Can anyone tell me how to comfort a Ghanaian mother whose first son lives and works in The Gambia?  My elderly friend, who I fellowship with, has been mourning over her son for the past week.

“AJIIII … ajiii … ajiii,” I yelled as the youthful mate crushed my toe with his stiletto. He was hopping out of the Benz Bus as I tried to climb on to same.  

I can’t wait to take memorable photos tomorrow. I am told there's going to be a partial solar eclipse in the country. 

Somtimes, I sit back and ask myself, what at all do women want or need from the Lord?  Could it be that women have a craving for their Maker than men? 

Agh!!  As soon as I sat behind this desk to type you a story, Lucy’s call came through.  I thought she was in some kind of trouble when I picked the call.  She sounded so morose and broken in her spirit.  “Ablah, Ablah I feel like dying.  I feel like killing myself, ”she threatened. “Are you home?  Where is Frank?  Are the children okay?  Is your home flooded again,” my questions dispensed simultaneously.  I was damn scared.

The well decorated chapel exuded nothing but melancholy.  The black and red draping on various sections of the tall walls in the room had created a hue so thick, no joy could permeate.  

The wailing of women mostly filled the chapel as the organist, a grey-haired pensioner whose only duty it was, to play tunes to bid farewell the soul of dearly departed, ensured that his skills for that morning were apt. 

Here on the top of my dining table, beside my window, do I sit, watching the heavens pour in litres.  My eyes are welled up too – they shed tears for the broken fence walls that caged up our home.  

As my abode reels under possible floods, my fleshy African lips are pouted in the direction of my neighbour’s house; the man who offered to supervise the dredging of our gutters in the area; the sand-filled gutters which could qualify for a galamsey operator’s exploration site.  In fact, if I hadn’t been told there existed gutters in those depths, I wouldn’t have known.  Hmm.

The Sun!  The sun is melting Ghana.  What can we do about it? Hmm. My Very Eyes May Just See Under Nine Planets.  Who remembers this mnemonic for the order of the planets orbiting the Sun?

I am bothered by something you might consider insubstantial.  But I guess talking about it will make me feel better. Lies! Social media lies!  Why at all can't some people be sincere with their comments on social media?  Eh? 

“Ready, steady, cheeeeeese!” Kre.  Back in the day, one needed to wait for days for a photographer to develop photos taken; celluloid negatives from square shaped double-decker Kodak, Canon, Nikon or Fuji camera were sent into dark rooms to be developed before one could take possession of their photographs.    

Today, technology has made “bunkum,” the procedural delays in photo developing.  Presently, photographs are able to capture shots and print almost immediately, at functions.  Full sophistication all the way. 

All too soon, a week has passed since we celebrated the death of our Lord. I hope you had a long restful weekend.  Well, mine was restful till the night of Resurrection, Sunday when my 72-year-old uncle decided to switch me into a keep-vigil-with-me mode.  

I can still feel the fatigue of that night, twirling around my eyes.  Whoever said baldness was caused by piles? Or should I put it this way, do piles cause baldness?  I just don’t get it. 

My carpet is wet!  Yes, the carpet in my living room is wet.  I haven’t been a particularly happy person these past few days.  Who wants to live with such a hostile pong?

I prayed and prayed for the rains to come.  And they’ve visited twice already, with pomp and show; its attendance coolness which lasted a few hours was much appreciated.  Oh why did this roof repairer do this to me?

Last season, my roof developed cracks - thanks to a plumber who came to repair a problem on our overhead water tank.  He fixed the overflow, but the legacy the plumber left us couldn’t compare to the agony we were to subsequently endure.

It is with a beating heart that I boldly ask this question:  when will the rains in Accra come pouring? I need to ask this question.  Looks to me it’s been a long time coming. 

Anytime I talk about importance of people knowing how to eat properly with such ‘weapons’ as forks and knives, some of my friends simply don’t understand me at all.

They keep telling me that we are Ghanaians and for that matter, are under no obligation to muster the art of cutlery usage at table.

Some are padded, some are plain.  They can be strapless or convertibles.  Their caps fill out in various forms, underwired or not.  Growing up, we used to call them bodice.  With the passage of eras, they became known as brassieres.

Many bra designs have come and gone. In general, women like bras that are good looking and offer strong support.  Brassieres! Which types are healthier?

While in a phone chat last Thursday with Emefa, one of my work colleagues, she mentioned how she had been ill in the weeks that passed. 

She said to me, “Ablah, my entire diaphragm ached as if pellets of pain had been rolled underneath my skin.  Ei, the pain would come piercing each time I dared to lie down. 

“I couldn’t turn without feeling as if … in fact, I didn’t know I would survive the tribulation. Lying on my chest was a no-no. My entire rib-cage quaked so badly, I thought I would die.”