
mr_asante's blog
Open your Mind
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The lights are off in my room.I lay in my bed with my duvet covering just my legs from the waist down.I am naked.Waist up, I have on my over sized dashiki.With my head on my arm, I type this text.The breeze in my room is just right.I am sure you are wondering the intent of this random.Well, I have been staring at your Display Picture (Dp) all night.Whispering to myself how gorgeous you look in it.My mind tells me it’s my favorite picture of you so far.But my heart says no.Staring into your face the last time and feeling each line was the best picture of you I could ever grasp.As to how my heart got this lucky in capturing that image, only fate can tell.The more my heart paints this vivid picture, the more my mind coyly giggles.My Lips can’t help but quiver with excitement.Now I am acting a total fool. Doing a little dance of love in my soul.I love you. And I believe I always will.Maybe I am particularly drawn to this Dp because I see your heart shine through your smile. It’s just beautiful. You are beautiful.The sandman is here to do his bidding my love.Only this time he tells me;His magical dust for my eyes is full of your essence,Stolen from your whispers of my name as you drift.He says not to worry, for tonight we shall be,Together.No more separated by distance.But bound by our dreams.So I bid you dream.For there lies our bond.Goodnight my love.I love you.
Painting by Vanessa Bell (1879-1961) -
This moment has been a long time coming. If you are here it means you just watched the trailer “Walk With Me.” And for that, I am grateful.
The making of this Documentary Film wasn’t an easy feat – but for the fact that you are reading this right now, it means we did something right and the intrigue brought you to this page.
This being my first documentary and honestly, a first for the team as well, we wanted to make sure the story was told properly and in an unbiased way. Meaning, a lot of research was put into this production and a lot of stones turned to make sure we did justice to this piece.
On my constant journey as a writer and story teller, I felt this story was necessary. For too long it had been swept under the rug and someone needed to shine a light on it.
Ten years have passed since the Ghana Disability Act of 2006 was signed into law. This law was supposed to curb the marginalization of people with disabilities and help integrate them into the Ghanaian society.
Today being World Disability Day and this year the 10th Anniversary of the law, I wanted to prick the minds of the Ghanaian society. Together with my team, we wanted to create a climate where the Ghanaian people could have a discussion about their treatment of people with disabilities. I wanted them to ask themselves, “Is Ghana a disability friendly country?”
This trailer is just a taste of what is to come in exploring this topic. But before the main Documentary is released (sometime early next year), the discussion must begin. We as a people cannot go another 10 years pretending people with disabilities don’t live side by side with us. That these same people don’t try and board the same trotro’s as we do without struggle. That these same people, do not make a majority of the people begging on our streets in Ghana. Even in some cases, locked up in hidden rooms in homes with no glimmer of hope.
There are some success stories such as the 2016 Presidential candidate for the Conventions People’s Party (CPP) – Mr.Greenstreet who is running despite he being wheelchair bound. But how many success stories are there and is it even more difficult in a society like Ghana for people like Mr.Greenstreet to be accorded the respect they deserve?
It is high time we as a people had this discussion about Disability. It is not going anywhere and we are all one accident away from being in the same situation as our disabled brothers and sisters. What are we as a people doing individually to help create the right climate for the disabled. And even if the right climate existed, what are we doing to maintain and grow it.
Therefore, “Walk With Me”. Take a walk with a disabled person and people who interact with them on the daily to know how your brothers and sisters on the disabled side are “walking” through life in Ghana.
This trailer is just a brief introduction into the world of every brave Ghanaian citizen who was bold enough to share their story with us. And on this day – World Disability Day (December 3rd), I salute each one of them.
To my Team – Jeneral Jay for his excellent Cinematography skills, William for his Production and photography, Patrick of MotionEye Films! Such a great guy! Teff… my dear Teff who edited this whole trailer and also the main Documentary (Coming soon). Teff is Ethiopian people! He doesn’t understand a word of any of the Ghanaian languages spoken throughout the documentary. Neither can he relate to the Ghanaian situation. But the sheer humanity of this project is what drew him to it as an editor. And I am eternal grateful to him. Senyo Cue, our great sound expert! Andrew Amegatcher my contributing writer… All my producers… from Joseph, to Prince, Nii, Amarkah, Sydney (Psycho), Darkoa, Surrey and Kawawa… Thank you guys very much. Without you this project wouldn’t exist.
To my family… thank you for enduring my noise making.
And especially to my mother… thank you very much for teaching me that the world is ours for the taking! As long as we go out there and work for what we want to see reflect in our lives. We are the change we seek. “One day at a time…” even though she told me this a long time ago and she would probably not remember, this mantra has been my guide and has really taught me great lessons. Thank you Ma!
Thank you Sonya Lawrence Green for believing in me and my potential and giving me time off as my boss to work on this independent project!
To everyone who has supported me and my team… I just want to say – Thank you!
God bless… Cheers!
Yours Truly,
Kwame Asante Ofori
Creator, Writer, director and that guy always in your face asking you questions.
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Set in Accra, Ghana – Zig Zag captures the story of a young artiste, Senior, caught in a web. He faces tough decisions where he must walk the road less taken or choose the obvious. His career as a saxophonist is on the line pending his final decision. Or is the decision really his to make? The events in the story reveal to us life is not always black or white; but how most are met with grey choices in trying to pen down their blues and stay above ground.
My debut short film, I am grateful to William (RedSpy Studios) for always buying into my wild ideas and deciding to partner with me on this project. To our Cinematographer Kofi Awuah and Sound guy Abdul Mohammed Majeed… I am eternally grateful.
The actors!!! I cant thank them enough! Great women and men who dedicated their time and talent to make all this worthwhile… God bless you! Each one of them will be introduced when the Short film is premiered.
The wonderful editing by Jeneral Jay is what brought all of this together. And to my hardworking producers: Joseph Amo-Nti, Sydney Boateng, Richmond Laryea and Darkoa Adjekum who tirelessly made sure we covered every angle on this project – I say thank you.
Nadia Hanson (Make up), Adjeley (accessories) and Morel Designs (Costume design) – you you rock!!!
And last but not least, I want to say a big thank you to Boyd Larmie and Oversame for giving us permission to use their beautiful song “Pleasure” which fit perfectly with the message in our trailer. You can find more of Boyd’s music on Soundcloud.com. Just type “Boyd Larmie” in the search bar.
At this point, I feel very excited that you guys get to see this trailer and very soon the actual short film. Thanks for your support over the years. I promise to keep providing you with quality content as you grow with me! Ubuntu – I am because you are. Cheers!
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Despair was very present. Mom just lay there – helpless. “Should we call in our resident priest sir?” said the nurse with what looked like pity in her eyes. “Who does this nurse think she is? Why does she allow pity creep through her soul, when she is just a mere witness to life’s unfair treatment?” my thoughts in acrobatic furry. “I live in a country awash with deities and not a single one lends me its ear? If Nana Nyame will not respond, will Asaase Yaa let my mother rot in her bosom?” I felt a tear run down my cheek. “What is this? Where are you from?” In a state of madness, I asked my wet fingers. Seemingly staring at what looked to be my body’s response to the tragedy that lay before me – grated and shook, Mama was slipping into the abyss.
“Could you please point me to your chapel” I asked the nurse in the calmest voice I could muster. The chapel was tiny. Very tiny but looked very potent. A single candle was lit in front of the altar. The room felt heavy. A hollow room it was, yet full of presence. The nurse left me to my will and as soon as I heard the door shut, sorrow welcomed me. A tsunami of emotions: fear and tears waved me to the ground. Desperation surfed on both heels. It presented itself in a set of careless whispers.
“You told me you will be there for me. You told me You never fail. You told me you love me. Or should I say loved? I know I am not perfect. But today, Your perfect creation lies on her death bed in this hospital gasping for life. Why are You taking away Your Angel from me? Why not me – the bruised one? Now who will guide and comfort me? She has served You diligently and You repay her like this? How is this fair? How are You being fair right now? Have You been lying to her… to us this whole time?” the tears felt like hot water on my cheeks. My head had developed a pulse of its own. It ached as much as my heart did.
I heard the door of the chapel open. It was the cleaning lady on her usual morning rounds. “Are you ok sir?” she asked in the calmest voice. “I can come back later. I don’t mind” she sounded apologetic. “Yes I am fine, thank you” I said in my croakiest voice. “Please proceed with whatever you have to do.” I wiped away the tears. “Do you think God loves us all like they say?” I asked solemnly as she wiped down the huge cross behind the candle at the altar. With a look of shock and as if I had spoken of heathenish things, the cleaning lady in a very reprimanding voice… “Sir, no matter what is bothering you, just know that your ways are not His ways. Sometimes, He takes us through the toughest of situations to prepare us for the battles ahead. In every battle there is collateral damage. But don’t let that let you lose your faith. Believe in His master plan and He will show you His steadfast love. Love he shares equally among us all.” The cleaning lady continued to clean. She broke into hymn. I guess she figured that would calm me. But her clichés did nothing for me. “Then why is He taking her away?” I asked, whimpering. This time staring her dead in her eyes. With a smile on her face “Sometimes, God recalls his Angels back to heaven because their work here on earth is done. It doesn’t mean the devil won’t use that opportunity to test your faith. That one is a testy one. And he will make sure he uses all means available to him to make every Angel’s departure from earth very hard for them and their family. A cunn…”
The nurse rushed in, instantly interrupting us. “Sir, you need to come with me” she said, this time not with pity in her eyes, but a certain blankness that made my heart sink. I followed her solemnly and with fear pulsing through my blood; my heart, a thumbing mess. Over my mother’s bed stood the priest they spoke of, the resident doctor and a bible clutched to mother’s heart. “We are sorry, but we tried everything we could. We did our best.” The doctor said, in his best version of what sincerity was. That didn’t stop my body from quaking. A resounding shake of anger possessed me. Tears flowed, words bellowed, I was on the floor. Uncontrollable, inconsolable, my rock was diminished – my mother was dead. Her heart had failed her. Faith had failed her.
Where is my silver lining?
I woke up from my dream saying this. Sweating bullets – my pillow taking each hit. I looked over my shoulder, and there she lay, her drip still in place. Mom was breathing fine. Her bible was open by her side. A huge sigh of relief. My sigh transpired into a whisper. A repetition… “Dear God, where is my silver lining…?”
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Rolling off the tongue,
A metamorphosed shtick of pleasure.
In and out In and out – it moves with rigorous friction and pressure.A bitter sweet taste of everlasting serenity,
Only drowned by the spittle seeping from the lip-side.
One might groan and moan from the intense pleasure;
Yet is steady as not to release the logoligied juice of intensity!As we near the peak of ecstasy,
We seem to heighten our senses to receive every juice of joy.
Our whole body grows intense and then at once,
THE BODY OF WORDS THAT SEEM TO ENTERTAIN OUR VERY EAR AND STIMULATE OUR WIRED MINDS SPEW OUT HOT AND CONSCIOUS JOY. SO THAT OUR BEING IS AT PEACE AND FULLY STIMULATED.
Catharsis!
Words spoken, Spoken words.
Words Written, Written words.
The Duplicity of life.
The power of a Wordsmith.
A play on the mind, A play on reality.
Understanding is the spark.
Believing is fire.
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I come from a place where good morning means nothing
A place where respect is earned
Not by Face value
But by the lining in my pocket.
I come from a place where Dabidabi 3b3y3 yie is the national anthem
Sang for some 61 years and yet nothing seems to fathom
All I hear is 3nd3 di3 ay3 yie
Sang by our supposed Nationalist
Patriots who sing to the glory of their accounts – Parrots
I come from a place where religion has left my neighbors drank with fear
Touch not my anointed they are quick to sneer
And look on as these supposed anointed parade so clear
In first class, Mercedes Benzes and motorcades
A slap for a miracle, a 9 month kick for deliverance.
We praise the messengers and not the message
Allowing so many con-artists to pitch camp in our minds.
I come from a place where people want to be thought for
Present them with facts and they will tell you
I didn’t hear it from my Aunties – Cousins – wife who is currently…
In Plain Sight
Propaganda trades, and every soul buys and sells.
A sad truth, an unending roller-coaster.
I come from a place where Roads, Schools and Electric Poles are built
And everyone wants to clap for their government
Laudable, yes… but what are you clapping for?
Who else do you expect to build these things if not your “Ministers”?
Its root word from Latin which means Servants
Instead, applaud yourself for making sure you put your Servants (ministers) to work.
The end result a testament to your future generations.
I come from a place where abrofosem is cherished over the traditional.
I lie? Turn on your radio right this minute. Satisfied?
Where I come from has beauty and splendor – Its blood of royal lineage
But like a goat to a flower – some have chosen to slowly chew on our majesty
And keep us quiet by pumping fear and lies into our lungs.
And they keep it there by hiding behind suits while we struggle with our A,B,C’s.
I come from a place, where a young man like me is never respected
Even if he is to find the cure to cancer
Just because he is young – what does he know? Or what has he seen?
To open my mouth is taboo.
To criticize my leaders in their face is sin
And therefore I am cut off… like…
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What happens at dawn?
Do you not wonder?
When sleep shifts from 5th to 3rd.
Ignore the 4th
For forth comes the lazy 2nd.
Till you land on the 1st – gear of sleep
The 1st person to wake.
Mama Akos.
The sound and strength of her short broom against the hard concrete floor.
Like that of GTV at the end of its transmission.
Its effect to awaken.
The prospect of a sad next.
Programming like clockwork.
Robotic, if you may.
Yet her Joyous singing
“Da n’ase, Da naaaaaa-se, Da Onyame n’ase! Afri s3! Oye!…”
Eases the pain of light.
A cue to stay awake.
Kwabena.
The swish swash sound of water eagerly making runs around his face.
His tooth brush begins to bleed, continuously being abused through the constant slap it receives from his teeth.
There he goes, sauntering towards the main road
The life of a trotro mate, similar to that of an Okpo bird.
Very early, its call – a shriek of 5am.
“Circ, Circ, Circ, Kaneish!..”
A call onto prayer.
He calls on all commuters to come board his metallic coffin
If indeed they wish to make it to their destination on time.
Fully awake now.
Abena.
Running in her heels.
Definitely cleansed of her Morning Zombie Syndrome.
Cussing under her breath.
“Why Lord? Heels against the bare dusty ground? Who made heels the standard for women anyway? I am sure an Adam somewhere, who wanted to further the suffering of women. As if childbirth wasn’t enough! Where are my fellow Feminists when you need them?”
She barely makes it.
The front seat of the moving trotro becomes her portion.
Piercing eyes are her weakness
“Madam you look nice oo”, a frustration!
Another rant maybe?
“Not today” she whispers under her breathe.
She is late
Her Temper Definitely awake.
What happens at dawn?
Koko, Waakye, and Chibom fill the air.
A sign it is time again to begin another hustle – a new day.
I once heard from a wise man
If you wake up every morning angry at the thought of going to work, or have a serious urge to call in sick but for the fact that common courtesy stops your fingers, then you are in the wrong job! We can’t always have what we want, we sometimes find ourselves taking bendy roads in our lives that don’t seem direct or make you feel lost. It’s ok to take long bendy roads. They are filled with lessons and mistakes. They make you stronger! But you need to understand that there will come a time when you will need to jump! Take a leap of faith! Fear leads to failure and fear is what will get you stuck in that job or position you despise. As soon as you take that leap, you will fall hard and bruise yourself but note – you will not die! After all, no one was promised a cushion and bed of roses in life. I repeat again, you will bruise yourself but you will not die! Do you know why? Because you were once on a long bendy road full of lessons and mistakes. And it’s those lessons and mistakes which will guide you on your new found courage to jump. Your lessons will cushion you when you fall! That is why you will not die. People recover from bruises all the time. Success is not easily garnered. It takes bruises, blood and pain for success to come. But if you remain at that job you hate so much, you will certainly die. And no one recovers from death.
And that my brothers and sisters, is how you will come to find true happiness and fulfillment.
What happens at dawn then?
A new day. A new opportunity to Jump!
Jump little bird! Jump! For if you don’t jump out of your nest, you will never learn to fly.
You won’t get to sing the joyous songs of Mama Akos.
Or watch from a distance as Kwabena calls unto them that refuse to jump – stuck in a gyre, just like Abena – forever a Zombie.
Jump!
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Nonchalant became sorrow personified. My father’s eyes bore its presence. Screams churned into instructions. “Get out of this house! And take those little brats with you.” My mother bellowed. “I never want to see your faces again! Demons!”My sister couldn’t contain herself any longer. She broke out of my grip and run towards our mother. Before she could even touch her, “Don’t you dare hold me with your satanic hands.” were the words that greeted her. My mother had disgust oozing out her every crevice towards my sister at that point. My sister just stood there, frozen. Blank – as if lost in a trance; certainly hypnotized by those words. All that motioned were the tears that flowed with such force yet serenity from her eyes. It made my father sob.
In one swift motion, my father moved towards my sister and picked her up from the ground into his car. I followed suit and off we drove, never to see my mother again. That was how religion broke into my house and used its teething agent, Pastor Clement, to make me motherless and rip my family apart. A demon I became, with my father and sister my accomplices. Just because my mother’s horrid dreams were interpreted on “hallowed grounds” for selfish gains. Oh the beauty of religion!
Alas you sit here today, after all these years, asking me to call you mother again? Because hell froze over and me with it? I have no mother! My father – died from sorrow five years ago. My sister, mental from a long love lost. The audacity of thought you have before me, using the name of that same “hallowed ground” to seek forgiveness from me, “a demon”.
Hell does know this fury that burns in my heart “mother”. And its scorn towards you a thousand angels cannot lift. You will learn to live with your actions forever, and your dead husband shall haunt your conscience till thy kingdom come. That is what you get, when you allow religion as interpreted by a mere man to dictate how you should live your life. So much so you ignore your husband’s pleas for his children to be loved again – even on his death bed.
Did not your own good book say “God is love, and love is God”? Why then is your kind quick to hate and condemn with open arms, without taking time to see reason? They would rather spit on a fellow and push that fellow deep into the darkness than use love and compassion to bring people to the light they claim to know so well.
Alas, here we are! You, in the shoes of the demon. And me, the high and mighty with all power in the world granted to me by your light. “Forgive and Forget” they say. Tsk! Now you know how it feels to be condemned when all you seek is love.
Dear mother, this dead Dove you speak to knows not love… hence knows not God! Therefore … Goodbye forever woman.
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Plastic girls in their plastic world
Making men fume with their plastic chord
Tis this fakery that binds them all
Strangling and struggling In their plastic coreOnce upon a time, tis cliché
When all but her innocence remained
She found Picasso’s brush as it lay
This – the beginning of a fuss and a fad“Is this the key to freedom” she wondered
The miracle of Eve to which they flaunted
The magic of a single stroke
This – Eve’s brush, would render all men broke“Let’s give this a try then; after all, woman must eat mustn’t she?”
So began the creation of the banshee
A monster so loud ’twas as energy from the sun
Thus fueling this very zombie of a son“It’s alive” the mirror shrieked
Picasso was complete
A work of art
The primary colors properly drowned her eyelids
All the rose in the world were lost to her lips
For her cheeks, Krusty the clown would blush
An awe that would make the circus crashTo the wind she cracked and smiled.
“It is finished” she said…
Indeed it is finished …
Picasso was complete
“I am complete”
Let the bidding begin.The artwork above was originally painted by Picasso in March 1932. Named “Girl before a mirror”, this image was said to evoke Vanity. An inspiration for my Poem – Eve’s Picasso.

