She woke up to a familiar tone from her phone – Beep!  With one eye open and the other half shut, she checked the alarm close to her bedside – 2:25am. She wondered who would send her a text at such a weird hour of the day; hoping it would be confirmation of the paycheck she had earned from her employer. It was the end of the month.

However, she found herself hurrying for a handkerchief, after she had held her phone close to her face for close to a minute. Tears flowed uncontrollably from her face ;It wasn’t a paycheck but a payback for everything she had said and done. The phone giving a few flashes, highlighted the unknown number anytime she took a glance at the message. Looking askance, she wondered what she would have done if she was back in France.

Reporting to work the next day, was a figure with scuffled hair and pulsating eyes. Her pupils were dilated with fear and the fine tremors of her hands made her usual neat work clumsy. She kept turning her head left and right, looking for hidden cameras. Her colleague brought her back to her senses, when she was reminded she was not acting a reality show. But the serial messages did not make sense.

The phone beeped again- What followed was a shallow breath which made her lose the pager in her hand- to fright. She wanted to pay heed to the advice of ignoring the messages, but she was scared! It was just like she had her twin in custody, and that she had to follow command within her means, to ensure her sister was bailed out.

The message read “You are not forgiven, I know what you did and I am telling everyone”. Screenshots of conversations she had engaged in, followed like a thread. This threw her into a frenzy and drove her nuts. She had been tagged with an explosive, patiently waiting for detonation in the hands of her predator. She was scared stiff and did not know what to do, and who to trust. So, she took a cab home.

She is Amanda, A Christian career woman who had gained a lot of fame in the business market recently. She had just began working in a reputable firm, and had the skills and guts required to progress the corporate ladder very easily. She was willing to go above and beyond the sky, for what she stood for, and boy! She climbed the ranks- hitting the position of Chief Finance Officer in the next 3 months. There she worked overtime, making all her field goals attempted and filling any voids in her work. It appeared she was loved by all because she was hardworking, friendly and eager to learn. She was a firm believer of good will, and the fact that hard work paid in huge amounts at the right time. Unfortunately, she had made quite a number of false friends and true enemies.

Inadvertently, she had raised the eyebrows of quite a number of suitors from every mansion and den. She wouldn’t pass by without necks being turned and glasses dropping. Ceramics in restaurants were even knocking their heads anytime she passed. Her hair was silk stranded, long and dark, flying with any slight breeze of wind. Her glasses were state of the art- designed to conceal her beautiful features. Her eyebrows and lips? Darn!! Enough of the imagination, Reality beckoned.

It was a cold, blustery night so she didn’t expect anyone to be out in the car park but then, she found a note plastered on the windscreen of her car. She was thrilled at how the person could have evaded the parking lot cameras and sent her the blackmailing message. This sent chills down her spine; so she left her car behind, and took a cab to her best friend’s place, to narrate everything that had happened over the past few days and seek a safe haven for the night.

Chris, her childhood friend, sensed the terror in her eyes when he opened the door on her arrival. She was soothed with a cup of coffee and slow dazzling music- soft spot. When she had calmed down, they tried to narrow down the suspects but tallying the people she had met recently with the contact she had, just to find the missing link.

Not surprising, Chris dialed the number. phone off. He then tried to access the number from the phonebook directory on his phone.the number was registered, however such classified information warranted the nod of a number of signatories. She spent the night at Chris’s, hoping to unravel the identity of the mystery man the next day.

6:00 am the next day, she awoke to a welcoming breakfast in bed with a ‘best of luck’ note from Chris. She showered down and set off, ready for the day.

Then, the phone beeped! With a message from Chris this time. “Meet me at the parking lot, I have something to tell you. We have found our person. It is Esi Akoto!”

Right afterwards, the phone beeped again, she hurriedly swiped the screen, like her life depended on it, hoping the message would be from Chris but then, it was another blackmail message. “Send 5000 Ghana cedis to the stated account number or everyone would know what you did”. She would have brushed the message off, had it not been for the numerous intimidating photos that followed.

An hour after meeting Chris, she had no time to waste; she picked up her phone and dialed the ‘known’ digits of her former best friend.

Esi was her classmate, throughout primary school to the world of work where she was her colleague. They basically did everything together which included exchanging phones for a week or two, to sharing the same desk at work. Their friendship, however grew sour, when Esi’s boyfriend dumped her and went after Amanda, some months ago. What killed her was that fact that Amanda had a new office of her own with her name written boldy on the door while she still worked at the front desk.

Amanda had asked of her help a countless times, anytime she got to work distressed, but Esi always had a cool head; feigning signs of concern and love.

“Can I come and spend a few days with you? I’m so scared!” Amanda said, over the phone, when she had already packed her things for a week. “You know my house is always your house” Esi replied, smirking on the other side of the phone.

The next 2 hours, Amanda found herself at the doorstep of her friend’s house. Esi’s welcoming smile made her swallow a gulp and clench the backpack she had brought along. ‘Friends!!’  She thought, as she entered the house.

Amanda took a seat, and examined the room; it looked like recent renovations had been done. The internal décor looked fresh and brand new. ‘The girl must be making a lot of money out of me’ she thought, as Esi returned from the kitchen.

Lodging her seat right beside her, she listened attentively to Amanda’s ordeal, shedding tears a number of times, until the message got to the point- “I have found who she is”

Esi stole a glance at her friend, whose demeanor had changed now. Guilt fell on her face when she attempted to ask who the blackmailer was. However, what mirrored her face was a 3mm gun in the hands of her ‘best friend’

“Why me? Esi? Why me?? After all these years. Why?” Amanda cried, holding the gun up close. Esi was dumbfounded.

Then she leapt, in an attempt to seize the gun from her hands. In shock, Amanda pulled the trigger, landing a bullet on her chest with a resounding blast.

Esi let out a scream, and landed on her own carpet in a thud, covered in blood. Realizing the harm caused, the gunwoman attempted to stop bleeding but then, how do you stop bleeding from a ruptured vena cava, when you are not a cardiothoracic surgeon? Her last words were “I did it out of jealously and envy” and she kicked the bucket. Like a staged play, Amanda fainted.

9:00am, Amanda found herself in her bed, with a towering figure over her. Surprised, she wondered how she got to her room and why she was still in a night gown. It took a minute before she made out Esi; in her executive dress. “Amanda!! I’m quitting my job if you aren’t fired today. I called your phone a couple of times, so I had to come over to see if you were okay”

Amanda shook her head a couple of times, wondering if this was real. It was then she realized it had had a nightmare she could not wake up from.

“Thank God it was all a dream” she said as she hugged Esi, hurriedly showered, and got ready with breakfast, as her best friend ironed her clothes.

The End!!

PhotoCredit: Google Images

Eliezer Bernard Owusu Ntim.


At 03:09 a.m., glimmers of light streamed across my ward cubicle, as the main door of my hospital room opened. It wasn’t unusual to see a nurse come and go at any hour. I remained wide awake as I found no peace or rest from the inner turmoil I was facing.

My previously “nearly perfect life” was wrecked by the cruel intrusion of stage 2 breast cancer. I could not understand how this had happened, to begin with. Mike and I had been happily married together for the last 15 years, and we had three sons of the ages of 3, 10 and 13. We were planning to move to a new home, which Mike had custom-built for the five of us.

Anyways, one day following a mastectomy, I tried “picking up the pieces” in regards to my breaking life, and simply trying to analyze how to best cope with this new turn of events.

The nurse who had entered my room had a familiar face. I had known her from church, a place where she always appeared both quiet and reserved. And for some reason, our lives had never intersected outside of the occasional crowded church foyer greetings. We’d maybe say “Hello”, and that was it.

But on a particular night, she happened to be the one assigned to take my vitals. She did something beyond extraordinary and completely unexpectedly —- pulling up a chair to sit by my bedside. My left ventricle contracted pushing blood through my eyes.

Without uttering a word, she took my hand. For the next five minutes, she held it in calm silence. Her very presence was so sensitive that I cried away every last word and remained 100 % speechless, not knowing how to respond.

Others, of course, had previously offered several encouraging — and even often clumsy —- words and well wishes when I was admitted at the hospital. Some went to the extent of even leaving behind a novel, for me to read, which, to me, meant absolutely nothing in such a dark hour-When death kept barging on my door.

But this special lady, instead, gave me something significantly more invaluable: a gentle touch that made everything get better, by providing the gift of understanding through human presence.

With her, I did not struggle to hold any conversation or simply make excuses for why this terrible thing could have happened to me. With her silence, she would simply let allow my soul to rest as she then gave me a supernatural comfort with each kind touch. It felt so heavenly; like I had a healing angel holding my hand, enveloping me with the weight of her full, miraculous love. Words alone cannot fully express this —- you have to have lived it to understand.

Later, those dark days came to an end, and the breast cancer went back into its bud. My life had moved on — one filled with a great family, wonderful friends and a bright future.

I never saw this nurse again when I returned to church, and asked around for her by mentioning her first name. To my surprise, the other church members — and even the church staff — had no recollection of her, when I described her to them.

Very little did I know that God would have sent me a miraculous angel at the hospital, a deep compassion that took root with the embodiment of one sweet nurse.

As a result of this encounter, my husband and I have told this story, even several years later, in an effort to help all women who have no means with which to help themselves be free of breast cancer, once and for all, just as I am.

Why do we, as imperfect human beings, so often feel that we need to fill our atmosphere with mere words, as if everything we’d say would make things “all right”?

Next time you encounter someone battling breast cancer, kindly commend the person for being a fighter. You could start by observing their needs ;Then, reach out with a sincere touch of affection. You never know what could happen from a touch of your hand.

In my case, it became nothing short of a miracle.




Tick, tock, tick tock, Michael counted the clicks, as death flashed a light as he strolled by. He attempted to avoid death’s gaze by looking left and right but the beam directly fell on his face in whichever direction he turned his head. He couldn’t escape today. There was no way He was breaking free from the spider’s web. “Mama!” He called out! But then even He could not hear himself. He lay afloat the sea of desperation and envisioned a raft dancing from a distance.
Then, he heard the gentle sobs of his mother and felt the agonizing heart of his father, as imperceptible hands clenched his cold fingers. His heart skipped another beat on the monitor in an attempt to catch a glimpse of the doctor strenuously pressing on his precordium, forcefully pushing his strong palms against his frail, weary heart.
Every moment happened in succession and his worlds began to drift apart, the broken framework continued to shatter, revealing pieces of the other world, – So beautiful and lovely! The thin thread affixing his soul to his body wavered. With every tick, the thread detached from its fastness and propelled him further downwards. Tick, tock, tick, tock.
There was my hand, fiddling for a pulse, just a single pulse! The sign of a persevering life. His pulse however kept tapping my finger lightly like an oscillating pendulum- So faint and thready.
The story then unfolds, Michael was wheeled in by the nurses after He was triaged a code of red, which meant he had to be seen immediately. He was involved in a road traffic accident, as a restrained passenger, in a top speeding bus. On that day, He was sandwiched between his grandmother and his mother who were seated on his left and right respectively; His two guardian angels. They had said a word of prayer as they set off to their destination. – The airport.
Daddy had returned from a 7 year expedition which earned him the title “Specialist Physician”. He waited patiently for the arrival of his family because he had not set sight on them in a very long time. He longed to see his son; who looked so much like him.
Rewind to the bus, Michael read a bedtime novel he bucked in his backpack before the journey. Mother enjoyed her playlist from her favorite musician –Joe Mettle, and Grannie went back to the blues; keeping her gaze fixed on the moving glass window, seemingly reminiscing the past – the good old times with Papa Mensah. She held back tears, as she aroused her last moments with him – on the hospital bed.
The man writhed in pain and gasped for air, battling so hard to set himself free from the terminal stages of prostate cancer. She clinched her grandson closer retaining the presence of her husband in the boy, Michael.
It all happened in a flash, Misery in motion. Her mother recalls recoiling herself backwards to take a nap, the driver throwing the car in a berserk motion to avoid collision with the big truck, frantic screams, convulsions and gasps from the passengers, in different motions of recovery, from the front to the rear of the car, dilated pupils bracing themselves for impact, rigid flexed knees ready to take a knock for being hard headed, and bloodshot ears which screeched to the sound of the bang.

Fast forward to the hospital, Grandmother, mother and grandson are being wheeled to the emergency department. Michael was in a coma, not responding to command, touch and pain. He was triaged RED and images from his head to his foot were taken.
The head and neck CT scan showed a large bleed on both sides of his brain with associated fractures of the cervical spine vertebrae. A chest x-ray showed serial rib fractures with collection of blood in the right lung and a pelvic x-ray showed widening of the pubis symphysis. He spiked a constant fever of 40.6 which was unresponsive to anti-pyretics. Even his lungs denied the oxygen being impaled through his nostrils.
He then began to deteriorate, very fast! The call was made and pride of doctors surged in. Surprisingly, his father too joined. His pulse glowed faintly and diminished with every shot of adrenaline being pumped in, eventually moving into hibernation. The atmosphere hinted it was his time to leave; the doctors reclined when the zephyr disappeared.
After 30mins of cardiopulmonary resuscitation, Michael’s pupils were fixed and dilated; unresponsive to the touch of a cotton wool. There was no respiratory effort and no carotid pulse – The pulse we had fought to bring back.
I gently closed his eyelids and checked the time: 11:25pm. I wished I could have done something more to save his life but then, I had ran out of options and so He had assumed room temperature. I bowed my head as I exited the emergency department breaking the unfortunate news to his uncle. Rest in peace Michael.

Eliezer Bernard Owusu Ntim.


I paced through the wards frantically trying to adapt to the new ballgame at hand. In this case, I was no longer that medical student jumping from one patient to the other, but the doctor to whom a patient’s life would be entrusted to. As usual my white lab coat was neatly ironed. Did I say as usual? I mean it’s because it’s the first day. With your first day at work, impressions matter. I smiled to every patient as I was being introduced to them, intently taking notes.

To my right was the Senior Resident of the team; dictating our schedules for the week, and to my left, were my colleagues who were co- house officers, Dr. Akpaloo and Dr. Adu Poku. The work seemed to submerge us because we did not know what to do a particular time. Belinda would ask, “When are we taking blood samples?”, “Where are we retrieving the patient’s labs from?”, “Which drugs are covered by the Health Insurance?”, “Should I wait for the relatives to come over so I discuss the prognosis or should I call them over the phone?” The work was a lot but we knew we would definitely come through. It was all a matter of time.

Making things worse, we met the lead clinician and team head who taunted us with a few of the medical school questions. “What are the complications of a thyroidectomy?”, “For clean cases and contaminated cases, which one would you operate first and why?”. The why part thrust me into dandelions of wonder because I knew this was common sense. You obviously bath your face first before your feet but I couldn’t look askance. I was as cool as a cold cucumber. I tried so hard to rhyme.

The patients on the ward had cases ranging from appendicitis through hemorrhoids to gastric and rectal malignancies. There were lots of distended abdomens which rendered the wards not a pleasing sight to behold. I then thought to myself “These were all ‘normal’ people. What could have possibly gone wrong? This situation would not last forever.”

I came to work the next day, noticing two empty beds which were occupied the previous day. Empty beds signaled good news. The patient has been discharged. The question then would be discharged where? Home? Or the other side of town? In that sense, Doctors tried all they could but the patient just couldn’t survive. It was just their time.

The first patient on the male ward I encountered was a 36 year old man diagnosed with rectal carcinoma a year ago. I used carcinoma? I mean cancer. He was “in his usual state of health” until he noticed a bulge emerge in his perineum as he passed stools. Making things worse, He also noticed his faeces were stained with bright red blood.

These red lights brought him to the hospital in a swift. He looked so energetic and well at that time. He was just a worried man concerned about his health. Laboratory investigations confirmed he had a rectal carcinoma in situ.

Rectal carcinoma in situ means the cancer was just in the bud. Just like a caterpillar growing in a cocoon. Being in its early stages indicated the cancer had not grown beyond the inner layer of the rectum.

Chest X- rays and CT scans excluded the possibility of metastasis (spread of the cancer). Risk factors for rectal cancer include old age, drinking three or more alcoholic drinks per day, smoking cigarettes, and being obese. However his risk factor could not be determined. He was just 36 years, had a health weight, had never smoked cigarettes nor drank alcohol. It was idiopathic.

Then he began to lose weight. The scare. His workplace was thrown into a frenzy. Everyone thought he had AIDS because he kept wasting. He had his own shop where he sold and repaired computers and according to his friends, he was so good at it but they were bad at sympathizing with him.  At this rate, He could not wear his clothes any longer and continued to spew out anything he ate.

He was brought to the emergency department one day when he suddenly lost consciousness on his way to work. All his laboratory values checked were deranged. Notably, was his hemoglobin level which was 1.7g/dl. Normal ranges are 13.0 -18.0 g/dl. He had bled out.

He was given 8 units of blood and further tests revealed the cancer had spread to a large area of his large intestine. His forebodings were now justified and he cringed on the bed, weeping like a baby. Why him? At this crucial stage of his life? He was just married 6 months ago to a beautiful lady and there was no way he was starting life this way.

He was counselled for surgery to limit the spread of the cancer. The surgery involved resection (removal) of the part of the large intestine affected, together with the rectum. In order for this to be possible, a permanent colostomy had to be done.

A permanent colostomy meant the healthy end of the large intestine had to be brought to his abdomen, creating a channel for the passage of feces on his skin. This was heavy news! But that was the only feasible way to save his life. It took 3 days with the clinical psychologist before He budged on his decision. “The rapture that was associated with being alive, was what mattered.” His wife told him.

He had his surgery done and started chemotherapy a week afterwards. This was the state I had met him – A week after his first shot of chemotherapy. He always lay in bed because he did not have the strength to get up and walk. Amazingly, his wife never left his side despite the state he was in. He had all the love and support he needed. He was aware of his prognosis and he gave up most of the time, but his wife always stood by him when he faltered.

A week after the surgery, He was rushed back to the operating theatre because the surgical intervention failed. It took a lot of steady hands which worked tirelessly, quick feet which rushed for blood, and a miracle before He made it out of the operating room alive.

Fast forward to 4 weeks later in the consulting room, I can’t help but stare at a young man taking strides confidently into the room. I couldn’t hide my joy. “Kweku!! You look good!” Surprisingly,  He had no complaints just a headache which resolved upon taking a tablet of paracetamol in the morning. He smiled and said a big thank you to the team for saving his life, and left the consulting room exactly as He came.

Grace has the power to give beauty for ashes, strength for fear, gladness for mourning and peace for despair.  It is true tough times never last but tough people do. Two men may have the same affliction but to one it shall be as gall and wormwood, yet it shall be wine and honey to another. So hold on!

God has a thousand ways to turn your situation around that you’ve never even thought of. Just because you don’t see a way doesn’t mean God doesn’t have a way – Joel Osteen

Thanks for reading.



A Beautiful face, a wonderful heart

Comforting hands that wrap the blessed piece

For the sake of love

A loud cry, shrouding the tears of a mother

The product that willingly offers to its offspring

He fills his heart with all of his mother’s words

His lips are pursed to speak but wide to breathe

Widespread arms extend for his frail hands

Welcoming them is a seat of rejection

And an emblem of smiles.

Healing hands that redeem their sight

He walked on the sea just to cleanse their fright

Taming the same sea’s entanglement, Faith demonstrates

A precious shield, I yearn to carry

Praying and fasting, He outlined his death

Being tempted, He showed His way

The way, which is truth and life!

Demons tremble at the mention of the name Jesus

Jesus, The Good Shepherd – I love You!


Who can stand against the Lord.

No one can, No one will.


Who will stand against the King.

No one can, No one will.


Victory Belongs To Jesus

Victory belongs to Him.


Who can stand against the Lord.

No one can, No one will.


Who can stand against the King.

No one can, No one will.


Victory Belongs To Jesus

Victory belongs to Him.



We turn our trust in you.

We turn our hope in you.


You will deliver, you’re a provider

I find my victory in you.

Forever victorious, forever we win.

I find my victory in you.


Victory Belongs To Jesus

Victory belongs to Him.


Victory Belongs To Jesus

Victory belongs to Him.


Victory Belongs to Jesus – Todd Dulaney

This song gets to me anytime I listen to it. It is the song of a worshipper’s heart. What is worship then? It is dedication of our selfless hearts to God by renouncing our sins altogether. To begin by making ourselves a new heart possibly with a new conducting system intricately connected to Him, that He can unleash his spiritual gifts on us at any given time.

God reigns over the nations; and is seated on his holy throne.  Worship empowers the heavenly King seated on his throne to rise up to our aid anytime we face engulfing challenges.

Worship is not the slow song that the choir sings. Worship is not the amount you place in the offering basket. Worship is not volunteering in children’s church. Yes, these may be acts or expressions of worship, but they do not define what true worship really is.

True worship is to honor God with extravagant love and extreme submission, to present our bodies a living and holy sacrifice, acceptable to God

The Bible says in 1 Corinthians 10:13 that No temptation [regardless of its source] has overtaken or enticed you that is not common to human experience [nor is any temptation unusual or beyond human resistance]; but God is always faithful [to His word which states that He is compassionate and trustworthy], and He will not let you be tempted beyond your ability [to resist], but along with the temptation He [has in the past and is now and] will [always] provide the way out as well, so that you will be able to endure it [without yielding, and will overcome temptation with joy].

The nature of the worship God demands is the prostration of our souls before Him in humble and contrite submission. Contrite according to the Merriam Webster is the feeling or showing sorrow and remorse for a sin or shortcoming. “if my people, who are called by my name, will humble themselves and pray and seek my face and turn from their wicked ways, then I will hear from heaven, and I will forgive their sin and will heal their land.”

Before you can worship, it involves the realization that we, fallible humans need a infallible God. The high and exalted One who lives forever and whose name is holy who dwells in a high and holy place, also lives with the one who is contrite and lowly in spirit, to revive the spirit of the lowly and to revive the heart of the contrite.

The doctors might have diagnosed you of that incurable malignancy but Victory belongs to Jesus.

You might be feeling so negative after a working diagnosis of Paranoid Schizophrenia that gets you high and low that you need shots of Haloperidol just to control your symptoms but then remember that Victory belongs to Jesus.

The only car that gets you places gets caught in that fatal car wreck and you are rushed in with a subarachnoid hemorrhage which is a rare life threatening condition that could claim your life but then Victory belongs to Jesus.

There is, however, equally great incentive to worship and love God in the thought that, for some unfathomable reason, He wants me as His friend, and desires to be my friend, and has given His Son to die for me in order to realize this purpose. not merely that we know God, but that He knows us. –  J. I. Packer.

Photo Credit : Google Images

Have a great day!


Walking down memory lane, I remember a novel I read 9 years ago – Paranoia by Joseph Finder. It sounds like a nice name you would want your eldest son to bear but don’t dab. It caresses like a chained cat in a cage.
Right after reading the book gladly, I didn’t understand the concept, but the delectation that followed the reaction of finishing a novel was priceless. Just like the ‘Thank You’ slide at the end of a PowerPoint presentation.
So what is Paranoia? I know it sounds like the worst insult you would want to throw at a foe, or push off the back of a friend, but its incarnate hands touch and hold the mass. In the world of psychiatry, paranoia is a thought process which hangs on the scale of anxiety and fear.
Anxiety is something we all experience naturally. Especially stepping in the big shoes of a mentor or holding the hot cup of a friend in fiery fire. But when it slides into the mud of irrationality that your heart hits faster than the speed of light or you sweat drizzly than a dolphin, you know its abnormal.
Paranoid people – I think I rhymed there… are ubiquitous in our society. They sit at the four corners of every room and keep burying themselves in a hole of hostility. The King (Paranoia) takes its throne on their heads and rules their heart and mind. Unless it’s dethroned and decapitated, it would keep dissolving the world from generation to generation.
Paranoid people have small eyes which reel in the world of perfection…I think I rhymed again. Those with gigantic eyes wear thick glasses encased with a rim of intentional persecution which thrive in an atmosphere of watchful waiting…from parents down to pals.
Paranoia swims in the sea of unforgiveness and bears a shield of defense in response to imagined criticism. It tries to emerge from a mole of mistrust preoccupied with hidden motives. The poet in me tried to rule there… Paranoid thoughts and feelings are connected to events and relationships in a person’s life.
Paranoid people are faithful (in the negative sense) because delusions hallmark their dreams. Delusions are odd beliefs that a person would firmly insist are true despite evidence they are not.
Paranoia slimes like a slithery snake of suspicion and bites any on looking person with bitter bile.
Let me get back to the real deal, Paranoid people are worried a lot and expect others to criticize and reject them. They take a step back when everyone moves forward. They ace summaries with distinctions and come to conclusions so easily with a strong impenetrable head.
There can be specific things that may engage paranoid thoughts; like sleeping less or taking medications but their vile vulnerability vehemently voices their childhood. They were bullied at school and always appeared last in class. Paranoia just like a potted plant kept growing in their palms.
Paranoid thoughts emanate usually from rich homes where there is isolation from the rest of the world. The only connection to the global maze is through smart screens and wavy wires.
Paranoid people worry a lot and are likely to interpret things in a negative norm. However, paranoia could stem from a myriad of physical illnesses such as strokes, dementia and Alzheimer’s disease. Alzheimer (I think I would name my puppy this).
There is a strong influence in parenting when it comes to paranoia – It gropes in the genes and transcends the trolley from father to son or mother to daughter.
But paranoia can be treated. It involves building a trusting and collaborative relationship with people; moving in groups when there is the tendency to icily isolate yourself. Treatment is gradual but there are success stories.
Get tested for paranoia and receive treatment because the world has to be a better place!
Enjoy your day!

Eliezer Bernard Owusu Ntim

PhotoCredit : GoogleImages


Finding inspiration

In the midst of objection

Channels affection to the meaningless

And attention to the profitless

The feelings that envelope

The optimism that elopes

Succumb to the fear of annihilation

And the distress of renunciation

The silence of withdrawal

Reaches out to the voice of laxity

The utterance of affinity

Fetches an audience of insensitivity

The leaf that floats on the river of desolation

Hitches on the rock of expectation

Exalting its feet of abjection

Magnifying its air of inclination.

Well, this is my first ever poem I’m writing after I had inspiration from Jess, Obed and Josephine. I never thought of writing a poem in the first place.I think it’s an effort, I tried! I’m hoping my next poems would be better than this one.

Eliezer Bernard Owusu Ntim

Photocredit: GoogleImages


“This boy looks so quiet that you can hear the sound of air around him” People say as he passes by every time. A complete nerd! From his scrubby hair to thick glasses down to his big shoes supporting his pulled up shorts. However no one knows the emotional anguish lurking in him.. The tears he sheds every night because he saw a big world from a small box.
Close friends kept pushing him back because he was unpretentious. Family was in shackles bound by misery. Everything was in a mess! An admitted mother at the hospital. A distraught daddy. Growing little brothers who couldn’t get a grasp of what was happening. Who should he turn to? He keeps fighting mentally because he believes in hope.
He sets for school in a hurry the next day, however anticipates the caning he would receive – at least 10 lashes to his back, because Daddy doesn’t have a car and there’s no mummy to prepare breakfast for the family. Walking to school from home would take at least 45 minutes along a weedy path.
He sets for his journey with his big backpack as usual, walking with the speed of light. In the middle of his journey. He encounters an old lady heavily laden with tied clothes on her head and a quavering walking stick in her right hand.
As a gesture of politeness, it is expected of him to help this old lady. He looks at his watch and at the old woman. Good will over knowledge?
He helps this old woman carry out half of her journey. This old lady tells him “my son, you are going through a lot! Your life is tough! You don’t understand a lot of things happening in your life, and you won’t understand anytime soon. But you do believe in God right? At the back of his mind, he knows the gray haired woman is telling the absolute truth. A soothsayer? A magician? Or an angel? He quietly continues the journey with the old woman as they get to her house.
She blesses him and tells him not to worry, God has got every situation under control. He holds back the tear at the corner of his eye and hurries off to school.
Surprisingly, the headmaster was not around. Neither were his teachers. They are in a staff meeting which would last 3 hours. His coming is saluted by a very boisterous class. Everyone in the class wonders why he’s so late however he all he thinks of is his indisposed mother.
He doesn’t pay attention in class and scores 3 out of 10 in a test conducted. Surprised, the teacher beats him and encourages him to sit up oblivious of what is happening in his life. But this young boy has learned to live in silence.
He hurries back home after school because he has to fetch his siblings from school. However receives the ashtonishment of his life when he sees his grandmother at home. “What has happened?” ‘This cannot be good news” As he gets close. His grandmother hugs him and whispers in his ears. “Mum is back!” He throws away his backpack and rushes to see his smiling mother in the hallway. He hugs his mother and wonders what miracle would have brought her back home in a jiffy.
His siblings are already home and his Dad has prepared lunch. He’s so happy he has totally forgotten about the old lady. He’s so cheerful as he encircles the house..His prayers have been answered.
As he takes lunch, he jogs his memory and makes out the old lady smiling at him. He also smiles in complete silence and continues with his meal continually trust in God and believing in angels.


Kwaku is rushed to the hospital wheeled in by a stretcher at 7:25pm GMT, repeatedly vomiting and profoundly confused. Everything he says makes no sense as blood oozes from the temporal side of his head.Chasing his stretcher, is his best friend who trips and falls as he attempts to phone Kwaku’s parents. He places the first call and redials when the call does not go through. His heart keeps pounding as the doctor on duty charges towards Kwaku and sends him in. He paces across the reception room and waits for the arrival of his best friend’s parents.

It all happened 10mins ago as a bus driven by a drunk driver lost control when a burst tire threw the bus into an aberrant motion, knocked Kwaku to the ground and passed over him, speeding off into night life.

The emergency doctor tries to stabilize the airway- preventing the tongue from falling back by doing a chin lift..head tilt however suspects Kwaku could have injured his cervical spine. He then shoots off and returns with a cervical collar to stabilize the spine, bearing the complications of a cervical spine injury in mind – The most feared; complete paralysis of the whole body. He is just 24 years. It would take a great miracle to restore him back to his full potential.
He cogitates about this as he puts on the cervical collar and realizes the boy is convulsing. Deep rhythmic jerky movements involving his whole body. The injury to the cervical spine is worsening. His breathing is failing!

Judging from the convulsions, he had a stupendous blow to his head, but there’s not enough time. “What should I do?” Where are enough doctors when you need them? He looks to the left and notices another doctor suturing a dehiscent wound on a driver’s arm.. He looks to the right and returns his gaze as the sweating doctor reduces (pushes back) a prolapsed rectum. He stands on a thread between life and death of this young man.

The convulsions cease and the flux of air suddenly changes. He gets the cue and palpates the neck of this boy – no pulse! He checks the pupils and as expected, they are both unresponsive to light. He’s run out of options so he says a silent prayer for this boy’s soul as he pulls a white cloth over the boy’s head. Another soul gone today. Today of all days, when his son was graduating class 1. Such luck! He bows his head as he writes the time of death. 8:00pm.
Walking down the hallway, he thinks of how to release the bombshell to Kwaku’s friend. Beloved friends have heard the news and trooped in to support him. Distant friends are praying for him. Everyone is on knees! We can’t loose this wonderful soul! You aren’t going today! Not of all days!

As the doctor returns, the boy’s mother notices the look on the doctor’s face and breaks into uncontrollable tears. The father has to stay strong but He’s crashing inwardly. Everything feels like a dream. “Someone should pour water on me to wake me up!”, “What is happening?” “Why me?” He then bows his head. They both have to stay strong!


The doctor has to support the family but He’s out of words so He walks slowly back to the ward. ‘The harbinger of death!’

Friends cannot believe their ears. He’s gone? For real? Why him? But then death is no respecter of age, sex and race. Is there any way to bring him back? The portal would begin to close as his soul leaves for heaven. Invisible, he smiles as he watches his bereaved family and friends, from above, transiting into the heavenlies.

Death is a destination we all share, we are born alone and we will die alone. Even the man who lived longest on the surface on the earth died. The question is when we are going to die? In the next 5 years or next 50 years? What would we have achieved in the sight of God and the sight of men? Would we have impacted positively in the lives of others?
No one can confidently say He will still be living tomorrow or the day after tomorrow. What assurance then do we have?

Psalms 118:17 says you would not die; instead, you will live and proclaim what the Lord has done! This is the assurance you have! God is a loving Father who never goes back on his Word! Live love, speak love and think love because you have no idea as to the seconds more you have to live. A lifetime isn’t forever, so take the first chance, don’t wait for the second one! Because sometimes, there aren’t second chances! And if it turns out to be a mistake? So what! This is life! The time to accept Christ is now!

“It is not the end of the physical body that should worry us. Rather, our concern must be to live while we are alive – to release our inner selves from the spiritual death that comes with living behind a facade designed to conform to external definitions of who and what we are” – Elisabeth Kubler- Ross.

Enjoy your week!

Eliezer Bernard Owusu Ntim