Awuramacreates

Many children in the average Ghanaian houshold cannot escape house chores; some of which includes sweeping the compound, fetching water from the community vantage tap, sending the refuse to its respective dump, doing dishes, cleaning the hen coop, going into the bush with a cutlass and a jute sack to look for and cut grass for the goats' feeding, doing the laundry, among others; Or at least those were most of my chores as a child.  However, the chore I dreaded doing the most was to wash the dirty dishes. Being the perfectionist that I was as a child, cleaning the dishes would mean that I would have to spend a lot of time scraping and rinsing. Anytime I heard my mother call out my name to go and do the dishes, my fragile heart would skip a beat. I could sometimes shed a bucket of tears before beginning the process of doing the dishes. We didn't have a sink, so I usually used basins. Other times I would spend an awful amount of time wallowing and dreading of the thoughts of doing...

Time..... ⌚ Infinite, yet so limited. Abundant, yet so scarce. Free, yet so expensive. The concept of time is understood differently by different entities....  ⌚⌚ To the new born, it is an endless loop of tears, breast milk and sleep. But to it's mother, it is a seamless fabric of hope, because only time will reveal the days the child will sit, crawl, walk and eventually, run. Hope, to the sad and depressed, because "time heals all wounds".... or so they say. Too fast, at the same time, just enough for each exam candidate in an academic exam hall. ⌚⌚⌚ "How time flies, when you're having fun"... Indeed, the time actually flies to an unknown place. The young grows old, and the old dies. That's just the law of life. Time no dey! Do not waste the remaining of yours. Hence, My new piece.... Time no dey - 4:00 Release date : July 7, 2023. Lyrics and composition: Rama Blak, Obiri Tete Introduction: Akofena, Fapempong. Lead Vocals: Rama Blak, Obiri Tete Bac...

I still remember the aura of our little old room; a rainy smell, mixed with the smell of burnt paper and some sunshine, which was always generous on our aluminium roofing sheets.  Mom and dad had freshly seperated and my sisters and I were still adjusting to not having our father at home. So mother rarely stayed indoors, she would often leave before cock's crow to struggle for her profits on the goods she distributed to various shops. She usually returned when we were asleep. I missed her always.  My mum, my sisters and I struggled to create space for sleep in the little room we occupied somewhere in the outskirts of the town. The room was too small to contain all the 'nkukusaka' of five females; yet that is what my mother could afford. She was still traumatized by the seperation and her feminine ego of independence will not recieve any kind of financial support from my father or anyone else. There was nothing to complain about; we had our daily three square meals, water to...

I've been thinking. What other comforting news or systems have been put in place for those of us who hail from nothing, but the love of our parents and the little food and shelter they spent their entire lives to provide? 🎨🖌️ Apart from from luck, grace, working hard and smart, and self motivation which keeps us going, brings food to our table and keeps us alive, there is nothing like a trust fund, an inheritance, a secret savings account or an insurance that we can fall on, if things go south and grey. 🎨🖌️ Where I come from, your little achievements, comfort and happiness stimulates your family and friends into jealousy and raised eyebrows which will subsequently lead to a scheme to pull you down. 🎨🖌️ When you fall in love with a rich man, "you are in love with him because of his money". Your burdens and your family's burdens becomes his burden. He will eventually get tired and his love and respect for you will diminish. After all, "you're just a a bu...

..... And there I was on my porch, rocking myself up and forth to the rhythm of an unknown melody. Unknown to myself and to the world. 🗑️ My gaze was fixed on the bridge that leads to my hut; while I smoked my pipe with the hopes that the fire I inhale will penetrate my lungs to my heart. Oh yes burn! 🗑️🗑️ Dear pipe whom I smoke, burn it all. Because every fibre of my heart has been murdered. Murdered by my own imaginations and the deeds of men; disrespect and betrayal.  Oh yes, burn it all!  🗑️🗑️🗑️ When it is well cremated, do not worry about the chars. They will escape through my pores and valves. Dear old pipe whom I smoke, burn it all. 🗑️🗑️🗑️🗑️

How did we get here? When did we get here? What are we doing here? And how will we get there? Our world gets confusing sometimes. We don't choose to get confused, it's just what happens. 📝 It gets confusing because we get drown in doubts, uncertainties and misfortunes. It gets confusing because we hardly see our plans and visions manifested; but when they do get manifested, we find joy and purpose in and for our lives. A lot of things that brings us joy is momentarily. But if you find that one that doesn't fade away, you begin to think that, that's your purpose in your life. Or Is it? 📝📝📝

It's been three years since I told myself that I'll step out and sing. It's been three years since I told myself, that I won't let my weaknesses, flaws and negatives run my life. That I won't let being shy, introverted and antisocial mix with my talents. It's been three years. 🎉🎉🎉 February 6, 2018.  There were definitely a lot of challenges and ridicule, but I Knew I needed time. I still do.  Lessons learned:  Give yourself time. Make use of it, make the mistakes, learn from the mistakes. You may never get perfect, but you will become the example people look up to. ❣️  Many people are unable to detect my fears, shyness and insecurities. It's because I have decided not to show it. Nobody knows what I go through  before getting up on a stage to hold up a microphone. I hide a lot in my smiles and stage craft. I let myself go, I concentrate on the music and how to relay the message it carries. I'm not perfect, I'm just a learner. Give it time....  ...