Sunday, November 6, 2011


Nana Awere Damoah, an engineer and writer, is someone I admire and look up to a lot. He is about to launch his third book titled Tails from Different Tails. Read a short synopsis of what to expect from the book:

Everyone has a price and… their broom. You either name the price or find the broom that sweeps them off their feet!

October Rush
The new academic year has started and school is under siege. Reason? ‘October Rush’. Heads keep turning as students struggle to juggle academic work with relationship wahala. The freshers are tagged New Stock, sophomores as Reduce to Clear while final years are Buy One Get On Free. Follow ‘October Rush’ as it tells the intricate story of University romance. For some, it is learning the ropes, for others it is a do or die affair. Find your feet in this hot, intense, and pacey affair. The Rush is on!

Truth Floats
It is true that the one who you save the bullet for might be the one pulling the trigger. So the story goes that Kweku Ananse took the meat right out of his bosom friend, Akoto’s, mouth when he stole Ama Adoma from him. But it is also true that when they lie they will lie again because the deception never end. Amidst the lies and disloyalty truth comes to light like a calabash that has been forced in water. All said and done, did Ama fall for Kweku? How did Akoto find out about his fiancĂ©, Ama’s, true love for him? This story teaches the values of patience, perseverance and love in the face of lies.

Dribble de Zagidibogidi
Vengeance is of God but can the human mind truly forgive and forget? Zagidibogidi (Randy) is accused of brutally raping Rose, the only lady he would catch the moon for. As things turn out, Rose is the only one who could save him from going to jail. Wicked twist? Rose has fallen into coma. But help comes from strange places. Babyface, Randy’s lawyer, vowed to do his best to prove his client’s innocence. Will justice be denied by it being delayed? Could there be some unfinished business with Babyface on Get Even Day? Revenge must be sweet when served cold and slowly…it is payback time! Yes, a broken mirror can be patched but the crack will forever be there.

Hope Undeferred
The elders say women are supposed to sell garden eggs not gun powder. But Araba’s heart aches for Kwesi. What risks can a young lady take in making her love known to the man she loves? Should she go ahead and propose love? For the most haunted spinster in Assin Kabrofo, it is only a matter of time before she loses heartthrob Kwesi. This unwritten law in African setting is eating away this beautiful village queen. But do African gods condone breaking gender ranks? Hope can only be held onto with hands and feet. And with prayer that it is not dashed to pieces as pottery on the rocks that line the banks of River Ankobra.

Kojo Nkrabeah
The only stories villagers hear of the city is that of glamour with streets paved with gold, money hanging on trees and the taps overflowing with milk and honey. This story shatters the dream of city life for Kojo Nkrabeah and Akwasi Poku. Akilipee has come to Moseaso from the city with well embellished stories. These stories lured the orphaned Kojo Nkrabeah and his friend, Akwasi Poku. In their haste to escape their mundane village lives, they learn the hard way where the grass is green. This is not your ordinary village-to-city story but one that immerses the reader into the best of both worlds.

Guardian of the Rented Well
Akos is a married woman who wants her book published. Benson wants everything in skirt. How does he draw the line between pleasure with this taken lady and the business at hand? This story shows the resolve of married women and the extent to which they go to show or betray love and trust.

Was it Akos who coveted Benson to get her way? Or it was Benson who risked his life guarding the rented well. What has all this got to do with Lieutenant Patrick Atiemo? Something has to give, but what? Follow this maze of a crazy love affair gone terribly wrong …

Face to Face – Trotro Palaver
If you have not taken a trotro, aka troski in Ghana, then either you are not a Ghanaian or haven’t visited Ghana. The ordinary man’s means of transportation in Ghana comes with lots of hustle and drama. The tight seating arrangements, the conversations, the potpourri of smells the laughter, gossips, the political debates as well as the twists, turns and trickery to outwit the police. This adventure brings you face to face as we take a short winding yet hilarious ride in the old Morris troski, with registration number ABC 4037. Join Akwasi the aplanke (drivers mate) who holds a PhD in cunning, slippery mathematics and his master, Massa Kojo, the man who uses a toothpick in his mouth like a ceiling brush, as they drive us from Pig Farm to Circle.... vroooooommmmmm.......Away bus!

Project Akoma
When the heart decides, it is the mind that plans. A message sent to the mind simply reads: “I have found my desire—my missing rib,” and sets the brain in motion. Stories of human love always go with sorrow, joy, deceit, unfailing dedication and jealousy. To win the heart of this striking beauty of eve’s daughter, he must climb the seven skies and back, he must scale the China wall to profess love and win her heart. A moving rollercoaster of a love story which takes readers through the steps to win Adjoa’s heart. This was so delicate and complicated it had to be handled like a final year project work on a University campus. Was this another happily ever after tale or a masterpiece of storytelling with sting at the very end?

Tales from Different Tails will be launched on 1 December 2011 at the Teacher's Hall Complex near Workers' College and Tigo Headoffice, Adabraka, Accra, at 6pm. This is Nana Awere Damoah's third book, the first two being Excursions in My Mind (2008) and Through the Gates of Thought (2010).

Saturday, August 6, 2011

How the youth got angry

First they snatched jobs from our parents hands,

sending hunger pangs running down our stomachs

Next they jumbled up school systems, switching syllabi on and off like their bedroom lights

The fields were left desolate, as poisoned water, condensed from their greed, descended from the skies

When they desecrated the holy temple of the most high,

all hell broke loose.

Thursday, April 21, 2011

There Goes My Teacher


There goes my teacher,

The one who brought us up by hand,

His steps are as sure as Afadjato

And his movements as graceful as an eagle’s.

There he goes with his wonderful books

Smiling brightly and ready to serve.


There goes my teacher,

The mastermind,

His body beams radiant energy

And his mind floods with amazing knowledge.

There he goes, his chalk ever ready,

To the classroom

Where eager students await his impacting lessons.


There goes my teacher,

His ways much like the resolute farmer

Who patiently tends fertile and non-fertile soil alike.

He strives to enrich them with his wit and craft,

And plants the seeds that’ll surely bloom.


There goes my teacher,

The skillful builder and master smith

Whose hardwork restores the nation’s hopes.

There he goes laying bricks of discipline

Bonded together with the mortar of correction.

His sweat truly forges us

Into men and women of integrity.


There goes my teacher,

The humble one, the suffering one

Whose back is as solid as a mountain

Never aching for a minute.

There he goes lowering himself like steps

In great sacrifice, while others climb to glory.


There goes my teacher

The most disdained of all workers.

Yea, foolish youth call him “common chalk holder”

Yet his chalk builds their future,

Each stroke lays one more brick.


There goes my teacher

Though great yet a beggar

He begs not for favour or for waiver

only for some of life’s little comforts:

a roof over the family’s head

good food to keep body and soul in one piece

good education for the children’s tomorrow

four wheels to get around with ease

smashing bright kente for Sunday service

a trip or two to cheer the family

and enough to put away against retirement.

My teacher demands not paradise, not even heaven

Just enough comfort to live here on earth


There goes my teacher,

My good old teacher

His graceful steps now eroded

by years of overwork and depressing pittance

Injustice now stares him blankly in the face

As the grave speedily beckons

There he goes full of the misery

That scares the young from ever holding chalk

Empty classrooms will soon foretell

The first signs of national gloom and doom

Tuesday, January 4, 2011

The shooter and the killer

A photographer
is a shooter but not a killer.

The real killer lurks subtly under his gaze, his very view,
not hiding in obscure hidden places,
but readily perceptible through his lens.
Her power kill is latently dulled in the moment.

Then she rallies to action!
Unleashing graceful body movements and radiating smiles
and the spark in the eyes is a crucial weapon.

Yet there is no death
only furious rising of emotions, and passions if you like.

The shooter in self defence assumes a posture of alertness
quickly drawing his weapon, and pressing the trigger
which results in the capture, albeit virtual, of the killer.
The image remains to tell the story...