Exotic dancers

You see a wench pass by on a busy street, and as she sashays down the lane, the men and boys with the instinct of hunting dogs will stare, with a snarl fantasizing about chunks of luscious flesh, packaged in a small delicate piece of cloth. Yeah! I am talking about the miniskirt, the short skirt or simply put the mini.
Some are so short that as clothing, it is a paradox that they reveal rather than conceal sacred body parts, but, is that not attractive in the manner of an exotic dancer? The miniskirt could at times be so tight that the wench has difficulties bending or stooping to pick up an item and will have to drift slowly down like a schoolgirl who is about to curtsy. Some bum sides are protruding like gigantic protuberances, everything bursting at the seams and it appears the whole thing would snowball into an avalanche of moist flesh.
Society says girls and women who dress in minis are calling for attention and attracting the prowling animals with a human face who take women without bothering about whether they are consenting partners or not and whether the victim is a baby, minor, adult or granny does not matter.
My friend Vicky says associating rape to short skirts is like considering that the dress code of a community determines the number of twisted minds that could be found there. Whatever men might say, except the miniskirt is wrapped is a pile of s**t, few if any are not aroused. Brethren, one can’t live against one’s reputation forever. Sooner or later, you become what other people think you are.
The Bohemian noticed only recently that June 6 is world miniskirt day. It was planned in 2015 by RACHID BEN OTHMAN and feminist activist NAJET BAYOUDH. Their call to Tunisian women to participate in a miniskirt rally on June 6 is seen as a sign of solidarity with oppressed women. They were moved to act, by stories about women being punished for not covering the entire body. In Algeria, a girl is said to have been sent out of the exam room for wearing a short skirt.
Men and people will call you names; prostitute, witch and what have you? But see them cough, delivering themselves of some sepulchral mucus just to get the attention of the passing mini.
So, I the Bohemian of Abakwa, born on the last day of the month, by the shores of the Atlantic in the land of the proud people, this day declare; whether a designer skirt or a cheap imitation one, a miniskirt is a mini-skirt. Those who wear it enjoy how much flesh they expose; a firm elegant thigh and voluptuous body. There are women who dismiss the point that miniskirts attract rapists saying their dress code cannot be blamed by acts carried out by a twisted mind. Is there any adult who has not played the exotic dancer, even as a solo performance, just once, at least? The miniskirt fascinates with the same appeal of a lap dance and it is a statement to the hypocrites; “if you are shy enough to conceal your well sculpted features, we are proud enough to let you see our Know what?” We are all thrilled by the type of performance that can only be given by exotic dancers. It is not difficult to become one – put on a miniskirt and you will become an exotic dancer, and it means you can dance even when there is no music.
By Winston Lebga

Do you smoke?

How time flies and how yesterday en vogue habits have become today’s nasty habits is. It was a symbol of intellectual stimulation but today, cigarettes are considered a poison with hundreds of toxic substances. This year, the world tobacco day event has been pegged on establishing a link between cigarette smoke and cardiovascular disease. Some people point to the warning on the packets; “Tobacco seriously damages your health and that of persons around you…”
Many are surprised that in spite of the much advertized warning many are picking up the habit. Smokers keep carrying on with the habit because they are addicted. Pictures of people whose health has deteriorated because of tobacco related products could do the trick but how many will resist the temptation?
Two years ago, the World Health Organization, WHO, talked about the need for Governments to subscribe to the plain packaging of tobacco products. The WHO holds that plain packaging reduces the appeal for smoking and believes it is a demand – reduction measure that reduces the attractiveness of tobacco products, it is intended to restrict the use of packaging as a form of advertising and promotion; limits misleading packaging and labeling and increases the effectiveness of health warnings.
But, give me a long break! Is it possible to prohibit the use of logos, colours, brand images or promotional information on packaging other than brand names, displayed and product names, displayed in a standard colour and font style? If yes, is there any guarantee that making the packet plain would frighten smokers and drive them away from tobacco which firmly grips those who use the products?
There is a whiff of hypocrisy in the global anti-tobacco campaign. Tobacco products, especially cigarettes, have been widely shown to be dangerous to the health, leading to millions of deaths worldwide – a threat to the workforce and the economy. What beats my imagination is the fact that the furthest any Government has gone towards prohibiting the so-called poison stick is to ban smoking in public. Now we hear that cardiovascular diseases account for several deaths worldwide and that smokers are more likely to be killed than their non-smoking mates. We also hear stuff like passive smokers could be more affected than their smoking companions.
The Bohemian wonders aloud, is someone trying to take the children of the planet for a ride? Cocaine has been banned, heroin possession is criminal, marijuana trafficking, possession and consumption is illegal. But wait a minute! Is tobacco or related products like cigarette prohibited in this land of promise and glory?
After considering the issues around this tobacco palaver, I the Bohemian of Abakwa, born on the last day of the month by the shores of the Atlantic, in the land of the proud people this day declare; something must be preventing our rubber stamp lawmakers from securing legislation to ban cigarettes. Isn’t it true that cigarette manufacturing and sales companies are billion dollar enterprises that oil the economic machinery, and employ hundreds of millions of people who could be on the streets if Governments consider legislation to outlaw their job and products?
Cigarette smoke kills – that is true, but a disorganized healthcare system which has little or no infrastructure, equipment and expertise, plus poverty and ignorance kill at supersonic speed with genocidal consequences. Do you smoke? If you do brethren, then it is time to put the murderers out of business and surprise those who are simply preaching to play safe and not really because they are concerned about us dying. Tell me, do you smoke?
By Winston Lebga

Palm oil drinkers

We cannot stop noticing that ours is a country of born politicians whose speeches cackle with a dry biting wit; but although they may be impeccable on theory, they are nothing to write home about on practicalities. The political scene is replete with slogan daubers and armchair nationalists, many of whom are guilty of endless furtiveness and mind-numbing drabness.
As someone would say, lunatics are in charge and the wise have fallen from favour in the eyes of the king. People are desperately in need of a better life, so they look on to the politicians to figure out ways of moving out of this maze of hair-raising circumstances. But, what do they get? Slogans! The propaganda machine has been churning out high sounding, sometimes confusing slogans: “light at the end of the tunnel”, “Big debate”, “Achievement point”, “Great Ambition”, “Vast construction site”, “Emerging Economy by the year 2035”
These are slogans, probably born out of good intentions, but the smart people, though they may appear to be docile have noticed that so very much has been said, but so very little has been done.
Men and people have taken up arms, though many are said to be primitive weapons, and are charging against the state and striking at their fellow countrymen. What is going on? We really are in the native land of the hypocrite, where it is natural to tell lies. Every man is struggling to get across his lie with the hope that all will agree that this lie is in actuality the truth. We tell lies through smiling fangs, if not in the social media networks or print or broadcast media. Whose lie is more convincing now, yours or mine?
Corruption is rife, injustice, the order of the day; here, the legalized bullying of the small man by the rich and powerful is common place. In such a country, the honest man is guilty; yet, if we change our mental altitude, we can change our lives.
So, I, the Bohemian of Abakwa born on the last day of the month in the land of the proud people by the shores of the Atlantic this day question; how can a multitude be pushed into believing that lake Awing had exploded and then they go about boozing palm oil, believing that it could act as an antidote? Who started such a rumour in the wee hours of Saturday, May 19, 2018?
Those who did not have palm oil knocked at the doors of neighbours even the ones with whom no love was lost. Babies, toddlers, teenagers, adults, senior citizens, dogs, cats, and probably goats were given the free vaccine against Lake Site gas explosions; palm oil. The Bohemian has heard that victims of gas explosions die from suffocation, so palm oil cannot be used as first aid in such a situation. Well, when I analyze the stench, it makes some sense. We are all palm oil drinkers in this grand pit toilet, so why blame the maggots for digesting the s**t? Let’s drink palm oil; it is said to soothe our pain.
By Winston Lebga

New wave

The Bohemian is confused, really confused, confused with tons and tons of confusion. This is hard to reconcile; what is easily noticeable in this country is that even the best intentioned of men become corrupted by the temptation of wealth and power. We also notice that the visible leaders that are paraded before us are mere puppets whose strings are pulled by their masters.
Men and people in high places find no crime too great for them to commit, no deception too base for them to practice, no disguise too difficult for them to assume. It is their studied aim to rescue wealth and power: these people who had impressed ignorant and fanatical minds with the idea that no wrong was committed by stealing and killing, but come to think of it, valuable people are those who value other people.
Consciously or unconsciously, whether we admit it or not, there is a concentrated barrage of propaganda from the news media to convince people to worship and glorify their leaders and to turn a deaf ear to the truth. But, whose truth are we talking about?
One thing is clear; a nation cannot be built simply by glorifying its big shots. Take a look at the country today, especially areas considered as English speaking Regions; what do you see? Lawlessness, dissipation and corruption are sweeping in on the national triangle like an overwhelming tide.
There is envy, evil surmising, hypocrisy, estrangement, emulation, betrayal of sacred trusts. Even the Courts of Justice are reportedly not spared of corruption. Jurists are perverted, bribed; deluded. The current events look like a film packed with sharp dialogue, a seemingly appealing cast and a vivid cameo of the more sinister face of the country.
Nowadays in the Northwest, there is a cauldron of speculation with the continuous deterioration of security. The exchange of gunfire between the defence forces and the suspected secessionists of the self proclaimed Federal Republic of Ambazonia. The perpetual killing of soldiers and civil servants and threats; all spiced with a one-day a week ghost town operation, observed by a Region where petit traders and small enterprises bear the brunt of the chaos.
So, I, the Bohemian of Abakwa, born of the last day of the month by the shores of the Atlantic in the land of the proud people, this day declare; there is panic in the towns and villages. We have a 16-hour day now, and a six-day week. We are adopting new ways, for the gubernatorial curfew requires for men and people to be indoors by nine in the evening. When did it all begin, when shall it end?
Who is making gains out of the mayhem to the point of wanting this condition to be permanent? We know conflicts and diseases are good for business; and the black market thrives, attracting all sorts of people in times of war, not only black people. The everyday phenomena of humiliation, rejection, lies and betrayal, point to the citizenry that ours is a life built on a foundation of shifting sand. We have dreams and we struggle to attain them; then we realize there were mirages in the desert. The struggle is the fun. The dream is just the motivating force. Nothing more! That’s the new wave.

By Winston Lebga

Where is the news?

When the Bohemian was in college, there was this story about a journalist who got into the studio at news time and announced: “Here’s the news read by J.W…” The listeners waited and waited but there was dead air. Then, the newsman went on, “…but, where is the news read by J.W? He questioned while the searching his jacket and the swish was audible. The story goes that J.W. had been in his favourite watering hole where he prepared the news on two sheets of paper. He folded the sheets and tucked them in one of the pockets of his jacket. He rushed in to the studio at news time, certain that everything was in order and while on air, after announcing the news, he went for the wrong pocket. “I sey eh, where is the news read by J.W. nah?” He blurted out. When he finally found his scripts, he cried; “Ah Ha, here is the news read by J.W!”
The Bohemian can neither confirm nor refute whether this situation really happened but the story entertained many Bamenda denizens in the Bohemian’s school days. Today, this could be very possible, not because the newscaster might have been lost about the whereabouts of his or her scripts but simply because at times the news need not be made public according to the whims and caprices of both power brokers and those who wield power. So, nowadays, it is possible for an anchorman with the scripted bulletin in front of him to ask, “where is the news?” The reason being the scripts contain everything but the day’s news making matters.
Anyone who understands the tradecraft and practice of modern journalism, would as well understand that a country cannot be built simply by glorifying its big shots. Journalists are paid to stick their heads above the parapet and to say what they believe to be the truth. It is true the most important function of a journalist is indeed to tell stories: not in the sense of making up comfortable lies to keep people happy, but of providing an accurate digestible way to make sense of the confusion and apparent chaos of everyday life. Why must you kowtow to people of authority?
Take politicians for example. Party politicians, naturally enough see everything in terms of partisan politics. They cannot understand people like the Bohemian who may be interested in politics but don’t approach the subject from the point of view of any particular party commitment. Look at this example; CPDM officials think if the party is being challenged by journalists, it is because the journalists are instinctively pro-SDF. And when precisely, the same journalists challenge the SDF’s actions the officials think it is either because they are instinctively pro-CPDM or because they owe their allegiance to the ruling elite. It does not always occur to them that the journalists might be simply doing their job.
It is true that whatever journalists may say, they must make sure they do not annoy the one who pays them, for, if as a journalist you are not comfortable with the umbrella term for limiting press freedom; ‘editorial line’ , you resign. You can ask the Rolling Rock, who made people contemplate the difference between live and lies, one or both coming from studio four. Don’t ask me what I am talking about. Although some great minds have tagged the news media as the fourth estate, some little minds wield enough power to keep the watchdog chained to its cage. Who even thought of calling the news media society’s watchdog? Now, look at how people treat journalists even worse than what is known in the local parlance as a ngong dog.
So, I the Bohemian of Abakwa, born on the last day of the month, along the shores of the Atlantic, in the land of the proud people, this day declare: true journalists are natural members of what the BBC’s John Simpson calls the awkward squad, difficult, unpredictable, dangerous to be with in the sense that you can’t take them and their work for granted; impossible to buy off with money or honours. Journalists, it seems to me have a duty to resist being simply corralled into obedient silence. It isn’t good for journalism and it isn’t good for government. To keep quiet when things are not right is the reverse of patriotism: it is to cover up for those interests that stand to gain from silence. It is to be a partisan of inefficiency and stupidity and mindless cruelty. So brethren, where is the news?
By Winston Lebga

Scratch and sniff

Do you realize that it is those at the low end of the bureaucratic totem pole who tended to try to exercise their power most? They are the ones most likely to ask the question, do you know who I am? So, who really are you? Brethren if you are swimming with sharks and you start bleeding, then you have to get out of the water.
And so, President Biya’s mighty pen and much sought after signature produced their trademark effect on Thursday, April 12. The bulwark of the ruling party had been riding high in the country, without any fear of its not being given its landslide majority, with the opposition said to be weak and disorganized. New people have come to be chorusing praise-songs to Papa Paul and asking the populace, do you know who I am?
There are some things you cannot run away from, some things you do not ever forget and sometimes things get into a complex tangle. As Chinua Achebe puts it, “…and they will ask you-as my father did- if you thought that a sensible man would spit out the morsel that good fortune placed in his mouth.” The Bohemian sees people who are very active in politics at the grassroots, like this time-honoured chap, with a lot of spring and spirit in his voice. He is among the lot who are always grumbling because their services to the party have not been rewarded with the usual prize appointment to some public corporation or other position considered as juicy.
As AYI Kwei Armah, the Ghanaian author will say “…Government chop, me too, I chop- contrey broke!” The CPDM senatorial campaign team in the Northwest kept telling the members of the Electoral College, that they are the people who master the twists and turns of the corridors of power and would be able to successfully lobby for development projects. They made pronouncements arguing that they knew what doors to open as well as how to present the problems of the people where it matters most.
They shall be in the senate, in their overwhelming majority. This means the next five years could be full of development projects in the entire country. Talk about a vast construction site! The Bohemian has been thinking a lot these days, especially about what people are saying. The Bohemian walks in to this mean looking, ill-lighted, spit- and- sawdust type of pub; it is his favourite joint , a dispiriting sort of place, where the bartender always reminds the boozers to keep their voices down and rings the bell to tell those who are still tarrying to quaff their drinks and disappear for curfew time is drawing near.
So, the Bohemian gets into the cheap public bar where life was beer and fags, and settles by this granny. The ashtray on the table in front of him is revoltingly full of stubs and ash. A guy joins us, a very loud type, who appeared to be addressing the bar and even if he was addressing a rally, he would not need a public address system. The Buea old guards would remember Mandela of Malingo. So the loud-mouthed drunk, the type Zachary Nkwo referred to as a mountain of a man screamed in his stentorian voice, “… what is the use of the senate in this country – can someone provide me with a convincing explanation?’’
Old man River pleaded with the drunken mountainous zombie to lower his voice. “There is a concentrated barrage of propaganda from the news media to convince the people to see with the idea – NONSENSE!” He blurted out and then pointed at the Bohemian. “Those are the liars, the spivs who are churning out doctored statistics…” The Bohemian just sat like a man about to be presented before the firing squad. “I agree with you.” Old man River concurred. “…but can you shut up for a second?” He added.
So I, the Bohemian of Abakwa, born on the last day of the month, by the shores of the Atlantic in the land of the proud people, this day declare: after subjecting the issue to microscopic scrutiny, the Bohemian has an observation. Public men in responsible positions directing the destiny of the nation appear brutal, hypocritical and corrupt. In Africa, this is typical; the constitution is often treated as door mat on which politicians and army officers wipe their feet after wading in the muck. The message to our senators both the elected and the appointed, should remember to keep the big picture in mind. For once, think about Cameroon; carry out the much advertized patriotic acts, and this does not mean lionizing the president for that smells of eye service. To those who are going to the senate with greedy and selfishness aims, you might be just part of the scratch and sniff picture and that does not smell good.
By Winston Lebga

Mood of gaiety

To wish is to hope and to hope is to expect. This means Cameroon is bubbling with expectations with regard to the outlook of its Upper House of parliament. I am talking about the senate. The Bohemian is aware that many shall be the tears shed by some had-been senators in their last adieus to a place so much beloved. Talk about milking the cow.
There have been moments when one wondered aloud whether the Upper House was not in actuality a “gerontocratic asylum.” A place where old men sat and applauded every word uttered by any orator and then yawned before falling asleep. Then, they suddenly jerk back to reality awoken from their slumber by a round of applause and they join the fray without even knowing why people are clapping.
People expect those they elect to have a close relationship with the grassroots, and to understand their lives as they are lived. One thing should be made clear, it is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy; it is disposition alone. Make no mistake.
In the Northwest, the arrival of the new senators seems to afford the natives real satisfaction and their comfort to be an object of real solicitude to the Region’s inhabitants. People are hopeful and they are hoping not to be hoping against hope. The result of the 2018 senatorial elections will seriously impinge on the behaviour of the senators elect, I conjecture that. It is heart shredding to understand that politicians here don’t perform according to ideology or doctrine or conviction but money and position.
My friend Otto says the most recent electoral tussle between the two political juggernauts, CPDM and SDF in the Northwest gives the impression that the ballot box has still got some power in this country. I overheard a conversation in the course of which someone held this opinion: the victory of the Emilia Nkezeh – SDF list over the Regina Mundi – CPDM list is the full demonstration of the fact that the people are no longer willing to tolerate the ethnicized patronage politics that has polarized the country and pillaged public coffers.
The fire brand outgoing senators in the Northwest have been full of rhetoric which occasionally fell short of delivery. Now, they have been sanctioned, and with many top Government functionaries in prison, Cameroon’s chattering classes are speaking openly about the fall of a generation of untouchables.
So, I, the Bohemian of Abakwa, born on the last day of the month, by the shores of the Atlantic, in the land of the proud people this day declare: the senate cannot and should not be accessible to he who has neither genius, taste, nor spirit. It is not for he or she whose understanding has no brilliancy, whose feelings have no ardour and whose voice has no expression. Thirty senators are to be appointed by presidential decree by Sunday. To many of the hopefuls, it is an idea to fill the heart with sensations of exquisite comfort and they expect to expand it in fervent gratitude. Well, brethren why sit in an attitude of deep meditation? Let’s be cheerful together, I am in a fine mood for gaiety.
By Winston Lebga

April’s fool!

We live in a country where many bear the emblems but the devotees are few. Many are employing smokescreen tactics, probably taking the citizens for a ride and no matter how powerful the Government may be, it cannot terrify the wrongdoers into staying away from their criminal activities. Hey, are you aware that as far as water supply is concerned in Bamenda, the only thing that is constant is the water bill? Many are wondering what they are being charged for. My friend Otto says we are paying the tap and metre rental fee.
In some people, the pain of living minute to minute simply grows so acute that they can finally stand to look into the face of death without blinking. They can even look at death as a friend and cross that river without a backward glance.
Like Christ, these people perpetually suffer in the hands of men. The sufferer can only get a perfunctory smile when the public eye is alert because he or she is considered a lesser being. Hunger compels the sufferer, who cannot find anything to delight his or her sensibilities to meditate about his or her soul, because they have lost the world, they must do all to gain their souls.
What is the point of going through life with illusions?
Mine was taken away when I was a little boy and I am gland for it. Is it a coincidence that this year’s Easter Day falls on April the First?
This man Jesus, also known as the Son of God and Saviour of man is quoted in the Bible as declaring that He is the way, the truth and the life. Nobody can go to the Father without passing through Him. It is said that His birth leaves biologists wondering aloud, He was born of a virgin. He confounded the chemists by turning water into wine, the mathematicians by breaking five loaves of bread and feeding five thousand people. He defied the laws of up thrust by walking on water, made nonsense of death by resurrecting after three days and broke the law of gravity by going up and not coming down. He had neither crown nor throne, but they called him King of Kings. He had no school but they called him teacher. He served many, washing the feet of his disciples but they called Him Master.
Today, many of the so-called men of God are not humble and are more concerned about emptying the pockets of members of their desperate congregations. Instead of feeding the five thousand hungry people like what Jesus did, today’s prophets are being fed by the five thousand hungry people.
Since many are looking upon any as their Lord and Master, the new day prophets are living up to their billing as grandmasters by providing the much expected drama. You see them on their numerous TV Stations, interviewing demons; “what are you doing in this man’s body?”, “so, you have destroyed his family and ruined his life?” Then they proceed to scream, “Out! Out! Out!” Were we not told in Sunday school that when demons are cast out, they must be directed to somewhere or thing if not they could possess anyone nearby? Did Jesus not direct demons to pigs – so our prophets when they cast out demons where are they directed to? As one of the prophets would say, “touch your screen”
So, after observing the hypocrites as they mingle with the good people we meet, I the Bohemian of Abakwa, born on the last day of the month in the land of the proud people, by the shores of the Atlantic, this day declare; so many people are distraught because of the hard times and are ready to swallow anything they are fed. I suggest that Government should be thinking of taxing religious movements because they have become more of income generating organizations that enrich their leaders. Who did Jesus die to save, the poor sinner or the rich preacher. Would you blame me for recognizing Rastafari Makonnnen Woldemikael Haile Selassie I as king of Kings, Lord of Lords, conquering Lion of the tribe of Judah? Would you blame me, or do you think I am April’s fool? Suit yourself and touch your screen.
By Winston Lebga


Some people never learn their lessons.
You notice their cocky attitude, as they treat people as if life were simply a try at coconut shy. How many would have imagined that five years would pass by as if nothing had happened?
I hear some councillors were alternating between periods of optimism and a sense of emptiness. It is now time out for those whose eloquence is convincing, but have nothing to show for all the sweet pep talk. Every aspirant declared to have the magic wand needed to save the ship of state from sinking, others made pronouncements about their panacea which can make the “Anglophone crisis”, a thing of the past, with a wave of the hand. It is interesting to watch these “politricksians,” some of whom think their past unfulfilled promises now should be seen as water under the bridge.
This has been said for so long that it can be a new sing song. People are tormented by the past, tremulous about the future and very much disturbed by the present. Several men and women in the Northwest Region have for long felt that they were being nourished by a generation of broken promises. Some became bitter, quarrelsome and slightly pathetic; all these born out of the frustration of not seeing their elected officials taking interest in their troubles.
The ballot box is the proper instrument for the citizenry to sanction the actions of the ruling elite. Yes, there are complaints that there is a sophisticated rigging machine that is so effective that no one can beat it. But why fear such things? Truth is, no matter what “politricksians” might say, the virtues of honesty, candour, frugality and patriotism have withered and died. What is left, is a people whom neither the vices of their rulers nor the increasingly bold attacks of foreign and local enemies could shake out their apathy. You have dreams and you struggle to attain them, then you find they were a mirage in the desert. The struggle is the fun. The dream is the motivating force. Nothing more!
I, the Bohemian of Abakwa, born on the last day of the month, by the shores of the Atlantic, in the land of the proud people, this day declare; cheats, especially during an election are like a fake brand name garment or wrist watch that looks genuine but eventually disappoints. Wealth and vanity are at the expense of the weak and helpless. My friend Otto is a councilor. He says money is the name of the game, and many have been wielding money bags ready to oil the lips of the councilors who see the senatorial elections as the opportunity to get their own share of the Upper house gumbo. Otto says, “better take your own now and run. Who knows whether we will still be councilors …” My conclusion is that we are all hustlers.
By Winston Lebga


In my humble opinion, we have not opened our eyes and hearts to the pain and desperation of a baffled society.Even the church has become a tool of oppression and ruin.
It appears the church thrives on hypocrisy and that man’s carnal nature will come out, no matter how much it is purged or scourged by any white light religion.
How can a pastor indulge his passion for indulgence by having intercourse with a bevy of beauties in his congregation, to the point of impregnating a good number of them? The Bohemian learnt that among them are six married women. How did Sango Pastor carry out this unorthodox method of spreading the good news – and since when did the gospel become synonymous to legs? Which one did the women spread, when this hoodlum asked them to go and spread the word?
Many who are desperate for some ardent glory have infiltrated the flock and are preaching what is now being referred to as “the prosperity gospel” that is preaching to enrich themselves. Others are duping people in God’s name and mostly the poor. The problem ridden ones go to these new age prophets who use and abuse them, rob them and disappear.
Those in search of some drama, join these movements, some of which are occult organizations, singing at the top of their voices, at times disturbing neighbourhoods, joining the rhubarb of abracadabra which they call, “talking in tongues” with their ever dramatic sermons full of testimonies, prophecies and casting out demons. Homes have been broken, many have rebelled because of some of these charismatic orators who shout on the pulpit bullying all to submission.

So, I the Bohemian of Abakwa, born on the last day of the month, by the shores of the Atlantic in the land of the proud people, this day declare; since worship of fleshly things produces pleasure, there would be a temple of glorious indulgence. Isn’t it said that only by experiencing darkness, do we appreciate light? On Sunday night, men will be lusting after half naked girls dancing in bars and Karaoke joints and on Sunday morning, you will see the same men sitting in the pews with their wives and children asking God to forgive them and purge them of carnal desires. And the next week-end, they’ll be back in a bar or some other place of indulgence with the same purpose in mind, to hit on the naked beauties and drink their souls away. In this jungle, we are all wolves.
By Winston Lebga