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Cocaine and human anatomy

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The Journey to London is not an easy one when you’re carrying a pot-belly.

And, if the pot-belly is a fake one, then the carrier must face indictment and explain why his protruding belly must not be properly examined to de­termine the degree of genuine cargo in it.

As it were, some pot-bellies have been carefully cultivated through regular beer quaffing, reinforced by the evil of indulging in khebab chomp­ing. When you drink beer every day for five years, you are bound to lose your soul, and in its place will be a brewery installed in your belly. It is, however, an honour to have a brewery as a body-part.

And when you are going to London, the immigration officer can readily recognise your belly as one that has either a bubra-background, a star-ori­gin or a club-destination. Immigration officers are now trained to prophesy.

The immigration man is generally interested in bellies, not for the sake of it, but because stomachs have be­come multi-functional these days.

Yes, the immigration officer is often curious why a belly well examined does not bear the tell-tale marks of beer ad­diction and yet, the belly carrier also doesn’t sound a likely host to refugee worms. So what is in the belly? Five months pregnancy?

SUSPICION

Normally, a suspicious immigration officer must be careful how he handles the belly of travelling men. With some men, their pot-bellies are their only treasure. So they tell you to handle with care!

“Don’t mess up with my belly, men!” a traveller would say. “Do you know how many goddamn years it took me to build this?”

Apart from belly size, immigration capos also use a bit of psychology. When a man comes by unduly agitated and wants to hurry small through, he is a likely candidate for close exami­nation. His huge belly has no guilder antecedents! What he has inside is dangerous cargo- cocaine or heroin carefully packaged and swallowed.

If the plane doesn’t land quickly at Heathrow for the carrier to discharge, then an obituary becomes inevitable. The digestive juices in the belly and ensymes might be strong enough to di­gest the covering and leak out cocaine. Death is assured!

So the agitated traveller is chap­eroned into a little side room and questioned. The officer would like to know whether there is any drug in his alimentary system.

“Nonsense!” the traveller would cry out. “I am a final year doctorate student in Law. To suggest that I’m a cocaine smuggler is an affront to my noble academic pursuits. It is blasphe­mous to the God I worship. I am going to see my lawyer to deal with you…”

LABOUR

When the man mellows down, he is given something small to drink to cool his heart. Sooner than expected he be­gins behaving like a woman in labour, He dis-charges pellets of cocaine, 60 or more.

So suddenly, a man studying for his doctorate in Jurisprudence at Oxford suddenly admits that he is a cocaine courier extraordinaire.

Sometime past, drug smuggling was at its real peak and cocaine seized on couriers suddenly turned into sugar when it came back from forensic ex­amination. So you would wonder why any person in his right senses would either be stuffing his rectum with sugar packages or swallowing pellets of sugar.

Many drug barons were released because cocaine suddenly became granulated sugar, heroin became cocoa powder and various drugs miraculously assumed harm-less chemical formulae. Today, I do not think such miracles are still happening.

However, there are miracles as far as drug smuggling is concerned. First, the baby nappy method of the early 1980s is still in operation. A baby is carried with a wet napkin that im­migration officers would not suspect contains coke. Sometimes it is not only wet, but the baby’s pooh-pooh also shows.

Now, the new trick is with snails, a delicacy that people need in Britain. They are stuffed with coke and ex­ported. The yam formula has outlived its usefulness. So people have gone back to the late 1970 crude method of stuffing female genitals and taflatse rectums with coke.

This has necessitated the forcible examination of the orifices of the human anatomy in any event of suspi­cion.

Now if the stuff is not detected at Kotoka International Airport that might not be the end of the story. When the courier gets to Britain and he is or she starts dancing without being asked to, the immigration guys know that there’s “something in the soup.”

Fact is, every item or substance introduced into the human body must evict after some hours. That is why human waste doesn’t stay in there forever. It must exit compulsorily.

After flying for six hours the swal­lowed cargo in the belly starts to exit and it must be pushed back, a task that is well-nigh impossible under immigration scrutiny. So the courier becomes overly agitated and starts hissing like a snake. Soon he (or she) must start dancing, hoping that it would prevent the capsules from drop­ping out.

TRUTH

The African belly dancer is politely invited to enter into small room to free himself from further alimentary torment. That is the moment of truth.

There is no easy way to making money. With drugs, you could earn 30-years in jail. Saudi Arabia, you’ll be beheaded. In Singapore, you’ll be in for life just like in Thailand where Ghanaians are languishing today. Be­ware of drugs!

This article was first published

on Saturday August 6, 2005

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 Palm nut soup

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Palm nut soup
Palm nut soup

 Palm nut soup is a Ghanaian dish that can be served with so many foods. It has a rich base of palm nuts combined with tomatoes and various vegetables that makes it very nutritious.

Preparation

Ingredients

– 1 kilogramme of palm nut

– Half kilogramme of beef

-One kilogramme of goat meat

-Three large salmon

-One full tuna

– A handful of turkey berries

-Two large onions

-4 large tomatoes

-3 large garden eggs

– One tin of mackerel

-Ten large peppers

– One large ginger

 -2 cloves of garlic

– Four fingers of okro

– Salt to taste

Instructions

-Wash, cook palm nut, turkey ber­ries, and pepper and add salt to it.

-Grind palm nut, turkey berries and pepper with mortar and pestle or mini food processor.

-Wash goat meat, beef, Tuna, salt and put on fire.

– Blend onion, garlic, ginger and tomatoes and pour on the goat meat.

– Add smoked tuna and salmon and okro to the soup.

-Use a spoon or ladle to skim off the surface oil.

-Garnish the soup with the okro or garden eggs as desired.

-Serve with fufu, banku or Omo tuo.

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 Benefits of eating cucumber

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Cucumber helps in digestion
Cucumber helps in digestion

 ● Increases hydration

● Strengthens bones

● Promotes gut health

● Helps manage blood sugar and weight

● Protects against cancer

● Improves heart health

Source: Healthtips

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My barber and the Easter palaver

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It is not easy looking for your barber if your hair has overgrown and you look like a bushman. It is even more serious if your moustache has crossed carpet and is seen entering into your nostrils, some straying into your left ear.

The problem is that some of us do not like changing barbers. My barber, for instance, is a very short akupa who often has to stand on his toes to reach the top of my head. But I maintained him because he under­stands the international shape of my head and gives me the right cut. Moreover, he has promised never to cut my ears.

Although, he has been cutting my hair for the last five years, I still do not know his name. I’ve never asked and he has never told me. It is a busi­ness relationship, not a family affair. He comes at certain specified dates, does his job, gets paid and vanishes.

When he was supposed to cut my hair two weeks ago, I waited in vain. Last weekend he didn’t show up either. Was the guy on strike? If he wanted more pay, he could come for a discussion, although I have been paying him better than his colleagues were getting per cut. I could even of­fer height allowance if he asked for it.

I was quite uncomfortable with the over-growing hair which everyone was reminding me of, so I undertook a search for the missing barber. The possibility was that other barbers would know his house and direct me accordingly. So from barber shop to barber shop I went asking if they had seen the shortest barber in town. No one seemed to know him.

I decided I couldn’t go another week without a cut, so I reluctantly went into the last shop and asked the barber there to do the job. He studied my head, nodded and asked me to sit on a stool outside and wait. He was finishing another person’s hair and then he’d jump on mine.

Soon, he called me in, and I told him I dislike nonsense.

He was stunned. “Massa, have I offended you?” he enquired worriedly. I said no. Then what was the matter? He begged me to explain.

“I don’t like the kind of haircut that would scare my boss,” I said. He laughed. I continued, “I don’t want my boss to see me and start running away; he should give me promotion.” The barber laughed and promised me a fashionable cut.

“I don’t want a fashionable cut. I want it simple according to the shape of my head.”

“Don’t you like Jojo Special? Your girlfriend will dig you. She’ll believe!”

“Just do as I say.”

I was pretty sure the guy was going to mess me up like I had done to some two or three. The Law of Karma. In Legon I told my room-mate, Akotey Anaara, that I was the best barber the breadth of the country. He brought his head platter and I gave him a wonder­ful design.

The next morning when he went for lectures, everyone including the lecturer asked him whether he was sick. Actually, the cut I gave him made him look like one of those dull-looking mental patients who often escape from the Psychiatric Hospital and were seen directing traffic or getting into some.

Akortey Anaara had to find an­other guy to shave the damn hair off his skull and it was even worse. He looked like an obrafor (human head-cutter). His girlfriend didn’t recognise him.

Well, when the barber was cutting my hair, I realised that many peo­ple were lining up to have theirs cut today too. When I asked him why his customers were so many today, he said they were preparing for Easter and needed ‘wild’ hairdos to impress the girls in the village. It was then that I knew preparations for the Eas­ter were well underway.

In fact, when Easter is approaching and it is amusing to see the serious­ness people attach to the celebration, especially when they are travelling from the city to the villages and cottages. The idea is that you must impress rural girls.

Actually some people start sav­ing for well over six months so that preparations for the occasions are not beset with financial bad-weath­er, monetary El-Nino or back pocket load-shedding.

For the young man, preparations border on having a stylish haircut, a second-hand but colourful camboo, jeans, third-hand pairs of socks, bottle of Kasapreko Gin, singlet, fashionable shirts and some trousers and shorts. The idea is to go and show to the folks that he is not a hopeless person in the city, but a prospering gentleman who must, therefore, be admired and loved by the girls.

Some money is set aside for ‘show,’ that is buying drinks for friends and for inducing young girls for seduction on Easter Sunday under the cover of darkness. Whatever monies that remain is just enough for transportation back to the city. Such monies are never touched because if you do, you’ll remain in the village or be forced to walk back to the city.

It is the preparation made by the women-folk that is even more inter­esting. The kaba and slit must be of ultra-modern and custom design so that the wearer can look like a vulture which is about to take off. Then the hairdo, the lip-sticks, the full-shoes, whatever. If the typical celebrant is not careful, she would finally look like a crow.

She would be seen in various co­lours on Easter Sunday during church service, and it is always a sight like to remember.

Some of the areas where Easter is best celebrated are Peki, Kwahu (Okwahu United, Obo Kwahu and all), Tapa Abotoase, some parts of Ashan­ti and Brong and some cottages in Central, Eastern and Western Regions. You’ll be surprise they never forget the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.

With every Easter though, it is the Palm Sunday which matters to some people. The triumphant entry into Jerusalem is of more significance to them than his death and resurrection, because of the ‘palm element.’

Palm Sunday must indeed be marked with the copious drinking of palmwine and if necessary, the eating of fufu and palmnut soup, a ritual they claim is endorsed by the Holy Spirit.

This article was first published on Saturday, April 9, 1999

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