From Where I come

If you are like me, then waiting is a frustrating experience, the process enervates us, keeps us restive, moody and mehhnn most of the time, we'be been waiting for just 1 week! Lol. But I got us a remedy: 1. My dear, ENCOURAGE yourself! You know that when the wait is over you will quickly forget how dreadful the whole waiting was. It becomes a memory you and your family will laugh at. So tell yourself something encouraging. 2. Massa, PRAISE in the hallway towards your open door. Things will surely turn around. So you might as well start rehearsals....Hahaha. If you are terrible in dancing, don't worry, contact me, I will send you some killer praise moves. In the mean time get Tye Tribett's "He Turned It". Turn the volume up and get your groove on. Because someone greater than the situation is stepping in and He will turn it around for your good. 3. Finally, my brother ,my sister, PRAY for someone who is losing hope and has been waiting longer than a year. As yo...

About fifty children stiring dust, Running. Shouting. Screaming after a ball. Little legs swinging, Hoping to touch a flying ball. One throws his right leg; The ball walks past him, his feet run after it. Another takes the ball, runs away with it To a place he can freely hit it. Soon he is surrounded by many legs Like ants who chance on sugar. He hits the ball and runs after it To have a second hit but Someone cuts him from behind. The girls, amidst the running boys, Interrupting their game with their cries, "Oh...let me play some". The ball leaves them to the side of the field Where one boy is seated waiting For the ball to come to him. He takes the ball to the pole Where the keeper is too small for his post. He fixes the ball for a strike, Too late, Supporters and opposers attack him. The leg that hits the ball sends it High into the sky, all eyes follow. Before it hits the ground, The bell rings. PE is over. I will remember this with a smile,...

That day he called with a smile Into his secret room. Room as dark as night. There my innocence was robbed With a drugged cup of wine A sip tore my garments, There you pushed yourself into me. I lay half asleep, helpless. My mama was home cooking, Waiting for the salt to boil her rice. You went back to watch your TV. I laid there half awake, helpless. I have met Miss Epar, And my soul's light is dimmed. I have been wronged yet you Force me into hiding. Society looks upon me like I don't belong. I can't look my friends in the eye. I dread their pity, I fear their judgement. Tell me without words That I will be fine. Tell me in silence That I will heal one day. Please! Amu Mawutoh 30th April, 2016.

I have fallen so hard my heart is still. My lips refuse to move, to tell you I've fallen in love with you. Do you hear me? Under the silent sky, glittering stars, Down here, up there, you are somewhere. My two eyes may never see yours But I have fallen so hard, Fallen in love with you. Do you hear me? I'll hum the hymn in your head. And kiss you deeply on your forehead. Tho these eyes turn to dust, Your face will be kept in its lens. I'm in love with you. And I shall write you more of this Long after we have met. Can you hear me? © Amu Mawutoh 15th April, 2016. 9:58pm

From Basel mission to P-SICE, much has occurred that I have not had the privilege to witness nor to experience in the years that I have been a member of the Presbyterian Church since 2006 when I first joined the Junior Youth (JY) fellowship. Fortunately, one can glean some information from the web and that is how I have come to gain some knowledge of the history of the Basel mission. And though I feel so unconnected to the people that played some role, major or minor, to the formation and success of the Basel Mission Society and pioneered the work of missions in the world, I cannot help but admire their faithfulness and courage. Their boldness and faith in God to the point of abandoning their homes for the sake of spreading the word of God is truly remarkable and inspiring. According to Basel chronicles, the society was a venture to train missionaries for the colonial fields and prospective territories of the protestant colonial powers. The chroniclers stipulate that the purpose, timi...

To What Remains On this same path many treaded, Whereon we are quickly headed. Whether they be great or small A part of them hang on the wall. And we on this earth May many vision birth; Whether they grow or not Who can but break the nut? The fire shall reveal the works And nothing may stand but wrecks. If they be not put asunder Tis credit to the wise builder. For with envy men shall so stain the name And with it quench your holy fame. The wind may carry along your deed But your footprints will remain indeed. ©Amu Mawutoh. 2011

First of, I thank everyone and anyone who took time to read and comment on the article "To the Memory of B.E.C.E".  The varied comments and criticisms were enlightening. While some could relate with my experience, some gave me a critical analysis with regard to semantics, punctuation, syntax and all the elements that only a professor of English could explore in a write-up. Others spoke on the aesthetic features and confessed they enjoyed the reading so much that they had wanted more. A friend even took a quarrel with me because according to him, I left him hanging. He wanted to know what happened especially to the pregnant girl. ( well my friend, she gave birth to a baby. I'm sure it was either a boy or a girl. Lol. And they lived however best they could ever after). In whatever package your comments came, I appreciate it. Let me state here, before I get onto the concern for which I came here to write, that I did not intentionally end on the pregnant girl to the effect t...