From all indications, Zylofon Media cannot stand brutally honest criticisms judging from what occurred in the studios of Zylofon FM. Now, Willi Roi who is the Head of Zylofon Arts Club has warned Ghanaian Showbiz critic and poet, Kwame Agyemang Berko never to step a foot into the studios of Zylofon FM after Kwame Agyemang Berfo brutally criticised the conduct of Zylofon Media on the barbaric nature of how Stonebwoy’s official car was retrieved.
If I were a serving Police officer, stationed in some galamsey trodden and Godforsaken village, I’d be thinking mainly about my skin, hope for below average pints of palmwine in exchange for leniency and justice, and pray hard against proclamations like “Denkyira Boase, why, what art thou?”.
The most famous “ why, what art thou” looms large in Romeo and Juliet but is of course not the rhetorical question by William Shakespeare’s Othello in response to this drawl by Desdemona. . . “ upon my knee, what doth your speech import? I understand a fury in your words, but not the words.”
Wake up Buddy, the drama that confronts us a Ghanaian people isn’t a love story. Neither is it one staged in an amphitheatre for its revelers. It is more dire and shall end worse than can ever imagine.
My thoughts however, and on this day, way before all goes up in flames, have been stirred up because of the flurrying and oft misplaced, illiterate and misguided tributes to Captain Maxwell Mahama which is being espoused with our usual weak and unintelligent approach to fatal or devastating opportunities that intermittently pop on our calendar.
I am not a judge. I do not even want to lie about who I shall call if an armed person mugs me at dawn when I am jogging to keep fit. Or when my mum is assaulted by any fool(s) brandishing a weapon or not. But in the heat of the moment, especially in the bush, I shall not call any member of the Ghana Police Service.
I’d call on my neighbors and we shall not give the assailant jollof or prepare for him, an English breakfast. If I have also suffered any near escape or fatality in the past, and the Police who were notified and duly commenced investigations, are yet to apprehend the culprits or bailed the suspects under very arcane circumstances, my next encounter with any suspect shall not include the might of the Police. And then, when I die in the process, or most likely, the assailant is burnt into ash, we shall come full circle. Again. But the bad news is, Vice President Bawumia won’t visit my surviving family to commiserate.
Either way, the Presidential tribute has confirmed what we already know. That If you are poor, or has a name like ‘Berko’ for a surname, find your lane and be in it for all our sakes.
The fallen soldier in the line of duty, should rest. And deservedly so. He is not going to be any less dead. May he do so in peace, if he has earned it. And may the perpetrators of the evil deed never know peace.
But, and taking a cue form Shakespeare, it is the import of your speeches that I currently struggle with. Yes, passions have been inflamed and is at an all-time high. . . Depending on whether you are cold hearted or not.
Emotions are been dished out with heads bowed and otherwise straightened and muscled figures have suddenly grown meek.
The elderly who had served this nation and have courtisied with their dignities intact, are gnawing at kola nuts up north and beyond. The distinguished and teeming Mahamas all over are most bereaved and are yet to come to terms. For they are family. Our men in the Army are no better.
But we must not seize this tragedy to fool beyond what is permissible and lawful. I understand the fury in your words, but I can’t be ignited nor be lit up like a headless chicken, by the words. For there is a larger conversation that leadership on all sociocultural and religious fronts must and can broach to be able to give the Soldier and his family a befitting tribute. Ultimately, Ghana must win in the midst of this fit of fury.
In the interest of our famed communal spirit as African- Ghanaians, everyone, sit. Just sit down. And lend me your intellect. Or whatever you have for it.
If you are not intelligent at all, bare with my literary illustration below. But do not misinterpret my generosity as a tacit admission that I am responsible for your brain malaise.
Now, homophonically, the title of this piece of literature is, depending on your Holy Bible proficiency, almost or entirely an affront to scripture.
Like when a good televangelist intones that God created him, the Osofo, in his own spitting image and so he is a piece of God.
In the absence of a loud preacher man pontificating of his paternity, and sticking to the same homophones bit of wordplay, one could be actually be tempted to liken Ghana’s Shatta Wale as being a piece of God.
Before you come assailing me with blasphemy, as if I hadn’t warned you against my total disdain for dumbness and people who are dumb, please pay attention to the following verses. . .
1. Is Shatta Wale a jealous human being? 2. Is Shatta Wale not filled with fits of rage and fury? 3. Did Shatta Wale not server relations with his Lucifer aka Dupoti? 4. Does Shatta Wale’s acts and decisions make sense to anyone else apart from him? 5. Does Shatta Wale create anything with his thoughts and words? 6. Does Shatta Wale love and expect his followers to sing his praises? 7. Did Shatta Wale not go into the wilderness for 40days and 40nights, sorry. Did Shatta not suffer in the music wilderness here on eartg for 10yrs before he was able to buy his 1st Range Rover?
Now imagine Ghana as one beautiful gourd. The fine dried up but well nourished fruit jar that is so blessed that it is called Ghana. Then for some mundane reason, the gourd is given to a grown- looking-responsible-looking spectacled human being like Willi Roi.
He is given the gourd to go and fetch water from the nearest river so we all drink and live life as one people. In unity. Then Willi Roi, the same grown man expected to see what the stakes are for an entire nation, drops the gourd. Breaking it into pieces.
And smiling at the mess he hath brought upon us.
In spite of the shattered gourd, and the stupid grin on Willi’s dumb face, the least I’d expect every Ghanaian to do, would be to identify which piece of the mess is their portion. It of course goes without saying that each piece of the broken gourd, henceforth, becomes autonomous and must look out for him or herself.
Ladies, minnows and men, the supposed underlying ethos of Ghana’s sociocultural scheme, is a broken joke. And has been shattered largely by our inactions as an unappreciative philistine bunch who ought to be left to wallow in their ignorance.
