a little info

This is the post excerpt.

My blog would primarily deal with my poems, articles, sometimes short stories (all peppered with a bit of the Krio creole patois language from Sierra Leone)  and photography done by talented individuals.

It would also serve as platform to showcase art and other stuff through me via postings.

Manipulation or Kindness

There are some things that just have to be dished out from the mind, words mostly give wings to thoughts after a period of introspection . Maybe, as humans the conclusions we form from our thoughts and experiences determines the person we are or become. 

It’s like a jigsaw puzzle with pieces scattered and some in place , yet with each attempt at forming the complete image we either get closer to getting it right by placing the right piece in the correct part, or we use the wrong piece which steers us in the wrong direction.

This not a piece on jigsaws (lol) but the analogy between it and life is not lost to many. The human condition has always being centered on the prevaling theme to try and make a sense of things, primarily the existential questions about the purpose of life, thus the many belief systems and diverse philosophies .

From the past decades to now, there has been a heightened acceleration in modern culture to push to individuals the idea of manipulative self centeredness as paramount, whilst eroding the need to do genuine act of kindness; from music, movies, literary works to political and social circles. These messages somehow place more emphasis that the keys to success for a better status in society is based on the individual’s chameleon ‘Fouche~like’ attitude to switch loyalties based on what is beneficial to him/her without a moral compass . In essence it’s a ‘Me Only ‘ world. 

The world has never been for the meek, yet there has always been a sense of duty of giving a helping hand to others in need , even in dark places. These days, however, it’s an age of the top dog. The need to scheme in every situation, to unhealthily compete in trivial matters or to be a ‘savage’ at the expense of others is all borne out of the need to dominate. 

It’s a world of half truths , selective kindness and lies. Family dynamics is no better than workplace politics that pits people against each other and condones betrayals whilst it laughs at loyalty as an antiquated relic.

It’s no wonder everyone wants to be a ‘savage’ these days.

 The insecurity of lack of trust in romantic relationships stems from the fact that couples nowadays all have motives and keep their proverbial cards close to their chest.  

It’s like the lyrics from a Chris Brown song;

“Seems like ain’t nothing cool about being real, no one’s honest about what they feel”

It seems modern culture has deemed being good as unfashionable, as such even its potrayal in contemporary art is one tied to docile weakness,  yet we see a growing trend in the ‘humanising’ of historical/fictional villains in films, tv series and movies with a romanticising factor of making them look shrewd and smart. Glorifying their charm whilst painting their vile acts with epic spins.

Most entrepreneur and motivational books sell the idea of a thirst to dominate bordering on almost a narcissistic view to crush and manipulate to get to the top.

Mainstream music is no better, uplifting and conscious soundtracks do poorly compared to songs which extol the predator rise to the top and hedonist concepts. The cheating , ‘sideguy or sidechick’, and the savage unemotional personas all plays a role in a cycle of art imitating life and life imitating art.

The global political climate lately reeks of intolerance, from bigotry to refugee crisis, terrorism and the rise of demagogs who roll out divisive messages . 

The internet especially social media for all its positives sadly gave birth to cyber bullying and trolling which has been a hot bed of controversies and pervasive behaviour which along with con hacking fraudsters has sadly led to unfortunate cases, but like every tool it can be used for good purposes or manipulated to negative uses.

There’s just one Earth. 

Mars is yet to house a plant.

Manipulation comes from the need to need to control, not from the same source to excel. There’s nothing wrong with having an ambition to succeed, on the contrary it’s an admirable trait but there is something fundamentally wrong with doing so at the expense of using manipulative means to achieving it by crushing the dreams of others. Isn’t it? 

Yet, complacency and a tendency to be too kind to a fault is a flaw, there is a place and time to know when and how to act for your own good and interest. He who aims to please everyone will always fail, the fact is, an excess of free handouts is not the mark of goodwill but an insecure need to get validation. 

In a world that’s already unbalanced, little acts of kindness is all that gets us by. It’s less idealism and more a search within. 

Most, if not all of us in one way or another is guilty of falling victim to the sometimes negative influences of society , no one is impervious to it. At the same time we all can in one way or another erode the rash impulse to conform to norms that we know deep within leads us to losing our humanity. 

Not only for us but also for the generations yet to come.

Be kind , but be aware.



Of Boys. (African)

We remember the laughs

but try to forget the tears
handpicking the rosy blossoms but ignoring the gafffes
of a time when bruised knees and sprained ankles from bicycle falls was a badge of honour we proudly showed to our peers
in the cocktail of emotions boyish days brought,

remember, ‘member
 ‘kaktoes’ , and nutmeg ‘booth’ beatings before you found the green?

or wars won with toy soldiers?
soccer games lost with ‘mentholathum’ top white cat strikers,
 cocoa cola stopper midfielders
 and grafton or whiskey cover defenders, 
silver cigarette tin foil wrappers or jumbo maggie in center field rolled up oblong spheres as ball?

Champions League had nothing on us.
Racing ‘gigs’ through alleyways like a F1 driver,

 shooting marbles with a comet streak into holes,

‘rubber fak’ trades,

guinea goal games ending in deadlocks

.. ‘playcatch’ with the girls to dark corners..

then one day,

on different times

life withdrew it’s blindfold
of innocence
We grew up, 

or maybe,

outwardly just adapted to reality

yet still the same bubbling boys within.

Our games just changed, and evolved

Boys we remain.
That is just a euphemism.


Excerpt from ‘The Ambience’

He never considered once for a minute that his lies would be discernible by his mother, afterall  even when his late father was cheating on her every night with the nanny, she suspected nothing.

Ismael thanked whatever powers or the random nature of genetics for passing the manipulative traits of his papa to him. As long as the cheques cleared, he would continue to forge the signature of his docile mother. He needed the money.
Tasers don’t come cheap, neither did the paralysing drugs and other beautiful torture tools he had to purchase from the black market which he intended to use on his next victim.This time, the flailing of her skin would start from her scalp while she was wide awake.

Pain is the only truth, fear the only deity, and despair the surrender of free will.

For he, Ismael ‘The Ambience’ was the dark trinity that even Satan envied.

Cape Sierra Leone Lighthouse

Built in 1812 by the British, during their colonial occupation days in Sierra Leone as a beacon for sea vessels to shore. The Cape Sierra Lighthouse is one of the historical landmarks found in Freetown and naturally doubles as a great tourist destination and a site for romantic couples. Located at the tip of Aberdeen, its boasts a serene view of the coastal surrounding and picturesque evening sunsets.
Photography by Craig ‘Figo’ Sesay.

Cape Sierra Lighthouse…Photography by Craig ‘Figo’ Sesay

Pain (poem on domestic violence)

A Boy once lived with a monster

He could describe to detail the feel of the ridges of it’s hand like a pirate with a treasure map

or the taste of blood flowing in the Red Sea of his mouth from the slaps he received daily

In his mind he knew horror movies got it wrong with monsters

How could they not have, he called his monster Papa
Papa had super powers in an ordinary way with

how he could camouflage his demon traits in the public eye 

with a smile worthy of a toothpaste advert , a member of the choir and bank manager.

he bedazzled the public with his facade

Mama knew the language the monster’s belt spoke, the fists’ music and the legs’ rocky vibe too

She hid the scripts it left on her face with her makeup kit every morning

If scars could speak for mama they would tell a tale of a pathos journey

A young krio girl finding love and eloping with a handsome dude in college, a love child sealing the union…

 disconnecting ties with her family for a love that had now gone awry

Mama replays the story in her mind so much that I can read the emotions on her facial features 

A grimace for the first time Papa hit her and then apologised…

a sigh for the first full beating..

a tear drop for it becoming routine…

and sobbings for the disbelief whenever she shares her pains with another…

that never helps, the last reprisal beating left mama in a coma for 3 days..

The neighbours heard she fell down the stairs

.Papa is such a great actor, 

he switches roles more than Johnny Depp in a Tarantino movie..

a horrible movie…no wonder our life is a nightmare,

The one you scream to hoarse nothiness and no one hears your silent cry for help

The reverie is cut short by the sounds of a Mercedes honk outside
Mama wipes her face with her tear soaked sleeves and says to the boy

‘Na im don kam so e chak wan, tday we day lef ya’

The boy nods with a blaze in his eyes,

He had lost count at his 172 beating

Friday nights were hell 

Brandy bottle in hand the monster kicks the door in and staggers towards the boy 

‘ You nr sabi open you dorti mot greet you papa’ he says

Two blows descend and Mama rushes in like a sacrificial lamb protecting her son

The monster fumes and intensifies the pounding

crawling soldiers always pray they aren’t the next prey on enemies snipers scope but mothers always ignore those reasoning for their children

A glint of silver plunges twice followed by a scream

 ‘ Wai e don kill me’
3 , 4 , 5 ….10..the boy strikes at the one he once called Papa , to him a Monster

The crescendo of the mother’s screams starts 

‘ Aaa me pikin watin you don do’

with a glazed expression bereft of regret the boy gazed at the fallen demon and the abused angel crying over

The irony was striking..

He knew pain, this was a different kind.

Neighbours came,

hushed cries and pocket conversations became phone calls that brought the cops.

The boy was arrested

The mama sobbed silently

The monster lay dead.

..and all the neighbours could say to the cops was

‘ e bin did day beat the borbor and e mama pasmak..

Yet the silent question was…

“Why una none nr ever stop am or report am?”

and that Question no one answered.