With his white earpieces firmly stuck in his ears, the middle-aged barber skillfully run his barbering machine in the mid-section of his client’s head and angrily declared, “What does he mean? … That’s why I have stopped picking his calls.”
He kissed his teeth and continued, “growing up, I noticed that in our culture, if you did anything without the consent of your elders, and whatever you did backfired, you wouldn’t even dare come back home complaining to these elders, for obvious reasons. So why is he disturbing us with calls as if we consented to his trip? What does he think of us?”
I am standing in front of a banking hall with my lips pouted like an opened tulip flower. I am very angry with everything around here right now. Deception! Deception! Deception!
It’s my first-time visiting that branch to transact business and I just had to use their washroom out of desperation. You know me. I usually wouldn’t like to patronise such a public lavatory. But nature calls.
I am fed up; fed up with the quality of toilet rolls being sold on our markets.
The soft ones are too soft, your fingers go through them, causing havoc. The hard ones are too hard, they scratch and prick your “undercrofts” so badly, they get sore. Seriously, I am fed up.
Once upon a time, there used to be a particularly haaaaaaaaard kind on the market which really caused serious abrasions to one’s backside. In fact, they were so hard, they could pass for printing paper.
I need a cassette player to buy. Where can I find one, please? I can hear you ask, “Ablah koraaaaa, what is it again, this time around? What on earth does she need a cassette player for?” Is there not a cause? I need it for a practical training programme in my home.
On Saturday, I decided to rummage through some boxes I hadn’t opened since I moved in with Obodai. They contain books I used for my A Levels. They were occupying space in my cute apartment and had to be disposed of.