Stories

Ghanain culture, like most others around the world, has a rich tradition of story telling. Stories to entertain, stories to educate, and stories to help make sense of the world around us. However, the stories themselves are only part of the magic. Miso'shi says, "Anyone can tell a story, but that doesn't make them a storyteller". Enabling your audience to feel the emotions of the characters and bringing reality and fantasy closer together is storytelling. Miso'shi uses the medium of stories to get her messages across to an often captivated audience.

Mansa and Mama Bobolanga

Abba Mansa does not do as she is told. She went for a walk when her mother went to the market. She took a banana, a mango, a pawpaw, a coconut, a tangerine and an orange. She tied them in her cloth and carried it on her hand. She walked through the market. Her mother was in the market. The market was very busy. She saw her mum in the market. She was shouting at a large lady selling yams. Mansa hid herself behind the large lady.

She crossed the road. There were lizards everywhere. She walked into a field of very tall grass. The bees and other insects buzzed round her head. She walked past a huge anthill. She stopped and watched the ants and had a banana. There was water running down a hill. So she had a drink. She carried the bag of fruits on her shoulder and walked through a banana farm. She took some bananas and put them in her bag. That is bad behaviour. She saw a monkey taking some bananas too. The sun was hot. Mansa was getting tired. She balanced the bag on her head. She was able to swing her arms to walk a little faster.

The sun was up in the sky. It made her hot. Mansa sat under the shade of some pawpaw trees to rest. A pawpaw fell from the tree and hit her on the head. She looked up. There was a little monkey that followed her. Mansa was cross. The monkey pulled a face. Mansa dragged her bag on the ground behind her. Then she swung it from side to side. The sun was going down. She has to go back home. But she cannot find her way. Mansa played hide and seek with the monkey.

Mansa saw a little shed in a farm of pineapples far away under some mango trees. Mansa tried the door and went in. It was very cool inside. There was a straw hat on the wall. She tried it on and put it back. The monkey put it on his head. Mansa laughed. There were some large shoes under the window. She put them on. There were two beautiful large cloths hanging on a nail. She took one and wrapped it round herself. She used the other one and wrapped it round her head like her mum does. Mansa could smell some food. On a low table there was a plate of food. She smelt it and had a taste using her finger. It was not very nice. She pulled a face. The monkey pulled a face too. She sat on a low seat near the table. The wind blew the door open. In the door way stood the large lady she saw in the market. Mansa stood up. She was frightened. The lady was cross. Mansa started to cry and said that she was sorry. The lady said it was bad behaviour to go into people's houses without being asked to do so. It was bad behaviour to help your self to things that don't belong to you. She said 'I am Mama Bobolanga'. The monkey is my friend.

Mama Bobolanga took Mansa back home safe to her mum who was also very cross because she was looking for Mansa. Mama bobolanga and Mansa's mum became friends. Mansa goes to the market on market days to help Mama Bobolanga and brings back yams and pineapples for dinner.

Poems

On a visit to Ghana, Miso'shi's son (13 at the time) was inspired to write several poems about the people and places he saw. We hope to add stories and poems written in the course of Miso'shi's visits in the near future.

The Anthills - Alex (13)

It towers above the ground by the road side,
Casting a strange shadow.
Standing motionless as though it has always been there.

This giant brick red castle with its many turrets,
Looks out over the countyside
Waiting...

Suddenly movement.
A soldier peers out from an opening.
Then another.

Soon an army of troops are streaming from every part.
As they reach the ground they charge toward me,
Thousands and thousands of feet move in silence.

I decide to run,
Evading capture easily.
No shots are fired,
The damage is repaired silently.

The structure is silent.
Long deserted.
I give it a poke,
Just to make sure.

Part of the castle crumbles,
And blows away in the breeze.
Slipping through my fingers.

The Streets - Alex (13)

Who knows who they are,
Who knows where they are going,
All I know is,
They are in my way.

Barging and pushing,
Shoving and wading,
All I know is,
They are in my way.

Some are selling,
Some are shopping,
All I know is,
They are in my way.

People are shouting,
People are singing,
All I know is,
They are in my way.

I need to keep moving,
I've got places to be,
Don't they know...
They are in my way?

I get shoved in the back,
A man brushes past,
He turns round to say,
Boy you're in my way!

Memories of the Beach - Alex (13)

Outside my window it rains.
The wind blows the trees,
Playing a cruel game.
I can't go outside.

But if I close my eyes and try,
I can go anywhere.
Anytime I want to.

I'm lying on a beach in Ghana,
Sitting under a palm tee for shade.
The wind is not cruel here,
She gently caresses the leaves.
Soothing my mind.

Waves break on the shore,
Bringing gifts from far away,
And short relief from the baking sun.