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Mother’s Day In This Age Of The Gross (A Sam Nzima/Moesha Boduong inspired story)



Journey with me through the story of an apartheid icon from South Africa called Sam Nzima. Sam at age 83, chose hours before Mother’s Day to die. But way before his eternal good night moment, the legendary photojournalist did something remarkable with his modest life to alter the course of evil. Hence why you are reading, by way of tribute, his over 40-year-old deed here. To be more exact, Nzima, on the morning of June 16, 1976, snapped six shots from behind the 50mm lens of his Pentax SL. The third of the shots, which turned out to be the best and last as journalist, underlines his mortality in the pantheon of h onest crusaders. The famous photo, now a relic of brute and human indignity, showed the lifeless body of the lad, Hector Pieterson carried by his mate, Mbuyisa Makhubu, his face torn by pain. Pieterson had a sister Antoinette also dressed in her school uniform and was seen running alongside. After taking these pictures, Nzima removed the film from his camera and hid it in his sock. A few hours later, it was splashed on the front page of the now defunct newspaper The World and the next day it made it way into British newspapers. To the world, that single photo had lifted the lid on the bloody repression being served even to student uprising. For his reward, the initial deposit in the very least, Nzima got, like an albatross around his neck, police harassment and fear. His crime, according to the Apartheid regime was, he had portrayed South Africa in a bad light to the world. Treated like filth by the regime, he was forced to flee Soweto where he lived with his wife and four children to his hometown of Lillydale and opened a bottle store. His photograph was soon after censored and The World newpaper shut down, Moral of the above:

  1. A nation that is serious takes care of its optics and are sensitive to their stories, for better or for worse. ( Ask the Chinese or Donald Trump Vs Kaepernick )
  2. A nation that has its image smeared with what it deems distasteful and repugnant cracks down hard with a repair mechanism.
Now to my substantive thought, If Christiane Amanpour is still interested in our filth, especially those she missed the last time she was here, it shouldn’t take another 20 years. She must come back, gather the rest, tie and cart them away in an Abossey Okai macho truck or, perhaps, haul them in a Metro Mass Transport bus. She should just go away. With all of them and I’d owe her. Eternally, my gratitude. Swearing by the Korle lagoon, and its future tourists, I have sinned not by my might nor power. Fellas, I finally have now watched a few motion photo frames of the world premiered blockbuster documentary titled Sex, Love and Relationships. The one ground breaking caravan, ostensibly, wheeling around the world that made a brief stopover in Ghana and forgot to transit in Nigeria before hoping into colder climes in Kenya to go waste more time under the cloak of a documentary. Chale, I am livid. My only consolation is, one day, in the not too distant future I hope, a child shall wish her doting mummy, a Happy Mother’s Day. This unfortunate child could, in all innocence, even whisper for the occasion, the coveted ‘’ I am so proud of you Mum’’. The bad news, however is the wide-eyed recipient of the adulation could be astute Ghanaian self-ordained Economist Moesha. Let’s just settle on her. The very ignorant and blight on every moral compass Ms Boduong, I mean. Now make no mistake. She apologized for dragging other females with her into ‘Honesty Municipal Area’ en route hell. But have you bothered to watch the entire conversation and how bad it makes us all look with the accompanying narrative and how the optics were stitched so we fit their prejudiced script to tell their story? And you waved it away like the proverbial fart in the wind? And you haven’t rallied the youth of this country to petition Parliament to, in the very least, sanction a rival docudrama featuring Moesha herself and other women to tell OUR STORY OUR WAY? You don’t think that, a Christiane Amanpour documentary featuring a Ghanaian actress, hosted on CNN’s YouTube channel wont for the duration it’s going to be up, serve as valuable and defining reference to foreigners who want to know anything about our women and girls who shall tomorrow be our mothers? My fellow Ghanaians, to be confident enough to arrive at the first paragraph of this piece, the Christiane Amanpour hosted/produced world amusement footage cost me no more than 09:38secs hard earned clock time of my chequered life. Damn. Oh and it stars, Osofo Duncan Williams (Christian Action Faith Ministries), Moesha Boduong (Instagram Ghana), some Christian folks acting as ‘extras’ and other likeminded lowlifes serving as technical crew but worse, also of Ghanaian origin. These citizens all combined, hardworking, and non-tax paying apropos this feature docudrama, are roaming planet earth with the chips on their stiff shoulders, firmly stitched – because in their birdbrained minds, they have annexed sweetness . . . because they have featured on CNN. Tueh! So let’s put my cray more succinctly: we have this weekend, marked Mother’s Day. All of us. I’d also want to believe Moesha’s mum, regardless, who courtesy death, left us eternally alone and to do what we desire with one half of her litter (may her soul rest), was eulogised in a moment or two by her children. Especially, the more illustrious Ms Boduong who has surpassed her Major Boduong father’s publicly but belatedly touted expectations so much that she chose her CNN moment to launch herself as the unofficial mascot of Africa’s Dumbest Dumb (ADD) reality show. Indeed, there are unconfirmed reports that, Ghana’s parliament, membership of which are, even by their not very ambitious standards, spared a prayer in the hope that foreigners shall find inside Moesha’s thighs, fodder enough to come to Ghana to fork out and eat. Literally. Hey, even the devil knows Africa’s fastest growing economy could do with the Naira, Kwacha and Chinese Yuan that any free miserable pervert, never mind criminal past or sexual preference, shall pay for Moesha’s rising upkeep and chop money. The new Ghana revenue guys mean to collect who belongs to Ceaser and give it unto him. Inside of Moesha’s vagina or throat. Orgasm attained or not, I hear they have carbonated VAT receipts for copulation. Their mantra ‘’Our Taxes, Our Future’’ isn’t a play thing. Ladies and gentlemen, it didn’t take me ten minutes to give up on what little remains of our national pride. Listen, nearly twelve years ago, a certain drug addict – now sober for ten years and counting, Mr. Marshal Mathers, released a studio album that went on to sell a few million copies worldwide. Truth is, till date, it has sold over thirty million units. That ‘Encore’ titled LP, his mea cupla if you want, the entire seventy-six minutes and fifty-three seconds of it, enthralled me with some joie de vivre I have never since enjoyed. Even his much laurelled and commercially successful ‘Recovery’ album pales in comparison to my ‘Encore’. His WTF_ery , expressed through certain tracks on the Dr. Dre co-produced album, included calling out his then sitting President George Walker Bush(which earned him some extra attention from the Secret Services) and Vicar of God on planet earth, Michael Jackson, did not faze me one bit. It isn’t the oft guttural simple minor-chord piano lines, Dre’s elastic funk, Em’s clicky and too-often weak drums that slithers from track to track that made me fall in love with the album. Neither did the vulgarity and humour nor the majesty with which rhymes were laid to tell stories themed on veiled misogynistic gibes at Kim, explanations, and apologies to Hailie Jade Mathers for previous comments and his participation in high-profile beefs. I didn’t care. Hear Em on my all-time favourite Hip pop track titled ‘Yellow Brick Road’ : ‘’What we have to do is deal with it when these individuals are young enough, if you will, to be saved, not in a religious sense, but not to constitute what this country at times calls their throwaway children. We seem to be approaching an age of the gross. {Burp}We all have this idea that we should move up a little bit from our parents’ station and each generation should do a little bit better.” Well, oyiwa. Truth is, at the time that Em composed this song, he was on stuff more potent than Tramadol and codeine stirred together. But even he could see sense in spite of the haze. We must see sense my people. Our pride, dignities, especially those of our daughters and sisters needn’t be this cheap. We cannot let the recklessness of a few poor citizens, define our women. As evidenced in how the final edit of the Sex Love & whatever eventually panned out, the generation of human beings who manage at a handsome fee, the brand ‘Arch Bishop Duncan Williams’ have failed the Osofo. They should have insisted on having an opportunity to see the final edit before publication. Simple as fuck. When the Amanpour team first reached out, they should have insisted, through their lawyers, a contract spelling out clearly the cast of idle nation wreckers who were going to feature alongside their cash cow artist of a preacher man. Look, if I were a member of the congregation and I find a fraud like Amanpour, use my solemn prayer facials to exact a picturesque lewd bit of her stupid sexual story, I have sued the Church for not protecting my privacy and moral rights. Or whatever any half-baked lawyer can conjure. We see you. . . Happy Mother’s Day.   By Kwame Agyemang Berko @uhurubardman  ]]>

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