored. But within them, upon realising that the true needs of theirs cannot be fulfilled by freebies and goodwills from wolves clothed in sheepskins, they freed themselves from the traps of their haters, the evil plotters, after a lengthy usage and exploitation.
That came to pass by the counselling of a seer who spotted from afar how reuniting would bring to pass their gentle dreams of serving the needs of humanity.
Their happy ending, trained by the experiences of woes in separation, is documented as a blueprint for all heads, fighting for the bigger crown, or crowned already with a coronet.
So did two lovebirds, with resiliency, adhering to the timeless words of the good old seer, were illuminated out of the clouds that kept for long, their comatose development and progress.
For threescore years, Africa is living the Nana Adinkra’s symbol of “Funtunfunafu and Denkyefunafu” (one body with two heads, scrambling when eating from one bowl, because of the taste on the tongue, in the throat).
We’re losing the fact that what we fill is the very stomach that holds together our whole body. We exchange blows when sharing a presented morsel that will serve our needs to the fullest if it’s done guided by brotherhood.
Our streets are infested with a deadly virus, Covid-19, so says the experts.
Divisiveness means each of the heads would want to look and serve the needs of those in the range of the vertical sight. If you bear my card, you’ll join my dinner table – so it’s the philosophy.
The heads are poisoned by the similar doses administered by those who hated the two lovers.
If the polarised heads would give to ameliorate the suffering of the affected, it wouldn’t reflect the biblical template of giving, i.e: “the good done by the left should be hidden from the right”. No, it should be placarded, at the town square, so praises would not cease massaging egos.
This doing will not have a winner, but will cave-in our already limping structures. Why will the iron refuse to take caution upon seeing the gold rusting under the moist?
In my country Ghana, every move on the battle against the coronavirus, Covid-19, should be looked at in the lenses of divisive partisan politics, the status quo. The spread of the disease is unabating.
We’re holding swords to our throats, the virus is ravaging on on the vulnerable populace. Those clapping for our affinity to exchange fisticuffs are the beneficiaries of our misfortune in this crisis time.
We’ll lose the eyes on the real enemy whilst exchanging blows. The God forbid results would be: as our infection rate increases, those who stoke the fire would get a market for their vaccines, and a place to discard their glutting medical equipments.
Can we have another chance to relive our earlier love than today?
Kwame Nkrumah would love it we hammer down any physical and social barriers that stymies our unity for a common purpose at the very time the need for that is without contention.
When boxers are growing older, they usually stage a mockfight to serve as their exgratia, a thank you pay, that they can dwell on in their retirement. It’s an art, only legends relate with that.
Africa should not lose sight on such many stage-managed boxing bouts so advertised in the media sequel to the Covid-19 pandemic.
With our African noble spirits, our forebears, the ancestors on the pantheon, will never give any living soul a resting place if he/she partake in mortgaging the Blackman to build an inward looking empire at the expense of the health of our people.
To our health personnels at the forefront of the fight against this lethal virus, as the world celebrate nurses today (12/5/2020), the One Ghana Movement (#1GhM), say: “Ayekoo to all nurses, well-done, you have our backing in spirit. In you we’re assured of our presence when the roll is called post Covid-19.
Charles Yeboah (Sir Lord)
The Founder Of One Ghana Movement (#1GhM)