It’s been five days since I last ate. Well, I drank one box of Kalyppo fruit juice each of the five days. So, technically, I’ve eaten something. (Sigh) You know what? It’s pretty tough being Ana in an African household. It’s difficult to calculate the amount of calories in Maame’s bankye ampesi and nkontomire stew. It’s absolutely impossible for me to know the calories contained in any of the meals Maame prepares, honestly. Typical Africans don’t know what calories are. (Pst, I mean, what insect is that?) Therefore, I make sure I eat nothing at all since I can’t measure the 100 calories required to be Ana. When my stomach keeps disturbing me with its judgmental growls, I throw in some Kalyppo fruit juice and that settles it.
Every morning, I stand on the refuse dump and look at where the rich people stay. I see the magnificent gate that leads into their extremely expensive estate and see beautiful cars go in and out. Once a while, when I’m lucky, the gate opens and I see their giant and dreamy homes and well-pruned grass. I like to stare at where the rich people stay and smile.
“Fowaa! Fowaa! What are you standing there for again? Won’t you hurry up and sell what’s left of the coconut toffees before you go to school?”
My name is Fowaa. I live with my grandma, Nana, and five chickens. The woman who sells waakye said that the nurses at Korle-Bu killed my mother. She said that they left her in labour to watch the final episode of the then popular Mexican telenovela, La corazon Indomable. She said that my mother was even lucky. “Can you imagine that they left scissors in Maa Fosty’s stomach? Scissors o scissors. The woman died after suffering for weeks. Kai! These public hospitals.” But as for my Nana, she doesn’t mention my mother, ever. The waakye seller also said that my mother had a huge fight with Nana because she never told anyone who my father is so nobody knows. Continue reading
This is my first movie review and I hope you like it. I’m not exactly a fan of Filipino movies or series even though I’ve watched a few. In my opinion, they’re usually one-way. You know, almost cliché. Maybe I’m yet to watch the exciting ones but this is my observation so far. (Their advertisements on the other hand are incredible! Aahh)
Anyway, a friend of mine gave me this movie to watch and I just felt that I had to do a review of some sort. Let’s get on to it! Continue reading
“Hey, I said get out! Dammit, shut the fucking door behind you!” Jeffery barked at me from behind his laptop. Since the beginning of the week, this is the fifth time he’s asking me to leave his room and today is only Wednesday. I left with my half eaten pack of rice and backpack. I’m used to his offensive and abusive remarks. It’s my fault. I brought it upon myself. I shouldn’t have laughed when Derrick teased him. I’m his girlfriend and that was wrong. It doesn’t matter if Derrick is his best friend and he was just joking. I shouldn’t have laughed with Derrick, period. I stood behind the door hoping that he’ll try to call me back at least. But, he didn’t. I was sorry. Continue reading
He licked his lips one more time. I was trying to will myself to act normal. Stay calm, Afua, just relax. His eyes were fixed on my thighs, then my breasts and then back to my thighs. At that moment, I began thinking about what I was going to do if he tried anything. There was nothing I could do, honestly, since I was sitting beside the window. This well-dressed maniac was the closest person to me. He was shaking his legs now and fidgeting and the psycho was still staring at me. I was so frightened. This is the bus, nobody tries insane things in a bus right? Continue reading
THIS MIGHT BE TRIGGERING!
I close my eyes and take deep breaths. Inhaling one more time, I try again. The kitchen knife is on my wrist. Just there. I don’t have enough strength to apply some friction. My over-sized T-shirt is wet with sweat and tears. Heck, I hate myself so much it scares me. How do they do it? Those who kill themselves, how do they do it? It takes a lot of courage, a lot of pain, a lot of self-hate to successfully murder yourself. I’m going through the pain, yes. I hate myself a little too much but I don’t have that courage to just slit this thing I call my wrist. Ugh. Continue reading
Reading this might make you uncomfortable but it’s the truth. Before I published Reserved for Night on my blog, I was hesitant. What were people going to think? I was scared that people were going to mistake the character for me. But then again, so what if it’s me? The fact is that children are teaching children how to finger themselves. Children are teaching children how to insert their little penises into other children’s vaginas. Is it their fault? I don’t know. Continue reading
It is a game; we play it every night. Joojo taught me how to play. It’s easy and everyone is happy in the end. We play and then go to sleep. Sometimes, I’m tired and sleepy but Joojo insists that he wants me to play with him before I sleep. So we play together. When I’m not in the mood to play at all, he gets angry and he shouts at me. He tells me that he’ll report to Auntie Asabea that I stole some of Baby Junior’s milk. It was just once, but Joojo doesn’t let me hear the end of it. When I still say no, he says that he’ll tell my classmates that I pee in bed. So I say yes and we play together. Continue reading
I am between laughing and crying. First, I don’t want to believe it. But, if it is really happening then it is funny. It was just two weeks ago, only two weeks ago, that he told me he’ll be there for me. Always. He said he’s got my back. Forever. It’s funny that I actually believed him. Humans die right? So, how can there be ‘forever in our numbered days’?
‘I’m beautiful because Mama says so,’ I exhale staring at the black near-anorexic image in the mirror and tie my braids in a bun. Maybe if I keep repeating that, I’ll eventually believe it. Suddenly, it dawns on me that Kwenin is waiting in the driveway so I hurry up and meet him with a hug, not too tight. He doesn’t stop babbling about Kafui’s new instagram picture. All his comments are like little needles pricking my healing wound. ‘She’s thick and curvy and everything I can’t be,’ I concede. Continue reading