THE CHRONICLES OF A DRUNKARD
Trekking through the beaches of Awutu-Efutu-Senya, the Gomoas reminded me that their brothers in Ekumfi, Mfantsiman and Oguaa have not forgotten their in-laws in Okwankwan. They have been closely interlaced. Not even the cruel remnants of the imperialist could take away the distinctive oath of their interconnection.
As solemn as the Agonas, Bremans and their allied siblings were, they knew the proximity with the Ajumakos only depended on synthetic blocks and nothing much to worry about. Foraging could have been their great livelihood and adventure yet they consolidated it with fly-fishing in amazing streams and rivers.
The crafted Twifo-Assins have never shied away from the Hemangs, Atti-Morkwas and the Denkyiras. Indeed, any exploratory trip could only be fully completed with a visit down the spines.
With rich cultural heritage and strong indigenous institutions, the various segmentations have frolicked significant contributions in the country. It has also provided heroes and heroines who, in their own aptitudes, have made giant strides that made them who they were and continue to be. The protagonists have also protected the sanctity of the beliefs of the people and sustained an encompassing legacy that made them proud.
They only woke up one fine morning to the chronicles of a drunkard. Papa Pipiniakis had just sprinted into a new boxing arena with metal gloves. He had feigned his treacherous face and decorated his intoxicated skin with fine wool. He was presented into the ring as a kind-hearted squaddie who could wrestle the falling walls of Jericho with all and sundry. Those who knew him predicted the future. But the ‘transporters’ of the scheme launched a massive hoopla against the status quo. The result of the fuss is the bustle that has brought perpetual shame to the landlords.
It was as if totalitarianism was an archaic system of our forebears. But the reign of Papa Pipiniakis saw to an espoused absolutism that crippled the ordinary flag-waver who did not have any voice before the Sanhedrin. He successfully relegated individual opinions and built an empire for himself in his cabin. Suspension sprees characterized his hatred for differing views. Surprisingly, he promoted himself to the position of an “all-knowing king” who had built his own fortress and a crib within.
His cliques, unrestricted decrees, repression and excessive powers allocated to him the title of a “Governor”. Papa fostered cults of worship that declared him flawless and divine. Those who could not belong to this cult were intimidated as many feared his amassed affluence. Those who did not fear claim that PP’s reign will end just as chaotically as he began. They have been scorned at in disdain but still believe that “a drunkard is like a whisky bottle only neck and belly but no head”
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