I’ve been gone for a long time, in search for what could possibly make an insatiable woman with changing interests, desires and confusing wants like myself happy. It’s undisputed that every creature is complex but one is more complex than all, and that’s the woman—especially the contemporary African woman who’s caged in between different layers of ideas; some westernized, most personalized and a few “culturalized”. I am a sexual libertarian which can loosely be interpreted to mean that, I believe a woman should be allowed to fuck every KOD, FlashKick and Kojo Yankson she wants—and society shouldn’t lose sleep over this or have a goddam say about it. My moral compass is inherently weak, perhaps, non-existent. This springs out of my obsession with the notion and legal jurisprudence of bodily autonomy, the libertarian idea that we own our bodies and we should be able to whatever the heck we want with it. My cousin, Adwoa Owusuaa Ansah, an equally educated contemporary Ghanaian woman is a conservative Christian, even though she studied Philosophy for her masters’ degree, believes the body is the temple of some celestial father, God, and it should not be soiled as judgement day awaits anyone who taints God’s holy temple. I decided some years ago that I was going to fuck my way to the top in life and while trying to do this, I watch a lot of pornography in-between, for entertainment and also to see if new acrobatics have been invented by the desperate hell going souls, worthy of learning.
If you are one of those judgemental creatures whose first approach to issues is to find fault with another person’s actions, and as such you are about to judge me for my adult choice, close this page—this article is not meant for people like you.
In fact, I hate to have such conversations with people who condemn and judge others, simply because those people sin differently from them. You are not better than me in any way.
2016 ended on a good note for me: Nana Akufo Addo, an old man whose wife may be receiving little to no in-bed satisfaction, except if he’s as good with his tongue as John Dumelo managed to kick the energetic Usain Bolt style thief-John Dramni Mahama out—giving us some sort of hope that things are about to get better in Ghana.
It wasn’t just the political change that ended the year on a high note for me, I finally landed myself a responsible man, who’s able to pay for the Friday night’s simple ‘Banku and Tilapia’ we enjoy at Osu together—unlike the days of my ex when I had to always foot the bill and his taxi fare.
That guy was the contemporary definition of USELESS.
So, somewhere in October 2016 when I suddenly disappeared from the writing board, I met a good-smelling man who works in Sales at one of the Telecommunication Companies in Accra. I had gone to their office to lodge a complaint and on leaving the building, he approached to do the usual, ask for my phone number.
Later that night, we started texting—at about 11pm, we were still sending the getting to know each other messages. Apart from the fact that I was using him to keep myself awake to lock the main door when my mother returns from her late night service, he was somewhat interesting.
Out of the blue, I called; I do this a lot when I want to know if a man who claims to be single is indeed single. And he didn’t answer—the first sign that he had company.
How can someone showing online and replying my messages miss a call on the same phone? I asked myself.
And then he asked; “Akos, did you just call me?” To which I replied, “sorry, it was a mistake.” The aggression and quickness with which this man was messaging, an opportunity to have a late night voice chat shouldn’t have escaped him unless he was lying by the side of another woman while chatting me.
Right from that night, I knew I was about to become a side chick again—not that I hate this position, I just didn’t see myself ending the year as someone’s side chick.
But this was different and before anything else, let me explain to you the two types of side chick situations out there, which will help you have a fair idea of where I sit and the lack of regret.
Sidechick
The first side chick position, which I find pathetic is when a man has a serious woman and tells you about it and yet you decide to go out with him. Here, he is able to talk to the other woman when you are around because you are aware of her and have sanctioned the relationship. However, when he’s with the main woman, he wouldn’t dare pick your call—because you do not exist in such circumstance.
The other situation is when a man thinks he’s playing smart. He will tell you he’s single but the truth will be that he’s married, engaged or have a serious girlfriend. Unknown to him, you are aware of his lies but you decide to play along, to your gains—so that eventually, he gets busted by the main chick for you to also leave his sorry cheating butt.
I’ve been playing on the second ground and so far, it’s been going well—maybe after “Mr. I can lick you all night” reads this, he will first pull the plug. I am certain he wouldn’t read this as he claims to be always working at night, even from home. That’s the sort of lame reason he gives to his inability to pick up late night calls and why he must cut the call anytime he reaches home from work.
President John Mahama I know I have not been writing as frequent as some of you would appreciate. The truth is, I am preparing for President Mahama’s grand exit—the man has overstayed his welcome and his recent rhetorics are becoming extremely unbearable. This is a question being asked honestly without any malice or contempt intended: What has President Mahama been smoking these days? And the reason why I am asking this question is, some of the statements coming from him are absurd at best and insane at worst. Of course, President Mahama is aggressively desperate like a cornered mouse—doing and saying everything impossible to win the upcoming elections. A desperate man can be cheap with his utterances but at least, he should not forget his listeners are not completely mentally constipated.
I’ve had an interesting time away from writing; in that, I’ve met some astonishingly immature and ridiculous Ghanaian men, depicting what’s wrong with a lot of our Ghanaian men of today. Despite having moved into an era of civilisation where the distinction between pure sex and love is no more cumbersome, with a lot of women freely giving out sex for fun, money or other favours, a lot of Ghanaian men seem to still think women are still locked in this grand stupidity that we can’t figure out the wide gap between sex and love. So my absence gave me a lot of time to explore—still in search for a man who wouldn’t struggle to come to terms with the fact that contemporary Ghanaian women are smart, and sometimes even smarter than men. I mean, a man who would accept my sexual libertarianism and wouldn’t just expect me to give him a head while holding on this repugnantly sickening conception that it’s a great abomination for him to return the head favour by digging deep into my coochie just as he appreciates the deep throating. As you know, I am open to meeting a lot of decent men but a lot of these men who deem themselves decent are absolute trash in reasonable estimation. I don’t want them to open the car door for me and neither do I expect them to pull the chair for me at a restaurant, I just want them to respect me and accord me with the sort of dignity they demand. And this means, not thinking I am a walking human being with a brain full of cotton wool, so stupid that, just sending me the message “I love you” a few hours after meeting is what would lubricate my coochie and set off to the island of honeyness—for them to be granted the access they desperately seek and yet do not want to earn. Love is so cheap by my measure. It’s complex to measure and difficult to ascertain the working ingredients. It’s ubiquitous; literally everywhere and nowhere, a status that makes it easy to be abused and misrepresented. When it comes to sex, you can smell it coming from a distant and yet, some men think women are fundamentally dense such that they can perfectly obtain sex from us by garnishing it with the undefined complexities of this thing called love. My godmother who’s well aware of my desire to only settle with an open minded Ghanaian, a truly unique and rare breed of Ghanaian whose estimation of women is not worse than a 4th-century male chauvinist recently hooked me up with a lecturer at one of the private universities in Ghana.
Shatta MichyWe have a lot of Kim Kardashian wannabes in Ghana—of course without Kim K’s connections and enviable financial cushion. In the last few years, we’ve seen the queen of contemporary showbiz-nudity being paid huge amount of money to show the world her bare butt and front or to break the internet. No matter how distasteful, disgusting or repugnant any of the many Kim Kardashian’s nude and semi-nude photos have been, we cannot take away the fact that she always receive more than a reasonable compensation for the disgrace she is pilling up for her off-springs. With Kim Kardashian’s rise to fame having been on the back of a lousy amateur home made porn, nude photos are even holdbacks of how far she can go to seek public attention. And to be frank, no one really gets shocked when another Kim K’s bare butt hits the internet, her husband-Kanye West is even indifferent about this. I am a libertarian—yet I find the circulating bare butt photo of Shatta Wale’s wife-Shatta Michy (above) offensively distasteful. The fact that her husband who’s not necessary a moral or decency crusader but has a lot to say about everything could watch on for her to objectify herself this way on the internet is pretty shocking. For what good is it for a married woman, with a child to posed in such a racy manner and proudly showcase it online—when she is not receiving a dime for the self contempt?
Couple in Bed Inspired by an article I read this morning on Washington Post, I’ve decided to look at this seemingly absurd but reoccurring question that most women have had to answer one way or the other. The author of the Washington Post article claims she jilted her boyfriend because he was intimated by her sexual history—which he himself asked to know. And I believe I am not the only woman who can relate to this, at least to the fact that men cunningly would ask this question to establish in their minds either you are a slut or not. Mostly, the question is clothed like it’s just an unimportant question, an innocuous interest in your past: something like, “so how many men have you been with baby”. The smart men do not jump straight to that, they may ask out closely related questions like when did you break your virginity or when was the last time you had sex—and then finally drop that mind deal breaker question. As a woman, I’ve had to answer this question so much that I’ve rehearsed a perfect answer, ready to serve it to whoever would ask it. And if you are dating an African man, I can guarantee you sooner or later, it will sail smoothly through the conversation. Of course some of these men are mature enough not to dwell on the answer but many do.
White weddings have become the epitome of love; something which used to be the playground of the affluent has become a necessity for even the poor. It’s no more a luxury—every woman and perhaps man wants to have a white wedding and this is simply because, the societal conditioning has worked so well. Growing up, weddings used to be every girl’s dream and like most dreams, not every girl really lived to see it in manifestation at her backyard. And that was normal; no one died or killed herself over not having her fairy tale wedding dream come to pass. In fact, even as a child, we knew we wouldn’t necessary get that—it remained a wild wish which we sometimes discussed. But today, the conversation is always about weddings: from salons to the road side waakye joint, where two or three young women have gathered, the wedding aroma is in their midst. It’s just not only the conversational pressure which is causing the havoc, several wedding planning companies have emerged, beautiful and expensive wedding venues have cropped out with attractive advertisements—and more importantly, the church has become the biggest endorser of exorbitant weddings, encouraging those who can and cannot afford to take this path. There’s no month that my church will not host a full or quasi-white wedding. Here, if the words of those who mount the podium each Sunday are not enough to coerce anyone, the happenings are loudly enough to define your path—and make you think that, weddings are the only way forward. Therefore, settling for anything less than the white man’s way of marriage is an insane compromise on your human dignity. The wedding advertisements are all over and various churches have special prayer days for those seeking for marriage—with pastors promising each and everyone that their white wedding is just hanging in the air above their heads, soon, it will land. If up to this stage you are so thick not to have realized what I’m driving at; then let me make it simpler for your f**king retarded mind. I am saying, society and its institutions have succeeded in coding white weddings into our DNAs—aggressively and subtly pressuring us all to walk towards this path. It’s been cunningly done in such a way that most women today believe it’s an entitlement, not a gift which solely rests on affordability and grace.
Black woman I know I have been missing for the better part of this year so far—and to be frank, it’s not my fault. I am a typical Ghanaian woman, just that I have an insane obsession with sex; so you shouldn’t expect that I house the blame for my apparent disappearance. The truth is, I have been on an aggressive job and room hunting—and also, I have been looking for a man capable of taking me to cloud nine without the help of a Viagra, the new appetizer for most Ghanaian men. Most of these Ghanaian landlords are cunning but at least, they are just thieves, unlike the many male recruitment officers and bosses of businesses I have come across who want to examine what’s inside my panties as if that is where my skills and CV reside. It’s a jungle out here in Ghana; and let me mention that one landlord I dealt with last week could pass for President John Dramani Mahama—his promises were offensively empty. He tried to rent a chamber and hall to me as a one bedroom flat with his sidekick glorifying the offer as the best on the market. If you’ve not lived in Ghana as a young single woman before, you wouldn’t completely appreciate and understand the plight of many of such women, including my myself.
Kennedy Agyepong and Afia Schwarzenegger I am beyond ecstatic that this b*tch has been insanely exterminated. And if you don’t know who I am talking about, let me clearly state that I am referring to the self-style idiot who for many years has bullied and tormented many ‘soft’ Ghanaians with her disgusting attacks. Afia Schwarzenegger, real name-Valentina Nana Agyeiwaa has finally been cut into pieces; she has been knocked-out in what has become the biggest boxing of insults in Ghana’s history. For God knows how long, this Afia Schwarzenegger has risen to become the champion of insults and unwarranted attacks, which she serves cold on people she deem enemies—or those who find themselves in the bad books of her cronies. On the back of this nonsense which unfortunately a bunch of dim-witted Ghanaians seem to appreciate, she has become a celebrity—a local champion, and has amassed several social media followers. Since insults and personality attacks are the fuel on which she runs her lame butt, she incessantly takes hits at people—going beyond any reasonable borders to assault these people, their loved ones and their sacred integrity. And the sad part of it all is that she enjoys doing it, and has those who keep hailing her for this brute of nonsense she champions. Shockingly, her employers seem to enjoy that too, because, somehow she is able to bring in some sort of ratings—pulling the various insults and loose talk lovers to pay attention. [smartads]
John Dumelo Let me start by saying actor-John Dumelo is a douche bag and I owe him no apology for this. In fact, the quintessential essence of freedom of expression is for everyone, including John Dumelo and I to be able to express our opinions without apology, no matter how offensive and diabolical our thoughts may be. He recently expressed his own, by saying, New Patriotic Party’s Nana Akufo Addo will not win the next election, despite the unending hardships Ghanaians like myself are going through. And in a democracy, he is free to hold this view despite it killing the refreshed hope some of us have that we would be able to soon escape this Mahama’s apocalyptic governance. It’s on this same measure that I have just assessed him as a douche bag. Reasonably, there’s no correlation between freedom of expression and integrity but for the sake of humanity and sincere discourse, the two ought to play in the same room—and this is what political wazzocks like John Dumelo do not consider because of their pockets. If John Dumelo had not been in the public eye for a very long time, I would have ruled him out as mentally unstable. For the simple fact that it beats my imagination as to how any rational Ghanaian having taking into considering the current condition of Ghanaians would wish or even anticipate that we should dwell in this hardship for another 4 years under the gross incompetent government of H.E. John Dramani Mahama.
As a woman, it hurts anytime certain situations crop up and the subsequent response by the populace entrench the misconception that, women are worth nothing or men can do whatever they want to women, even in the open and no one would see anything wrong with it. Let me try and recap things for those … Read more
I am back, still living in Ghana with no prospects of a better tomorrow. The Government can’t be bothered and the strongest opposition party has ended up fighting themselves—giving the Government of Dead Goats more time to sketch the next grand electoral robbery.
In such a country, you cannot really own much, except your body—to give and play with it on your terms. That is why I find it deeply worrying when others allow external conceptions and controls to take charge of the only autonomy they hold.
My headline question is as old as the various ontological questions but it seems the answers women give and what actually happen are never the same—at least with the exception of me.
I got into a loud conversation with my three female friends mid this week (Yes, we always discuss men and sex, do you expect us to kill ourselves with the Dumsor talk?) and the troubling question is my headline for this article. Interestingly and perhaps to score a decency point, all my friends said they would make a man wait for at least 3 months before opening their African pot for him.
Being my friends, I know they were each lying because Serwaa’s recent was the same night she met the guy—in the west, this would be termed a one night stand. She wanted a relationship but this guy was a key getaway driver so after dropping her at her climax destination, he never answered her calls and Whatsapp messages.
Considering Serwaa’s pitiful experience and her sense of having been violated as a woman, I do understand her eager to be exceptionally cautious the next time she meets a man. But that’s just what she says, would that really happen?
The Mary, mother of Jesus Christ in the middle of the triangle is always Tiwaa: she claims she does not want to have sex with a man before marriage—and her only sex was with her first boyfriend. Since then, she has had about 4 men who have passed through her life but they did not make it to the altar so the guess is, they never had her pot to eat from it.
However, this is the same Tiwaa who has an orgasm time table, aided by fingers and toys, she screams out 3 times a week all by herself—and ingeniously, she has various scientific articles to prove that masturbation is deeply healthy. She is the known liar in the group, so her words hardly get taken serious and yet, she is the one who parades herself as the staunch Christian. She is always on ablaze with MOGPA.
I do not know whether to rejoice or be angry but I am certain the heavens are at peace—and God is sipping on some fine French while with Jesus Christ is dancing to ‘Otoolege’. The angels are particularly excited because their long nights watch over a man whom they were worried about over the high … Read more
Gifty Anti and her soon to be husband-Nana Ansah Kwao
I have been on a mini writing hiatus because my laptop broke down, I sent it for repairs and this good for nothing repairer left Accra for Bimbila to attend his great grandfather’s funeral without telling me—and up to date, he has not shown his face in Accra.
I guess in every misfortune there is a blessing since I have gotten a new laptop—by the kind courtesy of a man who wants to have his way with me though he is married with 6 children. I have told him I am not interested in playing with his married and fatherly pot belly but if he desire to make my everyday a Christmas, I sure have enough space in my room to take in all the goodies.
And you know what, I have screenshot our conversation so that if his wife shows up at my door one day, I will gladly show her that I did all a sister should have done for her husband to leave me alone—but he didn’t and he just wanted to help solve my financial problems.
When God sends the devil, He quickly sends the angel of kindness to redeem the chaos—He sent John Mahama to us in Ghana to capsize the economy and He gladly sent this man as my one and only redeemer.
Now that I have explained myself, let me move on to the serious issue. In fact, you guys are not my editors so why did I even bother explaining to you where I have been?
Gifty Anti
Anyway, the absence of the laptop also gave me a lot of free time to experiment new things with this young guy who just moved into my area—I may share his story one day when I am done draining all his energy.
You must know nothing about the importance of marriage in Africa and the societal structure of Ghana to believe Gifty Anti was genuinely not worried in anyway about the non-forthcoming of marriage while her age was on a speed dial, running like Tigo credit when you call China.
I believe she was worried though she once said she was not in a hurry to get married. At 45, if she was not in a hurry to get married, how come within few months after this comment, she is getting married? If that is not HURRY, what else is then?
I think Gifty should be honest about her situation, the fears that came with it and help others find solace in what has finally found her—but she seems to brush it off, saying, marriage has never been a big deal for her.
Don’t get me wrong, I adore Gifty Anti and I am happy that finally she is going to have a man she can look in the faces of all the haters and proudly say, he is MINE. Though it should not be so, husbands are the pride of most African woman—and our culture places huge significance on this.
Let me tell you the f**king truth about most of these Ghanaian footballers which makes me pity the women who absurdly marry them—and you will know why Asamoah Gyan needs to be bashed more than he has received.
Asamoah Gyan has a wife, married with 4 kids—with the first 3 being, Frederick (the oldest), Floyd and Rafael. In January 2014, he welcomed his 4th child, a baby girl.
The fact that this guy is a footballer or has money does not exonerate him from his moral and social responsibilities—even if not to anyone at all, to his wife, the mother of his children.
But this is Ghana, rich men (especially rotten teeth footballers) treat women including their wives like used menstrual pads and no one dare call them to order—because, with money you can buy everything and everyone in this stinking sh*t hole called a country.
I feel sorry for women who marry Ghanaian footballers for the obvious reason; these footballers do not respect them and in most instances, treat them like dogs as well as beat the hell out of them.
Considering the disgrace Asamoah Gyan has brought on his family and the ridicule he has subject his wife to, for admitting that he slept with a 22 year old student without a protection—and for the hovering allegation of even having chopped the a$$ of this girl who is now pregnant, the footballer deserves to be bashed more than Ghanaians have done.
What happened to the moral rod in Ghana?
What would have happened if a married woman with 4 kids went out there to sleep with a man and got pregnant for this man, all behind his husband? And what if it emerged later that the man allegedly nailed her bum? This woman would have been crucified under Accra’s scorching sun to the delight of the many misogynists in this country.
Yet, Asamoah Gyan does the same and no one is throwing into the discussion the role model card—or even telling him the truth that, he is a douche bag for doing this to his wife and more also, for not even using a condom.
These are the men who go out there to bring diseases to infest their innocent faithful wives, all because they have money– which the many Ghanaian b*tches are ready to give away whatever in return for some.
