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.
I am back folks—and before you blame me for the long absence, check which country I write from. I do not have damn electricity most hours of the day when I really need it and interestingly, when I am sleeping around midnight or at work, the power comes on.
Left alone to the World Witches Association with their headquarters situated at Damango in the Northern Region of Ghana, working through their national agent-Electricity Company of Ghana, I wouldn’t be able to write a single article a month. But today, the witches seem to have over slept so I have power when I am home and the cobwebs which have taken over my laptop have been duly cleaned.
And if you are wondering why the World Witches Association’s headquarters is at Damango—that is where that man called John Dramani Mahama comes from.
Anyway, before I jump to look at the confused state of these people who we unfortunately have to deal with every day called MEN—let me throw out my take on the annual Father’s Day celebration.
Obviously, Father’s Day is not as popular as Mother’s Day in Africa and the reason is simple; a vast number of African fathers are useless compared to mothers. They just pass out semen and disappear, leaving mothers to carry the semen for 9 months—and take care of the end product of the semen, human beings for the rest of their lives.
In fact, I think we should have “Shaming Father’s Day” instead in Africa and that will surely be well celebrated—on this day, we will parade those useless fathers on the street and punch them in the face. Of course, with chains on their hands and legs, and their eyes well covered so they wouldn’t know who is doing the heavy slapping.
I will bring my own father for the daily rehearsal; what an a$$hole…
With the above said, I still think it’s wrong for us to celebrate our mothers on Father’s Day—that is abuse of position and it’s unfair. If your father is or was a douche bag like mine, I am sure there was a man (be it family, friend or a stranger) who played a key role or occasional important roles in your life. You can celebrate such a man who came forward and helped when your father failed to show his annoying face.
So I do not support what Ghanaian actress-Yvonne Nelson and several others do yearly. I am sure a man has helped somehow in their lives and they can use this single day to say “Thank You” to this man by celebrating him. And by a man, I don’t mean that stupid so called Uncle of yours who helped but also wanted to touch your boobies or sleep with you.
Hajia 4 Real | This photo is just used as an image for publication. It does not have any connection with the published content
Human beings will do anything for survival; it’s part of our DNA and in fact the reason why we’ve been able to live for many years. Our survival instinct is so high that we will kill to live—and I don’t have a problem with this.
If a hungry dying woman will have to suck the d*ck of an old ugly fat man so that he will hand over a piece of bread for her survival, I will salute this woman and even if I can, I will help by s*cking those stinking balls.
That is a necessity; we must live and travelling every mile regardless of conscience to be able to cater for your basic or survive should never be panned. That is, when the only way to survival depends on this act. I am talking about the absence of any other alternative.
Unless you have been kidnapped by Boko Haram where one of them may asked you to play with his suicide balls before you get a small portion of food, you are unlikely to ever find yourself in this situation.
Yet, a lot of women especially young Ghanaian women have started a revolution of s*cking the d*cks of old ugly fat married bastards each night so that they can buy their designer Louis Vuitton bags or travel first class.
My grandmother never saw an aeroplane, let alone to travel in first class and yet she lived to 107. How then does travelling first class or owning a red sole shoes-Louboutines become a survival mechanism—a necessity to many women across the globe to the extent that, they are ready to lick the balls of even a chimpanzee for that champagne to be popped for them?
I recently watched a video on Facebook which talked about this same issue and the fact that the video originated from America tells me that; it’s just not an African stupidity, but a global mania—caused by a new group of young women who want what they do not want to work for or do not really need in life.
If a gun is put to my head and the person behind the trigger is genuinely sincere that if I s*ck his shyt he will not blow my head, I will do it for my survival. And when I get home, I can mount a big stage to proudly tell the whole world how I managed to survive—the whole truth and nothing else.
Now are these women proud of what they are doing to openly discuss it? Hell No…
They may post dozens of photos on instagram and facebook every 5 minutes, showing off their expensive lifestyle and designer wears but interestingly, they never show the men who have made all these things possible. Even around lunch/dinner tables, they cut off the other person from the photos—what for? You know the answer.
It’s unfortunate and pathetic that our generation cannot boast of any other revolution than that which entails a generation of desperate d*ck suckers—who offer this service in exchange for shallow or material things.
I’ve made it a priority to walk through the face of any person, be it a man or woman who tells me the ‘Dumsor’ is not that bad or the President should not be pressured to find a fix now—and by this, I mean to slap the hell out that son of a b*tch until all his or her teeth drop to the floor.
My cousin was recently rushed to the hospital for a near-death stomach pains and it’s all because that NDC woman who sells Banku and Tilapia near our junction sold her a fresh looking Tilapia which in fact had suffered Dumsor for God knows how long in her fridge.
This is why I begin to look for a hammer to break a skull anytime I hear people make ‘Dumsor’ a political propaganda because this nonsense is affecting everyone including my dog which barks incessantly for about 15 minutes anytime the lights are taken off in the evening.
We’ve bought two fridges so far in the last 1 year because of the power outages and only half of the fridge wall is working for the one sitting near me now. Have you ever seen a fridge with one part cooling and the other as hot as walking through Makola on a Friday afternoon pressed by the need to use the toilet? Check into my house if you have time…
Enough of the above because most Ghanaians may be facing that and I am not here to become the mouthpiece for every Ghanaian…F**k that, I wouldn’t be paid for such a job so let me just deal with my huge problem of being orga$m starved for almost 3 months because of President Mahama and his Dumsor cousin.
The Ghanaian men I’ve been meeting are pretty stingy and most of them don’t fit my kind of man. Even when I was ready to pass some of them for the mere fact that I can use and abuse them anytime I need to satisfy my sexual desire, the two that I considered this way failed me brutally.
I now understand why there is an increase in the sales of tonics and bitters all over Ghana. Our men have become 3 seconds sluggish worms. For the last candidate, he didn’t’ even show up for the match after I whetted my pu**y appetite from morning, waiting for that grand volcanoes to explode in his face.
The non-performance of these men and the fact that I couldn’t put myself through the constant emotional torture of whether it was going to be great or another flop meant that I had to seek for other avenues to satisfy the goddess in me—I am sure my goddess was a wh*re on planet Venus, else what would explain this extreme high libido of mine which makes some women even jealous?
Personally, I find women who are able to count the number of orga$ms they’ve had losers—perhaps that explains why most of my sisters are really mean on the ‘trotro’ these days. I jumped into trotro with smiles every morning, because I know how loud I screamed before wearing my panties for work. It takes a little time but eventually I make it there almost every morning with those toys my friend-Jessica introduced me to when I could not anymore rely on the pool of men. I go to heaven and come back at least twice. But that was then…
I was not really going to write about this since I wanted to break my silence with something touching, not another rant—but considering the fact that a lot of women may be doing this and a lot more may be at the receiving end, I said ‘screw touching post, ain’t nobody got time for that’, let’s go for what is real (in Sweet Brown’s voice).
Surely, it’s obvious from my silence that I have been getting some— your sister has been a little behind in that area so when that chocolate man came talking, I knew I was going to get laid and I didn’t even care how quick it was going to be.
Don’t be fooled by my wants; I still need to be treated right as a woman else s*x is not happening. I would rather make a good use of my fingers or the shower head, they can all do the magic and even though they won’t be able to hug me—I wouldn’t accept any disrespect or contempt for a man-hug.
We did two dinners and one lunch—and he topped it up with a cinema. I pulled him to the cinema to watch ‘50 Shades of Grey’ and to be frank, he enjoyed it more than I did. As someone who has read the book, I was disappointed but that is a conversation for another day.
That night in the cinema, I decided to make it happen. Yeah, I control the clock as to when to allow the man down there—influenced by how behaved he has been and how lovely he has treated me. I have had enough experience to know that, the treatment deteriorate after they have knocked that booty. Woe unto you if he was not good and then on top of it he begins to treat you like a trash.
So it happened that night at my apartment. Once again, I like to control where it happens. I do not want any lunatic killing me in his room for ‘sakawa’ rituals. And as always, I texted my good friend-Jessica to tell her that “Girl, I am getting laid tonight, so check me out in the morning if I am still conscious…HBFTSOOM”
I am one of the many contemporary women who careless about morality for the reason that, women should not be expected to be moral gods while men live whatever life they want.
If morality is so important, then it should apply to everyone—not just women and women should not be expected to do anything than men wouldn’t be expected to do.
On the moral ladder, many even think women shouldn’t drink, smoke or want to kiss a man on just meeting the person—yet men are allowed to do all these things without any prejudice or judgment. Do not get me upset by arguing that men are superior human beings or something like that with such distorted moral expectations.
Any argument along the lines that, she should have known better by not following KKD into the hotel room or a woman should have known better not to accept drinks or kiss from a stranger translate into; the fact that a woman is morally corrupt (does not care about certain moral standards) means a man has the RIGHT to violate her integrity by raping her.
Chris-Vincent Agyapong Febiri (Editor of GhanaCelebrities.Com) has written a lot on this subject; both from his legal perspective and robust anti-religion stand—mostly, basing his arguments on law, morality and reason/humanism.
As a Christian, I have decided to look at this topic from a religious point of view—and I would ask and answer some of the difficult questions surrounding this sinful act which we ought not to tolerate but has somewhat gained a status which require that we do not only have to tolerate but to accept it.
First of all, let me establish that there is no hierarchy of sins in the eyes of God—every sin carries equal weight and punishment from what I know. Unless someone can point me to any part of the Bible or Quran which categories sins, I believe this position is uncontested and ought to be the plausible God view.
There are countless things religion and it’s Holy books classify as sins—things our God hates and deem as sins, well known to us and yet we daily engage in these things. I am guilty of this and I guess that is why the Bible says “for all have sinned and have fallen short of the glory of God”.
I have a boyfriend whom I have sex with at least twice a month (fornication)—that is a sin. I like to gossip a lot and I read a lot of gossip blogs including GhanaCelebrities.Com, in fact I even work for one of these gossip blogs—this is also a sin. Sometimes, when my favourite food is made, I over eat it-gluttony—which is a sin.
People have been talking a lot on social media and this particular development has really upset me to the core—and you know when I say I am upset, I mean business…
I cannot go deep into the story but I have heard enough of it on social media to warrant a response—and to expose the nonsense in the arguments some people are making…
Two Ghanaians got married not long ago after dating for a considerable number of years—prior and after the marriage, the woman is reported to have had side men and apparently, her husband (now dead) even recorded some of her private conversations with these boyfriends.
According to social media talkers, this woman was pregnant and because the pregnancy was not for her newly wedded husband—she poison his wakyee and killed him.
This is where it gets interesting yet stupid; apparently, the spirit of the dead husband ‘entered’ someone who started talking—stating that the wife killed him and all manner of crap (they have audio of the plenty talking).
For many, this woman is a Jezebel who killed her husband shortly after they got married because she was cheating. The only out of order coin against this woman is the fact that she was cheating—and many have taken this to mean, she had enough reason to kill the man.
I didn’t know cheating has become the new motivation to kill—because the last time I checked, all the cheating men are still on our streets, preying on every woman they meet and no one has accused them of having killed their wives even if they die suddenly.
As an African woman, I am worked out and damn tired of the constant judgement of women by society, especially men who mostly live below the standard they judge women with…
These judgements make me feel women are deemed as persons who cannot make their own decisions—do not know what is good for their lives and as such, a bunch of self chosen rulers must determine what women do with their lives, including how many times they wanna f**k or who they f**k.
When a woman gets to a certain age, I will comfortably tick this age at 25; such a woman should have developed all the needed senses of reason and rational thinking to be able to decide for herself, what she is good for her—and once again, including how many times a week she wants to cook in her own damn pot without people rolling their eyes.
What makes us human beings as opposed to some animals camped at a Zoo and being watched by their kidnappers is the fact that, we have autonomy over about bodies—we are free to do whatever we want with our bodies.
This may seem simple in principle but any attempt to practice body autonomy on an African soil wouldn’t be possible because a bunch of strangers will judge you from your toe to your head—calling you all manner of names for deciding to enjoy your own body or give it out to whoever you find fit.
The true definition of prostitution which is considered a social vice by majority of people is trading s*x for money—and it is not, cooking as many times as you want in your POT. But people seem to ignore the fact that, it is not the number of times a woman cooks in her POT that makes her a prostitute, rather, what the person gets in return for the cooking…
Today, there are several so called ‘expensive young girls’ in Ghana sleeping with men purposely for money well defined in their minds as a business transaction—and perhaps because they are with one man at a time (for about 3-6 months), they are not termed prostitutes. Yet, if I decide to bring home a different man each night for purely enjoyment purposes without any money exchanging hands, I would quickly be labelled as such…
I hate this but it seems that is our people’s understanding of prostitution—forgetting that, a woman has an inherent right to decide the number of times she wants to cook in her own pot and no one should have to be worried.
I am back and if you do not like it, just get the hell out of my way—because we definitely need to use of you for experiments in the laboratory, you are no difference from mice when it comes to your abilities to evaluate situations and come to establish the truth.
Despite how strange it is that a 50 year old man met a girl as young as 19, capable of being his daughter at a hotel—and instantly decided to want to have seks with her and in fact proceeded to do so, many still seem to believe, KKD did nothing wrong.
Of course he did nothing wrong because many of those defending his actions and failing to take a minute to consider the stories of the various women themselves are no different from KKD—our streets are full of old dirty bast*rds who prey on little girls like hawks.
For Christ sake, which reputable level headed man will meet a young girl at a hotel, take the girl together with her cousin and his cousin into his hotel room—and while there, go to have seks with this newly met girl in the bathroom? Even if you are one of those acute mentally constipated douchebags who believe the girl was not raped, what do you make out of this man’s behaviour, lack of self respect and morals?
The only thing that stops most men from breaking the law or raping women is self respect, morals and decent behaviour—what KKD claims to have happened that night lacks any of these elements and therefore, what makes anyone think he did not rape the girl as she claims or he is not capable of doing so?
When it comes to smart but foolish se*ual predators like KKD, they buy into this conception of delusion fuelled by fame and the stupidity of some people who have no heads to think—therefore would support them no matter what. These predators use some sort of arrogance, self-obsession and several cunning traits like being the finest to cloud the judgement of those who may see through the smoke—and at the same time, to prey on their victims. Notably, predators like KKD starts lying to themselves about their actions that there is nothing wrong with what they are doing—and eventually begin to believe in their own lies.
And if it happens that this ODBs live in societies like Ghana where se*ually abused victims are never the true victims but become the culprits; then they will ride on the insensitivity and stupidity of the society to perpetuate their acts. Because, the victims cannot even go out and say it—the society will slam them, call them all sorts of names and come up with dumb arguments that a man running to the toilet would not even make, just to discredit these women victims.
This is one of those many hard truths but the fact remains; the wh*res keep winning and we cannot do anything about it—in fact, who can stop them?
I am one of those women who are mostly worried about not wanting to taint my background, and breaking rules even if not binding has never been part of me. I wouldn’t say I am a goddam saint but if you wouldn’t pull your panties down when 1 million dollar is placed in front of you—then you are my twin sister.
Like some few African women from good Christian or Muslim homes, I define my existence with a hell lot of rules—some I do not even know why I obey them, perhaps, because my grandmother told me I should follow them.
I have boxed myself into this cubicle of principles full of decency and the need to care about my image to the extent that, my struggles are yielding no returns while my colleagues are reaping where they did not sow.
My friend is able to turn her 2 hours late night dinner date into thousands of dollars from her date who on top has to pay for the food. Don’t get me wrong, this friend is not a magician and she does not have any African dwarf; she just has refused to live within the laws of decency. And next year, I will definitely be rocking with her.
I will be hitting 30 years soon and I am still living from salary to salary—while those without jobs are living from one big pocket to another. My best friend drives a BMW and when we were at University, she was the definition of dumb—but she always managed to pass her papers because the laws of decency were not in her books.
Today, she has an enviable job which she hardly shows up for, yet she gets paid as much as she wants—because she is sleeping with her boss, a married man with 2 kids. Of course, I can never do this but at the end of the day, she seems to be winning while I keep ranting…
Did I say I can never do this? Yes I couldn’t do that but next year, I am going to let go my principles and join the winning team—whatever it is that is fetching them the big wins; count me in because there is no way I will hustle through another year like I did this year.
As a Ghanaian, I have observed with disgust how untruthful many Ghanaians are—especially to the people they claim to love and those they ought to be sincere to.
Of course it is difficult to look into the eyes of someone you love, cut the ‘bullshyt’ and tell the person the truth that he or she hates to hear. But if you love someone, telling the person the truth that will make the person a better person in the long run should matter more than scoring some good points in the person’s book with lies…
Ghanaians are a bunch of insincere people—and not just to themselves but to those around us too. We are full of sugar-coated words and when something is awful, we say it is beautiful; one of the key reasons we never seem to get far with achievements.
Most Ghanaians live in total denial and this is made worst by the fact that the people around them continue to tell them the ‘bull’ they want to hear—knowing that, they are not doing this person they love any good.
Last week, I attended an event and two friends sat behind me. Soon after they sat, a third friend who must have been running late joined them and the moment she sat down; she asked, what do you think of my dress and hair?
She caught my attention with her question and when I turned; I nearly said ‘disaster’ because that is the only right word befitting how this lady was dressed. But her friends showered on her all manner of praises, saying she looks great and if they were to hold a dress competition, she would definitely win.
When this third lady excused herself to use the bathroom less than 30 minutes later, the two women laughed hard, saying all manner of things about their friend—and they went as far as calling her a loser for that bad hair and dress.
Whether we agree with it or not, the wh*res are winning and the meaning of sex has changed over years—it means less of anything today, except the accompanying fun. The only thing that has stayed intact is the sweat; the positions have changed, the shouting has gotten louder and the spanking has turned into abuse—some call it whipping.
The removal of the traditional s*x veil has left it without any ‘sacrosanct status’ and today, there are so many people out there who are ready to offer it for free; devoid of any emotional commitment or even financial gains.
It’s just fun to many people and as such, it is offered with ease without any critical evaluation of the aftermath. In fact, there is no aftermath except to wake up, put on your panties solely just as you pulled it off alone—and walk out of the room, if it didn’t happen in the park or a car.
When I was in my early 20s, things were a little different. I had special panties that I wore for the act and I had to prepare my mind for it no matter how many times I did it. The romance could not be separated from the ‘bang bang’ and even though I wanted it, I had to be still convinced, pressured or persuaded to giving in.
I didn’t have to take off my panty all alone and the excitement that always popped on the face of the man when the panty was finally on the floor alone was priceless. Even before the intimate session, I was treated like a Queen and the entire day if not few days leading to the act was like my birthday.
Slowly, the guy attempts to buy your mind, your body and understanding with charming little things with respect being the central element of the indirect persuading.
Eventually when you agree to visit (knowing it was going to happen that day), you wear the best of your panties and bra—and for his bargain, the sheets would be cleaned, things set in a perfect order for just that 15 minutes of pleasure which transcends fun into the emotional borders, characterised by the giveaway of your pride.
Even after the act, the pampering would continue and the circle will repeat itself until the next happens. The immediate awkwardness would still exist and mostly, the guy had to do a lot to assure you that, the respect he has for you is still intact—nothing has changed even after seeing your n*kedness.
Perhaps, these were the days women were treated as women and not as sex objects, the latter being a product of the speedy cosmopolitan society we’ve found ourselves. Of course, made worse by the diminishing status of our morals, self pride, lack of personal respect and technology…
The speed at which the world is moving has ploughed a lot of things into a corresponding rapid motion, including where and how to get s*x. No one seems to have the time or endurance to get to know anyone for even a week or two, no one is interested in taking another to dinner, the park or cinema before making the obvious intention well known.
