Free-For-All (Part 2 All For Free)

The chief linguist of the Usher tribe undoubtedly had the gift of gab
He stretched the truth so felicitously that one quite forgot that he was a cad
A smiling rogue with an unalloyed propensity to take the occasional bribe
The enforcement of decorum and propriety thus fell on the chief scribe

This last, on such matters, would often turn a blind eye
After all, who had the time to count all the stars in the sky
In the big picture, the planets were what really mattered
A little deception in the business of state hardly counted

So when Ananse came forward with his latest proposal, accompanied by the chief linguist
The scribe had an inkling that there would be some kind of devious twist
But the rulers, by definition, had a right to partake, this much was obvious
For indeed, the technical phrase was of wider application: acceptable loss

This meant that scrutiny of the transaction was, of necessity, purely perfunctory
For the only issue at hand was the kind of compensation, preferably monetary
Although, those newfangled instruments cooked up by the financiers were rather bold
These alchemists now proffered tokens and emblems instead of the customary gold

Meanwhile the scribe signaled the terms and conditions for his backend payment
After all, what use was the exercise of power without some personal enrichment
He was old fashioned and preferred dealing with something tangible
A mine, black gold, a race horse rather than this crypto business: non-fungible

Hard earned lessons had taught him to steer clear of obvious bubbles
Lest one be caught holding worthless tickets that were non-refundable
Cash was king, he stressed to his comperes the importance of liquidity
When the chips were down, leverage was the currency of iniquity

And so he paid no mind to the bluster of Ananse and the chief linguist
Realizing that after he'd been paid, he could always issue a cease and desist
Skimming the take was avowedly the basis of a grifter's conceit
But a game can be rigged in many ways in the symphony of deceit

The whole world was in upheaval, many had plainly lost their bearing
Those quaint appeals for social living were, truth be told, quite endearing
But there was no room at the high table, those at the top had to be hard nosed
To emphasize to the majority that the great leveling had now been foreclosed

All the talk of justice and equality was laudable but amounted to cheap talk
Those in the know well understood that when push came to shove, they could balk
Soul insurance was all well and good, but the rules were different for those at the top
You couldn't expect that the conqueror would share the spoils with the have nots

Ludicrous, this notion that one should temper one's insatiable appetites
A contradiction, to expect giving up privileges one had won by all rights
The elites were plainly heroes, who would dare cast them as villains?
Class solidarity was paramount, lest everyone end up in prison

And so the chief scribe made to apply his opinion with the authoritative stamp
Pricked the seal of approval on the decision, he then wiped his bloodied thumb
Everything was in good order, he proclaimed after receiving his convenience fee
The deal was settled with some schnapps and palm wine under the baobab tree

If global narrative collapse had engendered this free-for-all
Those at the reins of power would prove they had the wherewithal
The objective of the shell games they'd embarked on was no big mystery
Looting, to recapture the bulk of the world's riches and get it all for free

All for free, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• I'm going for mine by Keith Sweat
• Dealing by Eric Roberson and Lalah Hathaway
• I gotta get mine yo by Chubb Rock
• How I deal by Dwele
• Gotta get mine by Born Jamaicans
• A strange arrangement by Meyer Hawthorne
• The rules don't apply to you by Ellis Hall
• Practical Arrangement by Kurt Elling & Branford Marsallis
• Gotta get mine by MC Breed

See previously: Free-For-All

File under: humour, satire, culture, observation, folktale, Ananse, storytelling, whimsy, myth, coronavirus, pandemic, Social Living, Things Fall Apart, Observers are worried, Buyer's Remorse, hatchet job, covidious, poetry, toli

Writing log: October 1, 2023

Free-For-All

It was a question of nerve
  and, when it came down to it, the Wan blinked first
After their scribes threw in the towel,
  they succumbed to humanity's curse
In a moment, it seemed, they upended all their previous mitigations
Pivoting to the new normal, they said, they lifted all restrictions

That it was time to return to normalcy was the considered feeling
Truth be told, there was, in this, a large element of wishful thinking
And the evidence was clear, they'd been inadequate with this change of plans
The toll quickly showed they'd chosen a lower tier of soul insurance

For, beyond emotional vaccination, one needed inoculation effectiveness
Herd immunity was indeed a chimera,
  for now the whole land was a mess
It was every man for themselves, whiplash throughout the populace
Who would bear the heavy burden of the good scribes's mistakes

The historians would later ask, did they consider the alternatives?
The way these academics do, making hay at length about what ifs
They could have at least waited until after their lunar new year
What did they gain by so precipitously succumbing to fear?

And the optics weren't good, the whole world would be disbelieving
Any statistics now profferred would be taken as those Wan deceiving
All we know was that they were finally going through their second wave
Although, with the kind of numbers affected,
  fortune would only favor the brave

Hastily abandoned, previous certainties were now summarily dismissed
Yet saving face meant that no one could admit that anything was amiss
A confusion of discarded policies that were no longer compelling
The official silence that reigned in those ghastly few months was telling

Leveling up - or down as the case really proved to be
Now there was no sanctuary on hand for the catastrophe
The whole world placed as it were in the thick of it
Global narrative collapse with its striking deficits

Ananse hankered down with his family,
  best to keep quiet and watch what would unfold
In the aftermath, there would be more opportunity,
  of this he didn't need to be told
The Wan, it seemed, had calculated
 and decided on what amounted to acceptable loss
As the old proverb went: one cannot separate fighting horses with millet stalks

Weary times would follow, the toll of those days was rather harrowing
When all around everyone in the grip of the gods' cauldron was suffering
Ananse beheld so many that were complaining of these significations and wonders
Perplexing given that they'd had the opportunity to prevent the earlier blunders

It was the inconvenience that was the prime bone of contention
The notion that it was no longer worth favoring prevention
The change of policy had scuppered any goodwill, crossing the spider
He never forgot a grudge,
 in good time they would have something to remember

And so zero tolerance would be a thing of the past
It was surely inevitable that they couldn't hold fast
Now that caution was foregone, in its place came laissez faire
We would have no more examples of humanity's strategic savoir faire

The last sanctuary, then, swiftly descended into upheaval
A return to the worst of plague living, echoes of the medieval
The Gods had put all to the test, even those without the wherewithal
And with no place to hide on earth. We would all face this free-for-all

Free For All, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Free For All by Art Blakey & the Jazz Messengers
• Every Man For Himself by Coleman Hawkins
• Upside Down by Diana Ross
• Topsy Turvy by Earl Hines
• No Rules by Trini Baby & Robelto
• Topsy Turvy by Bud Powell
• Back at One by Brian McKnight

See previously: Shakedown

File under: humour, satire, culture, observation, folktale, Ananse, storytelling, whimsy, myth, coronavirus, pandemic, Social Living, Things Fall Apart, Observers are worried, Buyer's Remorse, hatchet job, covidious, poetry, toli

Writing log: May 27, 2023

This Thief

There's no good way to receive bad news
And it is a feature of grief
That it catches you unawares
Cuts your soul, plunging deep

A phone call
One-handed, you answer
While marinating the meat

Raw chicken
Primal
Scream

A dear one has been stolen from you by this thief


...

This thief returns to the scene of the crime
No different in this, than other criminals
A repeat offender though, the gods gave up on reform
Threw their hands up at this incorrigible burglar
As if to get an idea for the next heist
There's always a target of opportunity
Even when the authorities are hot on the trail
Acting unconcerned, for the work is thrilling
Funeral minded, this thief, and comfortable hiding in plain sight
Secure in the knowledge there's no need for a mask on the face
Even while out on bail, the crime spree continues apace
Stripping bare all certainties, impressing the inevitability of death
This thief loots and pillages, crown jewels, a desecration
Faith and solace in the aftermath, grasping for soul insurance
Yet there's no salving the wounds, there's no consolation
Memories are the only thing the victims have left


For Uncle Ofosu

See previously The Laws of Grief


File under: grief, culture, observation, perception, social, memory, life, mourning, poetry, loss, Observers are worried, Social Living, Things Fall Apart, toli

Writing log: January 21, 2023

Shakedown (Part π Pay the Piper)

A new variant by any other name, this one came in many disguises
The claims adjuster decided that naming it Pi was not needed for this crisis
Let things evolve independently, trust in the process of natural selection
Buyer beware, humanity had been given fair warning about the threat of mutations

Thus he released a swarm of new ailments, troubling in their variety
Escape artists altogether adept at evading mitigations in their entirety
Cerberus, Centaurus, Hydra, the nicknames were telling for this pressure group
A cloud of stealthy lineages with growth advantages, some called them grief soup

Unlike the angels, the claims adjuster was not possessed with a rhadamanthine spirit
A pragmatic sort, he considered all arguments he beheld strictly on their merits
He was not averse to give and take, he would agree to reasonable accommodation
The caveat in his dealings was that he could not tolerate duty abrogation

He heard the elevator pitches from the delegates of the Ushers
Rather full of pretension, they had aspirations of grandeur
Some griots might label their posturing as akin to erstwhile Pharisees
When, at heart all that drove them was the profit motive and its sanctity

The law was for their friends, often irrelevant, and applied selectively
But, when it came to their enemies, they expected strict severity
Onerous, they loaded their side of the scale, the contest was unequal
Yet, by their rhetoric, they were worthy victors, men of the people

Justice from their point of view was merely a gesture
To be ignored in the heat of the deal at their leisure
Enamored of exclusivity, they wanted the lion's share of the pie
Indeed, theirs was a policy towards others of default deny

Inscrutable obstacles they erected, what mattered was who paid the piper
Impenetrable defenses, secret codes that were impossible to decipher
Poised between despair and folly, it was the reign of the incurious
A sad state of affairs when ignorance was the prevailing consensus

...

Third time's the charm, Ananse decided to let his comperes lead the delegation
There was no need, with these careless Ushers, for a personal intervention
Sika, with her actuarial prowess, essentially promised an investment safe harbor
The chief linguist and head scribe plainly assumed that everything was in order

They hadn't realized that their old playbook had been rendered obsolete
Without a reappraisal, they were well and truly heading for defeat
Concerted action, and, most of all, cooperation, was what was needed
But alas, short-sightedness meant that a decisive response was impeded

Shakedown, the Ushers hadn't realized they'd been placed in a straitjacket
For Ananse had devised the ultimate shell game, a kind of protection racket
And by playing them off the gods and the claims adjuster with his mystic brew
He wouldn't even need to seek to hustle the other tribes for further revenue

...

Out of Agona always something new went the old saying
Life in the torrid zone was brutish, harsh and often dismaying
But constraints and necessity seemed to foster invention
Moreover they accepted the value of an ounce of prevention

They'd had to keep their heads down throughout the crisis
Having meager rations of even the most basic prophylaxis
Luckily their old ways, living mostly outdoors, conferred a few advantages
But as normalcy was reasserted they would slowly lose those temporary privileges

They realized they had a long journey ahead but now had better examples
Eyes open, they'd seen what the Wan tribe could achieve by being sensible
That flashy appeals, seductive as they may have been, were no substitute for planning
That by staying the course they could perhaps leapfrog development and continue advancing

...

And so back to the Ushers, Dear Reader,
  how would they handle the weight?
Truth be told, it was only on the matter of form
 that there was a little debate
Since their herd immunity was to shame, they were hardly blameless
The claims adjuster was under no obligation to make things painless

Nyame observed their insatiable appetites,
 incorrigible, they continued to misbehave
Altogether irrational behavior,
 they would soon look back fondly on the second wave
The gathering storm was on hand
 and there was a clear deficit of disaster relief
The tale of the lost stories,
 they'd now have to abide with the laws of grief

The tipping point was the specter of the looming claims adjuster
Which impressed on the majority how close they had come to disaster
A bitter lesson learned, they would be consigned to internal displacement
For not having heeded the warning: greed always brings its own punishment

Shakedown, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Shake you Down by Gregory Abbott
• People get Ready by Brand New Heavies
• Risin' to the Top by Keni Burke
• Shake Your Body (Down to the Ground) by The Jacksons
• Let's Get Back to Love by Loose Ends
• Shakedown by Brand New Heavies
• Your Mess by Omar
• (If You Ain't) Comfortable by Lynden David Hall
• Soul Shakedown Party by Bob Marley
• Shake Down Blues by Blind Boy Fuller
• Shake Down by Evelyn "Champagne" King

See previously Shakedown Part 1, Protection Racket Part 2 and A Modern Bestiary Part 3


The Soul Insurance suite of folktales:

• Soul Insurance
• Buyer's Remorse
• Shakedown

File under: humour, satire, culture, observation, folktale, Ananse, storytelling, whimsy, myth, coronavirus, pandemic, Social Living, Things Fall Apart, Observers are worried, Buyer's Remorse, hatchet job, covidious, poetry, toli

Writing log. October 9, 2022

Shakedown (Part III A Modern Bestiary)

Everything is local but, for once, the tables were turned
A global calamity, a clear opportunity for lessons to be learned
The shakedown had clarified a taxonomy of optimists and pessimists
A hierarchy of outlooks astride the great game of power and politics

Some put their faith in the state, the competence of the chiefs was unquestioned
A matter of organization, for their high priesthood, of rules and regulations
Call them optimists, the power of the collective was their proving ground
Leading by example, with a touch of advocacy, the rest would come around

Their leading lights lived mainly in the environs of Chwedru, to the east
The Wan tribe had a strict policy of zero tolerance for social diseases
Clear-eyed about the efficacy of doctrine, and serious, they brooked no loose ends
A coterie of technocrats at heart bent on engineering the right dividends

The other side of the coin, protectionist by nature, craved independence
Closed borders, crass provincialism, the very antithesis of openness
Nationalists of a sort, touting the virtues of self-sufficiency
Fatalistic opinions, a dim view of the prospects for humanity

Still, never let a crisis go to waste, it was a buying opportunity
This foundational insight lay at the very heart of their identity
Caricatured as common vultures, feasting on the carrion of catastrophe
Danger lay everywhere, only the paranoid survived latent vulnerability

These others, Ushers mostly, believed strongly that it was every man for himself
Effective cooperation was a pipe dream, they thought, it simply couldn't be helped
They would always make the best of a bad situation
Seeking every advantage to enhance their position

All of the three tribes of humanity were afflicted with disaster capitalists
It seemed quite clear that there was an influential cohort of catastrophists
Who would squeeze the lifeblood, the very essence, at every opportunity
The last gasps were their rightful due, profits, the fruits of inequality

Black gold to extract, fodder for crown jewels
They believed in the reign of the righteous few
Going by past evidence, they were certain that their position would be strengthened
Indeed the tensions of the present moment rather heightened the contradictions

Armed with trickle down bromides out of the mouth of juju tricksters
Dispensing sweet lies, the opiates of the masses, voodoo elixirs
With marketing prowess in abundance, masters of the art of the deal
Those rubes in the torrid zone would surely succumb to their appeal

And even the less cynical thought that a technological fix was in order
The medicine men and the panoply of scribes would surely find a panacea
And even if the notion of herd immunity had proved to be a chimera
The lesson was clear: error is a poor friend but an excellent teacher

The stage was set, the afflictions of the gods had raised a challenge
Would humanity, in the face of such different postures, be able to manage?
Between those who expected fundamental change and even better days ahead
Or those who were bent on consolidation amidst social upheaval instead

Shakedown, jostling for power, a radical restructuring
Which way would the tribes go in the face of this testing?
The challenge had been raised, now it was down to performance
Those who seemed best prepared had paid their soul insurance

Shakedown, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

See previously Shakedown Part 1 and Protection Racket Part 2

Next in Part π Pressure Group, new variants on the horizon


File under: humour, satire, culture, observation, folktale, Ananse, storytelling, whimsy, myth, coronavirus, pandemic, Social Living, Things Fall Apart, Observers are worried, Buyer's Remorse, hatchet job, covidious, poetry, toli

Writing log. October 7, 2022

Shakedown (Part II Protection Racket)

Ananse was a folk etymologist at heart, a man of the people
The spider kept his ear to the ground as he considered the sequel
What glorious phrase would future scribes use to coin his next endeavor?
How to top his previous mischief and count the ways in which he was clever

Shakedown - rather than a search, a process or a period of adjustment
The definition of shakedown that he preferred was readily apparent
He'd done it repeatedly, the squeeze plays of yore had come to fruition
Yes indeed, he was ready to embark on another instance of subtle extortion

He recalled that the chief linguist of the Ushers was a man of few principles
Indeed, he'd tried to cut him out of the earlier deal, the dirty rotten scoundrel
Functional defenestration was the prospect now that his red lines had been crossed
For a toothless dog contents itself with licking the bones it is tossed

Never one to forget a slight, he resolved to press ahead with his approach
He would emphasize that his no pressure tactics were beyond reproach
Add a sweetener, mention that his policies came with an extended warranty
Throw in a no fault clause or even, if need be, a money back guarantee

Along with Sika the actuary, he prepared the shape of the package
Not that he expected them to do due diligence, that he could manage
No, the threat raised of the claims adjuster's wrath would be the stern stick
Their thoughtful words, honeyed at that, would be the carrot that would mislead

This had all the makings of the ultimate protection racket
For the Ushers had painted themselves as an attractive target
Preparation was all, he would engage every option as a backup plan
Fifi, that young wastrel, duly suborned, would be his inside man

Of course, he would structure the transaction with opaque layers
They would be unable to perceive the extent of their betrayal
By the time they would discover the deception, it would be too late
And the mortification at their now-obvious failure would be great

Ananse was mindful of the old proverb that explained it best
Namely that when a farmer is clearing a path in the forest,
It is only somebody else who stands behind them - and this was the insight
Who can actually tell that the path is veering to the left or the right

With sleight of hand, misdirection and other elements of deceit
What they believed was immaterial, what mattered was their conceit
Such were the main tricks of the trade, along with a touch of hyperbole
All of which worked to confound, relying on the inability to properly see

If indeed beauty and greed lay in the eye of the beholder
Ananse held that blindness and conceit were the prey of the deceiver
While it was said that the best cons were elegantly wrought
Experience taught that you should always check what you bought

Shakedown, then, the lynchpin of Ananse's strategy
Shakedown, mindful of humanity's peculiarities
Shake down and see who is ultimately left standing
Shake them down, they were headed for a hard landing

The Ushers fancied themself sophisticates and rugged individualists
Unable to consider the collective, they simply ignored systemic risk
A disastrous posture when the gods were set on testing their mettle
Force majeure, market turmoil would reveal the extent of the bezzle

Shakedown, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)


See previously Shakedown Part 1

Next in Part 3 A Bestiary of Sorts

File under: humour, satire, culture, observation, folktale, Ananse, storytelling, whimsy, myth, coronavirus, pandemic, Social Living, Things Fall Apart, Observers are worried, Buyer's Remorse, hatchet job, covidious, poetry, toli

Writing log. October 6, 2022

Shakedown

To the gods, the evidence was clear, if not incontrovertible
That humanity had decided to forgo the mosquito principle
For their appetites were proving to be, as advertised, insatiable
They were content to accept losses that were once said to be incalculable

Without skipping a beat, some had even returned to their violent ways
Unable to suppress their pathologies, they had been counting the days
Lining up conquests to embark on and making blunt threats of annexation
The specter of grievous calamity, they roundly dismissed as mere vexation

The poisoned chalice of free will was such that you could choose to be insane
But after a fair warning, the punishment due was the application of pain
By this stage, the claims adjuster was well practiced so he remained patient
After all, enforcing the gods' will was only a matter of launching a new variant

Still it was rather puzzling, the situation that humanity faced
The nature of their hubris, the bravado and confidence misplaced
Rather than accept the lessons of the global pause and embrace solidarity
Their vision of the new world order was strictly limited to the pecuniary

The commercial among them had taken extreme measures to preserve their interests
The profit imperative had blinded them to sense and made them thoroughly reckless
Business never personal, went their mantra, easy money, unearned rents
The prospect of a hard day's work for them was simply without precedent

As to the gods, the minds of Nyame and Nyankopon were firmly set on a shakedown
To place humanity under continued scrutiny, a kind of metaphorical lockdown
A thoroughgoing investigation of their tendency to be reckless
What central bankers in these modern times might call a stress test

Odomankoma and Asase Yaa, on this matter, were more tolerant and considerate
Laissez faire by inclination, theirs was a light touch take on this debate
Willing to cut humanity a little slack so long as they didn't make a fuss
And even more if they made good faith efforts to protect the least of us

And one could point to a few signs of realignment
The picture was mixed, it was not all disappointment
One heard in parts of some amount of forbearance
Cutting through perhaps, the lessons of soul insurance

But there were limits, and these turned on matters of integrity
It wouldn't do to allow rank sin and iniquity
Agency was one thing but it was hard to abide hypocrisy
After all, the phrase did have meaning: excessive liability

Nyame took the lead in enforcement and made to summon the claims adjuster
This last reassured the god that plans were well advanced for humanity's next chapter
Indeed before long they'd be cast as stars of modern day horror stories
Staffing shortages and supply chain snafus would be the least of their worries

Still, Nyame reiterated that due process must be followed
Nyankopon added that the social fabric need not be hollowed
That lip service be paid to probity in as much as could be managed
Although the response from the gods must, of necessity, be seen to be savage

The claims adjuster agreed that it was time to put his foot down
And set about to put into high gear the plans for the shakedown
Serendipity, as far as variants went, he'd now reached the magic number
Pi, archaic though it may be, it would give them something to remember

Shakedown, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Shake you Down by Gregory Abbott
• People get Ready by Brand New Heavies
• Risin' to the Top by Keni Burke
• Shake Your Body (Down to the Ground) by The Jacksons
• Let's Get Back to Love by Loose Ends
• Shakedown by Brand New Heavies
• Your Mess by Omar
• (If You Ain't) Comfortable by Lynden David Hall
• Soul Shakedown Party by Bob Marley
• Shake Down Blues by Blind Boy Fuller
• Shake Down by Evelyn "Champagne" King

Next in Part II Protection Racket, Ananse seeks easy profits and Part III A Modern Bestiary, a book of beasts. Concluding with Part π Pay the Piper

See the previous covidious folktales: Soul Insurance and Buyer's Remorse

File under: humour, satire, culture, observation, folktale, Ananse, storytelling, whimsy, myth, coronavirus, pandemic, Social Living, Things Fall Apart, Observers are worried, Buyer's Remorse, hatchet job, covidious, poetry, toli

Writing log. October 5, 2022

Near the Weeping Trees

Poetic license, a grove of weeping trees
Is said to mark the spot where Babatu's wife perished,
Abandoned by his retreating raiders

Vitellaria paradoxa, the botanists would precise
The creeping shea tree takes 15 years to start to bear fruit
The site of her execution, an arboreal memorial of resistance

The historians would argue about the accuracy of oral history
Questioning how these stories have come down through the ages
That the battle of Sandema most likely took place
Somewhat at a remove from where we now celebrate it
That the invention of tradition prevails

That, yes, Babatu was the prime slave raider in those times
But that the invocation of Samory was a touch of artistic license
Embellishment by the griots,
Born of his fearsome reputation
For the record shows he confined his empire's reach
To the west of the coast

Thus, while Samory's troops did overrun Bole,
They never made it to Sandema
No, Babutu was the prime mover
In what is now northern Ghana

The Zabarima depredations he led
The forced marches, the trail of dread
Spilling over from the East and North - Niger
Shackled, back to the market at Salaga

It follows; the dread that the Gonja faced
Was in the same vein as what the Bulsa bore
The specter of their adversaries
Commingled in the tales of the griots
For it was the same threat, the same suffering,
And the same wounds

And, yes, Bulsa children should run
At the mere mention of either foe
The griots had it right:
What is 200 miles in the grand scheme of things?

So, Salaga market
Or Kasana market near Tomu
Ominous since their founding
The former now a tourist site a century later
With a few exhibits

The footpaths trod by captives,
Marched from Bulsa and Kasena areas
And shackles, so many shackles, symbolic,
And other items that bear reflection
Earth shrines in modern times,
Northern doors of no return

...

We leave faint traces in our stories,
Signposts of intimate legacies
Fumes marking cautionary tales,
The touchpoints and the villains
And heroes too.

Years later, we gather and celebrate the victories
Feok they call the annual festival,
Harvests, and a "time of plenty"
Where warriors gather in performance
And recount the shared memories
And it all happens - historians may debate,
Not too far from the weeping trees

Near the Weeping Trees, a playlist

I recall when the then 3 year old entered the daycare center singing Burning Spear's refrain: "Do you remember the days of slavery?". The looks from the front desk, of those proper, Southern Texas ladies... I decided to keep things light with my playlists going forward. Still, these are living histories, the legacies of men.

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Slavery days by Burning Spear
• Wolves and Leopards by Dennis Brown
• The Invasion by Burning Spear

Bonus beats: a few live and dub versions of these joints

See previously Running Away, my first piece on the tales of Northen Ghana and, just to confuse things, Samory's Old Camp

This note is part of the Things Fall Apart series under the banner of The Bulsa Way.

File under: slavery, Bulsa, Ghana, Africa, culture, memory, history, observation, perception, fear, dislocation, escape, griots, Things Fall Apart, poetry, toli

Writing log: September 10, 2022

Aliens Must Go

Legitimacy and exile
Aliens must go

Papers and passports
Inspection of identity

Stamp of approval
Proof of residency

Overstayed welcome
Fairweather friends

Fiasco
Exigency

Scapegoats
Contingency

Indefinite leave to remain
There's a price to be paid

Fraught deadlines
Tight timetable

Hasty evacuations
Explicit threats

Swift deportation
Fractured boundaries

Unkind labels
Verbal taunts

Herd of illegals
Circling touts

Overnight precarity
Status in doubt

Expulsion orders
Border crossings

Crowded ports
Land checkpoints

Dispersed families
Rushed upheaval

Overstuffed bags
Hurry

Tension, loss
Worry

Official decisions
Informal penalties

Enforcement actions
Emboldened gatekeepers

Entry permits
Mournful exits

Brethren
Neighbors

Rivals
Strangers

State of emergency
Failure of diplomacy

Ancestral memory
Histories of dislocation

Politics of closures
Season of migration

Internally displaced
Traditional evacuees

Modern travelers
Sudden refugees

Aliens must go, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify version)

• Gone baby, don't be long by Erykah Badu
• Uptown by Raphael Saadiq
  The plaintive refrain and coda is the sound of wist: "I'm leaving this town"
• I gotta get away by Gloria Barnes
• Pack'd my bags by Rufus ft Chaka Khan
• Leavin' by Tony Toni Tone
• I gotta go by Lizz Fields
• Don't talk to strangers by Prince
• Gone baby, don't be long by José James
• Don't talk to strangers by Chaka Khan

Bonus beats: Don't leave me this way by Thelma Houston


See previously Bags and Stamps (Ghana must go) and Expulsion orders

...

Postscript (June 3, 2025)

My current publishing schedule means that what you read above today was written three years ago (Indeed, if I don't pick up the pace, the trifle I wrote today will only see the light in 2038, 12 1/2 years from now). That being said, I am struck that the above musings on displacement, forced and otherwise, that I wrote in 2022 still seem timely.

I was then in the process of digitizing the Talking Drums archive and taking in the reverberations of arbitrariness and the reign of strongmen in khaki in what I read in those pages. The ripple effects continue over the surface of our regional politics.

My friend Senam had just published her dissertation and was sharing some of the stories that she'd unearthed in her excavation of this, our signal topic. Ghana must go has a very tangible legacy beyond Nigeria and Ghana. It is a living history, disclosed often by artful omission and subject to the opacity of our elders. It a family history and, in its sweep, marks its bearers.

More recently, I've been thinking about the exodus from Sudan and what that country has suffered in the past two years, the reign of locusts, if you will. You don't hear much about the strain on the surrounding countries and the fodder for resentment that any old demagogue could harness if they chose to do their worst. I've been thinking of the smaller but no less disruptive waves in the Sahel region where many leaders are indeed inclined to do their worst for fear of losing their positions. Displacement seems to be the rule and many of our neighbors' houses are on fire.

This is a time of brutes.

And here, again, I welcome the US to the Third World. The Stephen Miller incited and Trump led assault on everything is hitting many near and dear to me. Things have long moved far beyond rhetoric. Livelihoods and personal safety are affected, even moreso than usual for those darker than blue. Unspoken threats now explicitly verbalized. And horizons have contracted. Many now adopt a fetal pose to shield from the incoming blows heeding the warning: protect yourselves at all times.

This is a time of precarity.

And exhaustion. Take, say, immigration for example. Many of my cousins are on student or other immigrant visas in the US, and are currently weighing the calculus of just being themselves versus adopting a studied pose of neutrality and normalcy.

No sudden moves is the refrain, don't become a target etc. It looms, that culture of silence. It's present, the retreat to that mask of civility that we wear all too well.

This is a time of erasures.

People disappear, sometimes literally pulled off the streets, bodies are snatched with glee. But worse is the eclipse of the soul. Pieces of identity are being erased. The spark and joie de vivre in many is being extinguished, curtailed by cruelty and disembodied by vindictiveness. I can't recognize so many folk.

Sidenote: one of my cousins was recently accepted by Harvard, all his hard work paying off. After the initial celebrations, however, everyone in the family has been holding their breath as we watch that institution and others being targeted. The saving grace is that he was born in the USA and so is somewhat shielded from the trials of non-citizens. (I'm still somewhat curious about whether the currenly stymied attack on birthright citizenship would notionally affect him, or if that strange interpretation would only affect births going forward). I don't envy him. He gets to wear multiple mantles as a living embodiment of Stephen Miller's worst fears, a foreign student but also an American-African and that's before he even opens his mouth. I really don't envy him. What paradise have we lost?

Anyway... Perhaps, this is all background noise, and, as I'm often reminded, the virus sets the timeline. The ongoing pandemic can make all this turmoil in the world moot, a sideshow at best, in very short order.

Aliens must go. I too will make my accommodations. I continue to focus on small things and move to my own tune. The present collection of toli, being doled out every week, bears a title that is all I aspire to: A Comfortable Unease.


File under: Ghana, Nigeria, culture, immigration, displacement, exile, memory, Africa, history, politics, dictator, coup, loss, observation, perception, refugee, Things Fall Apart, Ghana must go, poetry, toli

Writing log: September 6, 2022

Expulsion Orders

For some, this was the second go-round, a reprise of the upheaval
The scenes at the ports, palpable despair, teeming, almost primeval
When the land borders briefly opened, a brave few chose that route
A long, dangerous journey with opportunist predators to boot

You would think there would be sympathy for these returning wretched
Yet the provisional government called them "recalcitrant and hollow-headed"
You see, earlier on, most had simply voted with their feet
Foregoing chaos, they'd packed their bags and left the country

Now, exiled souls twice removed, this was their homecoming
Leaving in a hurry, running away with just what they could carry
Tough love from the authorities on both ends, no tears for aliens
And extra scrutiny at the border, "non-Ghanaians are not welcome"

Ghana must go is how the trauma is recorded in folk memory
The damage was done and, worse, it was all so unnecessary
But such is the fraught and bitter legacy of the expulsion orders
As goes the proverb, try not to die when you are surrounded by vultures

Anybody could have told the authorities in Lagos that is is impossible to evacuate 700,000 (their own estimated figure) under their own imposed stringent conditions, within the period of one week that they opened the land borders

— Talking Drums May 1985

Talking Drums, May 20, 1985

Expulsion Orders, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note (spotify)

• Exodus by Bob Marley & the Wailers
• We trying to stay alive by Wyclef Jean
• Refugee Rolling by Sierra Leone's Refugee All Stars
• The Exodus has Begun by Prince & the New Power Generation
• Get out of Town by Ella Fitzgerald
• Refugees by Gerard Musgrave
• Go Home by Gerry Mulligan & Ben Webster
• Pitche Mi by Youssou Ndour & Super Etoile de Dakar
  stately and mournful from the excellent contemporaneous album, Immigrés

Bonus beats: Shame on me by Alexander O'Neal

See previously Bags and Stamps

File under: Ghana, Nigeria, culture, immigration, displacement, exile, memory, Africa, history, politics, dictator, coup, loss, observation, perception, refugee, Things Fall Apart, Ghana must go, poetry, toli

Writing log: August 17, 2022

Running Away

The lyrics in the songs always mentioned running away. Flight, escape, danger in its many variations. Embedded in the outlook, punctuating the very choruses was a sense of precarity. And yet these were not dirges, these were not laments. They'd long made their peace with the world as they'd found it, nay, they were comfortable even if clear-eyed about this existence.

And they watched.

Running away, heading for the hills and the rocky terrain. Running away, heading for higher ground, for those parts that only those close to these lands would know. The caverns where they could hide, holding their breath, stifling all sounds, covering the mouths of the infants.

And they waited.

Holes in the ground, the entrances disguised, dark caverns where the ancestors were said to have sought shelter from previous predators. At most a dozen could fit in the largest ones so you had to be prepared to seek out other spots, ever calculating as you ran up over the rocks how many had already made it, and if you would be able to use this particular refuge.

Oftentimes it was a gamble.

To enter the hiding places, you crouched, crawled and wriggled. The earth would envelop you, surround you with its embrace. You could expect to taste the slightly acidic crumbs as you pushed your way in, to smell the faint trace of clay. The earth would resist the touch, implacable and stern, until it would yield all of a sudden, plunging you forward into the void of the cavern.

You hoped, you wished for a soft landing.

You had to be methodical even in the heat of the moment, deliberate even as the senses were heightened by the danger. First, to dislodge the covering by pulling at the right spot, the intricate branch structure that only careful hands could pry open, and then to preserve its camouflage so that it would appear undisturbed to the raiders in pursuit. The architecture of escape, the provisional sanctuary.

And they prayed.

No matter how many times they had practiced, no matter how many warnings, no matter how many songs they had sung, no matter how much advance notice they'd garnered, they knew that there would be something lost, that there would be someone lost. It was the nature of life in those times. Something, someone would be snatched from you. Pieces of yourself dispersed, shredded away, leaving only the memories.

And they wept.

Farmers and pastoralists, they never had a standing army. Millet and maize in small fields, custodians of the northern territories, eking out enough to support the clan, to trade some guinea fowl and kola nuts, to enjoy the gifts of the earth, to husband it. This patch of land on the lower Sahel was unforgiving but it was theirs.

And they stayed.

But, at length, there had to be some edge they could wield to surprise the raiders. Running away might ensure survival for many, but more was needed. They taught the youth about all the plants and their uses. Those they ate, those they treated with as part of aromatic bitters, those with properties that were prized, their nighttime potency recounted, astringency debated, and medicinal effectiveness evaluated. And once they proved adept and facile with the identification of the flora, they would learn about what in extremis could be used in the poisoned arrows that were always reluctantly fashioned. Weary, wary, reluctant but necessary.

And so they studied.

The elements of survival were well known. Swift recall, preparation, decisiveness under threat, knowledge of topology, and luck. For the gods were capricious. Even the fleetest of foot, the strongest, and the most agile could be brought low and fall prey to the human hyena that roamed the lands. And Babatu's men were implacable and determined trackers. Tears would be for nought when in their grip. Best to fight when caught, to resist with all one's heart. But, above all, to flee when attacked, to live to see another day, to rebuild and restore when these interlopers would leave, for they would surely leave as these lands only yielded bodies to them.

And they ran away.

Taboo. A famous dirge recounted how one of the twins was unable to stay silent, a hard demand of a toddler, let alone in the darkness of the cavern. Their position having been given away, tough decisions had to be made. Father and the one would give themselves up hours later, when it became clear that this set of raiders would wait them out, they were a patient lot. Mother and the other twin would retreat further into the second chamber, deep in the dank bowels of the earth and stay for three days. It was hard to breathe, it was hard to stay silent and still, and there was only one gourd of water and the few nuts hidden in the fold of her cloth. They clanged to each other, charged with the burden of loss, of memory, of survival. Pieces of themselves lost for good. But they lived to tell the tale, to recover possession of the land.

And they survived.

Strangers have come into our land
Raiders have come for our bodies
Take heed, my brother, and run, run away
Caution, my sister, and run, run away
For we will all, someday, be turned into sand
And all that will remain is our story

Running Away, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note. (spotify version)

• Running Away by Roy Ayers
• Running Away by Bob Marley
• Kunta Kinte Dub by The Revolutionaries
• Man in the Hills by Burning Spear
• Hiding by Breakestra
• Slavery Days by Burning Spear
• Kunta Kinte by Horace Andy
• Man in the Hills (live) by Burning Spear
• Hiding (Quantic mix) by Breakestra
• Kunta Kinte by Mad Professor

Further reading:

• Raids and Refuge - The Bulsa in Babatu's Slave Wars by Franz Kröger
• Slavery, Memory and Orality by Emmanuel Saboro
• Wounds of our Past by Emmanuel Saboro

A later discovery: Beyond Elmina: The Slave Trade in Northern Ghana by Joachim Jack Agamba mined similar terrain to great effect.

Next: Near the Weeping Trees

This note is part of the Things Fall Apart series. Do let me know what banner might be appropriate.

File under: slavery, Bulsa, Ghana, Africa, culture, memory, music, history, observation, perception, fear, dislocation, escape, griots, Things Fall Apart, poetry, toli

Writing log. July 24, 2022

Buyer's Remorse (Part 5 Caveat Emptor)

Buyer beware... the conclusion of Buyer's Remorse

V. Caveat Emptor

Fifi had managed to procure a side deal
   offering personal protective equipment
His firm had no experience in manufacturing
   yet the profits he saw were indecent
The elders of the Ushers had vouchsafed
   his bonafides and competence
For excessive scrutiny on the contracts
   would betray a lack of confidence

Their scribes and linguists were keenly aware
   about the prevailing tendency
With trend-surfing alacrity, they were obliged
   to watch the mood of the country
The elders navigated the zeitgeist but, in this respect,
   their strategy was crude
For although they disposed of the reins of power,
   they did not create the mood

When in bubble territory, all was permitted
   so long as there was a greater fool
To be left holding worthless assets
   while you calmly counted your new jewels
It was explicit, every man for himself,
   they rather expected collateral damage
But, given that they'd been bailed out repeatedly,
   they felt free to take every advantage

It was a risk worth taking, in extremis
   they'd expect the treasurers to step in and lend freely
And as rule makers, nostrums about high rates or solvency
   would be ignored rather conveniently
As to survival checks for the common folk,
   they’d raise the issue of moral hazard and its specter
And jump up on their high horses,
   loudly bemoaning handouts and welfare in scolding lectures

The Ushers had gone all-in with leverage
   following a high risk strategy
But it turned out that they'd run up
   against a fearsome and capable adversary
The Wan tribe had reserves of strength and discipline
   that caused them to be underestimated
Inscrutable and hard working went the stereotype,
   but their savoir faire was often discounted

They'd paid lip service to the entreaties
   of the vulture capitalists that surrounded them
Opening up at their periphery but, as Ananse and Sika expected,
   they didn't let their guard down
Thus the flow of money would be bound to continue as promised
The possibility of a lucrative payoff would be hard to dismiss

Middlemen in a two-sided network,
   they collected their ample cut and transaction fees
It was now time to move on and,
   as they tallied the profits, they were very pleased
They pitied the Ushers' eminent braintrust
   of high officials with all their degrees
For these last had failed to perform due diligence
   and were now no longer at ease

Indeed the Ushers' soothsayer sounded the cry,
   "Cash, cold cash", and started a lament
As the returns came in and were reconciled,
   the scale of the disaster became apparent
They appealed to the Grand Treasurers
   to step in as buyers of last resort
But were surprised by the bankers' response:

"There's no buyer's remorse"

The lesson they were learning
   was that buyer's remorse is a funny thing
At the time that you bought something,
   you might have had some misgivings
But you went ahead, the impulse or the moment,
   for whatever reason, it just felt right
But then you encounter a seller
   who doesn't believe that the customer is always right

Later, you’ve changed your mind,
   and now there's a mountain of regret
Lamentations and suffering,
   but you can't say that you were misled
To turn back the clock and retrace your steps,
   the urge to recapture
Instead you're left rueing
   the wages of your myopic misadventure

...

The folks from the torrid zone stayed silent,
   as ever, they were reactive
Lacking capital, they’d had to keep their heads down
   and didn’t participate in this initiative
Those out of Agona had tried to heed the warnings of the gods
   and follow their advice
Still, many in their ranks found it hard to live this life
   of restraint and quiet sacrifice

The advocates of social living and the mosquito principle
   were faced with a great dilemma
Soul insurance has always needed better public relations,
   if not crises of power
Greed, expediency, and fear mongering
   were the things that moved the political needle
Restraint was a hard sell,
   the temptation was to seize the moment and veer towards the illegal

The gods observed the situation and gathered
   in the private chambers of the Supreme Council
The claims adjuster narrated the many ways
   in which the tribes had ignored his counsel
What with their philandering ways
   and flagrant violations of common decency and more
Heck they had even flouted conventions
   and needlessly initiated another cold war

Nyame and Nyankopon understood that further punishment was warranted
   and quickly gave their blessing
Odomankoma and Asase Yaa wavered (they had a soft spot)
   but saw the virtue of teaching human beings a lesson
The claims adjuster was given leave
   to continue putting humanity through its paces
He promptly unveiled a new variant that combined all the worst traits.
   He was off to the races

"There's a heavy price to pay for wishful thinking
   and this unseemly nostalgia
'Tis quite the pity, but you can't say you weren't warned",
   intoned the claims adjuster
"Recall the Angolan proverb,
   a woman who wants a child doesn't sleep in her clothes
It may sound harsh, but what one reaps come harvest time
   depends on what one sows"

Your narrator, an exiled soul from the torrid zone,
   must now take my leave, Dear Reader
And for the last word in this tall tale,
   we have the quip from Ananse the Spider
Caveat emptor foremost,
   then a piece of wisdom on buyer's remorse that never gets old:

The stone that lies at the bottom of the riverbed cannot complain about feeling cold

Buyer's Remorse, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note that frankly served as outline for this people's history. (spotify version)

• It Ain't Necessarily So by Grant Green
  Looks aren't everything
• Be Thankful for What You've Got by William DeVaughn
  Restraint is a virtue
• Everybody Has a Plan Until They Get Punched in the Mouth by Charlie Hunter
  Gravity is hard to defy
• It Could Happen to You by Ahmad Jamal
  Hope springs eternal, beware of the grift
• Betray my Heart by D'Angelo
  The perils of self deception.
• Fool's Paradise by Meli'sa Morgan
  The greater fool theory never sounded so good
• Knucklehead by Grover Washington Jr.
  Take a good look at yourself
• I Choose You by Paris
  A choice freely entered
• Protection by Massive Attack
  Soul insurance is what my broker advises
• Until Such Time by Mark Cherrie
  Caveat emptor

Buyer's Remorse (Series Index)

A covidious folktale

1. Buying Opportunity
2. Tempting the Town Crier
3. The Situation Thereof
4. Fair Warning
5. Caveat Emptor

File under: humour, satire, culture, observation, folktale, Ananse, storytelling, whimsy, myth, coronavirus, pandemic, Social Living, Things Fall Apart, Observers are worried, Buyer's Remorse, hatchet job, covidious, poetry, toli

Writing log. May 9, 2022

Buyer's Remorse (Part 4 Fair Warning)

Grifters at work... Part 4 of Buyer's Remorse

IV. Fair Warning

Ananse understood it would be a numbers game in the final analysis
So he had an actuary at his side who could handle the moral calculus
Sika would take the strategic lead in their joint venture of deceit
The sting in the tale they planned to spin: never deal with a cheat

But first they had to get the pieces of their long con into place
Preparation was everything and they couldn't afford any mistakes
The many moving parts of the proposed squeeze play were exacting
In a shell game where you live by your wits, timing is everything

The Wan tribe were not going to waver, they just had to be seen to be on board
But having enlisted the town crier, Sika's proposal could hardly be ignored
If he made the right noises at least some of the outlying towns would be seduced
The optics of disarray and discord would cause the desired effect to be produced

The ultimate prize in the long game they were playing was the Ushers
These last would be pitted against the indefatigable claims adjuster
Observing the cracks in the eastern parts they'd foresee opportunities
Welcome new markets for their cultural exports and business communities

The Usher campaign to break into the Wan's
   swiftly developing economies spanned decades
They'd tried all sorts of inducements to no avail,
   even humanitarian feints they called aid

It wasn't as if they were putting new wine into old bottles,
   but such deals were important
In order to close, they were not above rebadging plain diaper wipes
   as thicker and more absorbent

Also the paper trail Sika had laid out was watertight and beyond reproach
As usual the scheme they'd put in place would follow a dual track approach
On the one hand they'd laud the virtues of free enterprise, the market casino
On the other, the underhanded and more efficient resort to the corruption tango

Ananse artfully dropped enough subtle hints of an upside so they could read the signs
The Ushers expected that things would return to their pre-disruption trendlines
'Twas a matter of percentages, they would ready themselves to skim the take
Little did they know that there was a larger game at play, and it was rigged

The law of large numbers, he simply confronted them with a large number of choices
The standard trick to overwhelm buyers, they would fail to listen to any nagging voices
He also made no mention of the usual "all sales are final" clause quite deliberately
His plan if things went south, was to cool them off with a money back guarantee

They hadn't needed the expense and manpower to set up a big store gambit
No pigeon drops, no pig in the poke, no elaborate confidence tricks
Sika and Ananse had simply salted the mine like old time tricksters
A light touch of misdirection in their version of the Spanish Prisoner

...

From afar, the claims adjuster viewed the ongoing machinations with amusement
Surprised, frankly, that humanity would be indifferent to mass extinction events
That, rather than change course and adopt a prudent survival strategy,
They'd decided to risk everything and put their faith in herd immunity

What he beheld was a people unwilling to learn that everything was written in sand
Altogether happy to proceed with their abrogation of the duty of care by the land
Spokesmen enjoining on their community the burden of grief delayed
Who behaved as if everyone ought to move on as if inured to pain

The Ushers' linguist now had a notion that he'd found a gravy train
Seduced by Sika the actuary's promise that they could make it rain
The prospect of unearned income accruing in the suggested quantity
Had completely blinded him to the earlier warning that all is vanity

It was the promise of black gold and cold hard cash, the tactile sensation
Sheer excitement after all these months of lockdown and social isolation
The striking idea that they would be free and clear while making a quick buck
Responsibility demurral was the root cause of their repeated misconduct

The new powerpoint slides and flashy movies made for a pulsating presentation
The chief's scribe and the linguist's guard was drawn down by the implication
The statistics did indeed show the waning effectiveness of the claims adjuster
Combined with the appeal to the history of the great and mighty kingdom of the Ushers

Poised between the new variants and riches,
   the Ushers chose without a trace of misgiving
The best thing from Ananse's viewpoint was that
   they couldn't claim they hadn't seen it coming
For indeed all the griots in the land of concern
   had long been Cassandras calling
When push came to shove,
   they'd couldn't but admit they'd been given fair warning

Fair Warning, a playlist

A soundtrack for this note. A cautionary tale in soulful musical form. (spotify version)

• Should've Known Better by Mica Paris and Omar
• I Done told you Baby by The Soul Majestics
• She Took You For A Ride by Aaron Neville
• It's Too Late by Billy Paul
• Told You So Count Basie
• Warn the Nation by The Eagles

Buyer's Remorse (Series Index)

A covidious folktale

1. Buying Opportunity
2. Tempting the Town Crier
3. The Situation Thereof
4. Fair Warning
5. Caveat Emptor

This folktale is part of a series: In a covidious time.

Next in Part 5: Caveat Emptor

File under: humour, satire, culture, observation, folktale, Ananse, storytelling, whimsy, myth, coronavirus, pandemic, Social Living, Things Fall Apart, Observers are worried, Buyer's Remorse, hatchet job, covidious, poetry, toli

Writing log. May 6, 2022