By

Nana Arhin Tsiwah

History has been a great fountain of human existence where knowledge of the past and its eventualities are reflected upon towards the future. It has been one solid human playing field where loyalty and truth play the tunes of what and when something happened sometime ago.

Many historical events date long  before the days of pre-dating of which the tertiary and Precambrian eras could have evolved their whispering moments. Time has proven to be a very substantial element in the actualities of world history, just as human altercations have also done a great deal of influence. However, in the eventualities of what and when, the former has always proven its clout over the latter. So just like time, the world we live in becomes ‘memoryless’ without Africa.

Africa has played a prominent role in fashioning the conceptual dedication of what history, through generations, millennia, centuries and decades, should be. Records from all faces of judgement have proven Africa’s rightful birthplace in historical pronouncements. It is however sad that through human machinations and chronic clone machiavellian ambiguities, certain facts and truths proving Africa’s strong force and voice in history have been fragmented and concocted.

The porosity of these parrots’ fragmentation of historical facts, particularly by certain groups of the ‘human race’ who throughout history have deliberately made an attempt to wipe Africa from the face of history, is so sad a letter to write. The worst state of this directional machiavellian forgery is the crude impact it has had on the ‘African mind’.

The western world, even in the abundance of apparent evidence of where Africa is in terms of history, still have pejorative distortion when it comes to defining the absolute of Africa in world history. Through elements of malaciousness they deny Africa of her overwhelming contributions to the history of the world, fairer attributations often being made towards Greek and Roman histories as the basis for today’s world history, all denying Africa her rightful ascension throughout time.

For me, one thing that has denied Africa her rightful place in the abode of history is the sadistic approach of her scholars in playing by the rot and canker of the west to define what constitute our history. In higher institutions of learning in Africa, where classics and philosophy are studied, it is disturbing to note how much care and attention is given to the learning of Greek and Roman Civilisations. Not much is to be desired when you visit a history class where students are indoctrinated with historical philosophies of the same ancient Greek and Roman empires all at the expense of our African history.

This dramatically and drastically plays down the emphasis that should be laid on the culture of our land. It is not surprising to see most of our African people living on this continent behaving as if Africa has no culture at all, thus reflecting in their lifestyles. An attribution of this was the case of the ‘French Policy of Assimilation’ under the nemesis of Charles dé Gaulle.

For Africa to assert her rightful place in the court of history, more deliberate and conscious measures and modalities must comprehensively be put in place and advocated through the exploration of time to make the African understand what Africa was and is in terms of world history.

This can be done by rewriting history in its right tongue and pruning all malice world history has been engulfed in. All Africans must therefore come together to demonstrate to the world the attributes Africa has in history.

Nana Arhin Tsiwah is an undergraduate student from Cape Coast, Ghana; a disciple of Pan-African consciousness, a cultural ideologist, an awensemist (poet) of different shade but tells of a hunter’s trails for Akanism. He is an orator and a village servant in a poetry movement dubbed; ‘The Village Thinkers‘.

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Africa in the missing light: Where history turns into gimmick propagandism
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TUCK - ...magazine

By

Nana Arhin Tsiwah

I have throughout time (possibly after countless realisations), always found that “traditional” religion, and its parentheses, is something worth defining to the offspring of truth, although many are the basis of taunts attributed to the practices of this religion.

This shredded and peaking ignoramus outlook of the whole enterprise and its tagging as “barbaric”, “demonic”, an “evil practice”, etc, of all crude tags has revealed how paralysed our society has become. In a country where the media has become just a blunt pair of polluted lips, the result is the daily acts of jokes, derision and mockery that most locally produced movies advocate.

Movie makers who depict the superiority of Christianity over “Traditionality” for me aren’t just acts of damnation, but a droned, wiped-out brainstorming, cantankerous activity. We as a people have become the players of the piper’s tunes. From the total rejection of what holds us spiritually to the taunting of what binds us uniquely has not only become worrisome, but a categorised illness which would never become a contagion as it actually heals.

A day never passes without someone, somewhere in his own self-pooling thoughts, tagging me an outright “atheist”. Inasmuch as I would agree with such miscalculated assumed “tuberculosis”, I would state emphatically that such an assumption is but a facade of derivative African spiritual lackings. Why would you believe a pure village African like me to be an atheist? That I call a “turmoil of carcasses”!

In the arena of desperation, neutralisation and equalisation of the “traditional” religious practices in Ghana by the Churchism fraternity, the result is the deeming of the seemingly atheistic African. I have read with keen eyes into countless situations where the likes of many “traditional” African propagationists on social media and outside of this hoodom are regarded as that. Is it not very damming to lose control of what has held peoples’ conscience to mere surprise because dynamism is a spectacled notion?

The mentality of us Africans towards “traditional” religion is heartbreaking, bringing tears to the eyes. I am not in any way justifying that the Christian world has nothing good, but my juxtaposed arrest stems from the fact that we have lost sight of our core foundation as a people. We have irreligiously implanted in our mental argumentum evil echoes for our traditional practices, faced now with the true reality it is an evil utopia that must not be entertained at all; thus, a culmination into not reading and researching to find out the truth of the keel over syndrome.

All our beliefs of what “traditional” religion means are upheld and justified by an illusory garment worn by the Church’s dogma or media’s taxonomic showcase. We hear on the radio, read in electronic and print media and watch television programmes of pastoral cohorts back-lashing hard on traditional practices as if they have even the most basic knowledge when it comes to its relevance to our birth. This canal of washing our ignorance in public is not only a headache but a helpless warfare of anxiety that the younger generation have been exposed to.

You might learn in theology and obtain all the needed ingredients in theological euphemism; you may acquire a university Masters, PhD or even Professorship, but your mere prejudice of “traditional” practices and their variations would make you deeply ignorant of its realities and the extent to which its content has been exposed to distortion and malice.

A lot of people (Christians) go to the extent of muddling witchcraft and its associated practices with “traditional” practices. Witchcraft and its associated relatives do not make a wholistic horizon. Even the concept of such practices is an aberration to tradition, some of these basics even exposing one to folly. It runs from all facets, from drummings and exorcism to calling grandparents gods and witches; the course of your problems?

The very mention of Onyankopon, Nyame, Twedeampon, Oludumare, Mawu èt al in African Christian churches and songs is such a christening of ignorance, the situation where justification could be made to say, “its in our local language” is decrying in itself! Nyankopon, Onyame (Nyame), Twedeampon, Oludumare, Mawu ét al are not the symbolic meaning for “God”. Do all the research work in the world and you would realise how such pronouncements are deemed not to be the “white-God” or the “God in the bible” even by the “whiteman” themselves.

Abosom (gods), and Abosomwaa (goddesses) are the direct spiritual ascendants of Onyame (the wise spider). So where people go calling for the discarding and phasing out of traditional religion and practices, while on the other hand raising their voices like a trumpet shouting “Onyame eeh”! “Twedeampon eeh”!! in a church is just unfortunate and ridiculous. That is why the whole universal corn-mill is locked in a dire hypocrisy!

I have had many verbal confrontations with people who said I needed to receive salvation and become a Christian. Initially, I tried playing by the papers of conscience and reasoning, but realised it is just one decadence which has eaten almost everyone up. The mere mentioning of “gods, shrine, okomfo (priest)” in a conversation puts you in the shoes of the mythological humidity surrounding satan. The painful aspect of it all is that such people would not even be pitied to find out your assertion of why you are already saved.

I have seen how this branded mental diarrhoea has surged, dilapidating the mental faculties of the African. Where there is clear evidence of rots and ills in the Christian world, these brutal hooligans would never admit as such, instead continuing to heap theoretical theological vexatious through letters of the apostles from right-center-left. If we could have made it sufficiently appellative for us to no more tag our “traditional” practices with the catchy malicious phrase “outmoded practices”, more people would have been saved from the tolling death from this disease.

The mere mentioning of “outmoded practices” puts one in a shadow-box of not finding a cure to this abhorrent ailment. As long as we stay glued to this episode and epistle (logical) framework of the whiteman’s cultural heritage, this disease filed in our mental faculties will never be cured.

Nana Arhin Tsiwah is an undergraduate student from Cape Coast, Ghana; a disciple of Pan-African consciousness, a cultural ideologist, an awensemist (poet) of different shade but tells of a hunter’s trails for Akanism. He is an orator and a village servant in a poetry movement dubbed; ‘The Village Thinkers‘.

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Hypocrisy and Branded Mental Diarrhoea: An Incurable African Disease
TUCK
TUCK - ...magazine

By

Nana Arhin Tsiwah

SABOU AMENFI
(Recounted Echoes Of A Legend)

I.
i can see the rocks ageing
though they bear your shadow
the calls of your footprints
have numbered hearts.
when i was one; in the crawling bones
i had learned to speak of you
i had listed the countless stories
that birthed from your ankles
Amenfi, only a single soul
fought you before time
when Asante rose with the winds;
cascading the breathless Mfante courts
You: the fears of Anokye
stood with flaming teeth
towering your head above the sky
for in wake and quake; Tutu (Osei) and his flies
clustered under the sun from your yawns.

II.
Asebu; oh, immortal human
a God that sharpened his teeth with gravels
a Being that rinsed his teeth with maize
when Amenfiwaa, your prided half sat in the barn
coal trembled before your eyes
i know history has been a he-pocrite;
yes a she-pocritical insignificance
wasping the cornfields of your left foot.

III.
Just yesterday; in mirrors of suspended water droplets
i saw my lips feasting in Abura Dunkwa
i was in Mankensum counting these rocks again
i could feel within my eyes
the fast moving fingerprints and your palms
the sword of the farmland
sat with echoes of the river.
man has tried ages after your neck
until his infertile land gave in to seed
today; in Asebu— in the trails of Anansesem
time breath through your marrows
sketching mounds and anthills
even as I set arrows in those tapped footprints.

WORDS TO THE SEA GOD

Just maybe I haven’t forgotten
How this day came home
That I still sit under your feet
Inking golden melodies to your daughters…

And just maybe
I have come today too
To whisper voices of my people
Of how we cast nets
To fetch bounty harvests
From your great intestines…

Here I stand head-folded
With pieces of summoned cowries
And grounded shells of crabs and prawns…

Just maybe in this land
We have lost count of your footprints
And we wallow in shallows of some waters
Clamping our fate against the coconuts to fall…

I am here,
As the fourteenth generational soul
Who inherented the great stool
Of the four mighty ‘Kona’ clan…

I pray with my trumpeted voice
Chanting and singing of your might
That your waves shall turn
Not our fate into theirs sands again…

Nana Arhin Tsiwah is an undergraduate student from Cape Coast, Ghana; a disciple of Pan-African consciousness, a cultural ideologist, an awensemist (poet) of different shade but tells of a hunter’s trails for Akanism. He is an orator and a village servant in a poetry movement dubbed; ‘The Village Thinkers‘.

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Poetry
TUCK
TUCK - ...magazine

By

Nana Arhin Tsiwah

This story began when I started seeking the truth of darkness and blackness. It came to light when I became worried of my life; a worry of how negligible I had become. After nights and nights of mournings, weeps and cries, I began to seek forgiveness. Forgiveness not of those ‘Christian sins’, but of the wrongs I had allowed my soul, spirit and mind to accept without reasonableness; Forgiveness of how I have not risen to life, from the dead-bed of wishing to abort my culture, traditions and to see the world beyond bringing my African roots to extinction. This story was from the heart, the melanin… I hope Africa forgives me.

Well it’s like being a criminal today and being a hero tomorrow— simply, you saved a life while gang-robbing innocent souls. Between evil and good lies a Lame Island, an Island of sarcasm, tribute and tributary. This is a scanned canker, an obliqued affirmative lie. Truth be told, but truth is of one colour— black perhaps, a perusal of western civilization establishing an unquestionable morale of evil and dogmatic sympathy.

— My heart aches
of sorrows that head me.
–Will posterity judge me
if these generations find
this story under my coffin?…

As a son, a boy from the skies of African drums, I have for most of my life lived in slavery, slow unnoticed myopism of banditry and solitary self-denial. Until 1447, I recalled how my ancestry was real. Yes real of its appropriateness. We were humans; reasonable un-copied Africans. We were ourselves not guided by principles of a written unjustifiable freedom and independence. Even in 1828, before the bond of 1844, along the coastal stretch to the forest belt; along the vestal canopy ring; men like my kind lived as communal coverings. I have for uncountable reasons and observations from conscious scrutiny, realised how pathetic we (I) have become in despising my African Heritage. It was not for any other reason that any man born of an African womb retrogade his own birth canal. The exception is that such theatric calibration was (is) borne out of a weeping-sweepy self.

Whereas I have pitted myself for being too cowardly towards my family, friends, sympathizers, enemies (wrong indelibility) et al on why I would prefer to stand out from their line of western rhetoric, I have thus failed as a person, a reasonable spiritual soul, to collectively and holistically allow the ‘African-God-like’ in me to outshine weeds of colonial weaponry. I am not to be trusted? What trust is there in an abused who connives with the abuser to abuse himself? What is the worth of a true royal, a direct stool inheritor, when he runs home for cover for fear of dying at the battlefield?

—That which dies and
remains in the soil
that which was killed
after warmongers faced,
—What shall be of me
when my kind extinct beyond?

I can vividly recollect these faded memories. Memories of my Grandfather, the Chief of Kurankye-Akyemfo, who was gunned in the leg by one slave master for fighting against dominance. He bled profusely but didn’t die. I recalled how his father, Nana Aselfi of Yamfredu had coined his own amulet of Ntrabado. Centuries before this story, lived this land. Our land of reincarnated souls. I was taught at a tender age the songs of farming, hunting and fishing. That it was in these songs and buried memories that our roots multipled. That it was in these stories of the morning purifications by the River-Goddesses that life replenished in thousands.

My late Grandmother, Ama Akua Yamba, the one who was criticised and shamed for being a witch by a malnourished servant of an european-colonial most high; how she lived in good health and state of mind before passing without return at 103 years. Even at age 100, she would call me, Nana Tsiwah, in the evenings in her abandoned hut telling me stories that read wisdom and passed knowledge. She was indeed a blessing if there is anything of that travelled horizon. That blessing of not this era. One thing made me cry more; I was deceived by men, friends of a white-paper that I had been witched. On the day of her death, she told me of how this fate would dawn upon my head. That someday, if nothing at all, I shall recall her tongue why we as a people have become diluted stagnant water, and how we shall gradually extinct into ashes akin of white mind and red-skins.

‘A man of a hard scrotum’, our elders who sat on kola eyes would say, ‘is thrice the heart of hunter’…

These stories of the many humans of my kind who were sold and stolen into slavery without any justification keep me deflated like brown banana peels. I am in no ways myself— A holder of my own pieces in a tray. To be good I only see it in things of white linens; to evil, things of darkness (black). I was told and taught by the many teachers that every thing white is of divine nature (that European god) and that hell (satan) is of black. That is how our cultural and traditional values have been adulterated with these refined thread-fallacies.

When an old person dies of grey, white is worn, but when it is for a young person, black is the gift. We are evil? I am sure by default of creation I am equally evil- for I am defined by my skin. An African has no God? Yes, he is not religious. For in other Gods he has found his heart and soul. The African like myself has no mind? Yes, even if he had one its no longer his. He lives in deep quaked valleys of ingrained hallucinations. That is why he is incapable of defending his own soul and defining the things of his own creation. He is paralyzed. He for all surety has no civilization. That is why even in his masters’ classrooms they are taught Greek and Roman roots— philosophies and literature. He is a fool? Yes, a real folly wondering leaf, that is why he can’t tell his abusers and deceivers of colonial heritages that enough is enough!

“.. I have failed to do
the things of nature
from bed to bread,
.. I curse my skin
and rub my face into mud
calling my foe a savior
and my brother an enemy”

This is my story. A story of seeking for forgiveness. From my Ancestors’ and Ancestresses’ Spirits. That I am a failure. I hate herbal medicines. That even the traditional priests have availed themselves to mockery. They are liars in skirt and mini-jeans. I have failed my land, this land of a true Black-God. A God who would teach through dark folds and unravel mysticism of non-colonialism and cultural hang-ons…

(If this Africa be told of me
If these lines be washed away
In rains and clapping thunder
I shall submit to my Africa.
Although I am a stranger
Not homeland but of mind,
When night falls out of roofs
And days drink of harvested rains
Submit my intestines to Africa
Till I am immortalised in black…)

If I don’t speak and write of Africa, who will?
Who shall write of my Africa
Who shall sing of my Africa
Who? If not me, then who?
I simply shall write of this lost Africa.

Nana Arhin Tsiwah is an undergraduate student from Cape Coast, Ghana; a disciple of Pan-African consciousness, a cultural ideologist, an awensemist (poet) of different shade but tells of a hunter’s trails for Akanism. He is an orator and a village servant in a poetry movement dubbed; ‘The Village Thinkers‘.

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I pray your forgiveness : O’ Africa, I have been a bad seed
TUCK
TUCK - ...magazine

By

Nana Arhin Tsiwah

Three Poems for that love I lost to the pillow:

This Lover; Greens, Future

She whispers balms
on trumping roads,
she rearranges bones
beneath soggy tegument,

Herself, by convoys of lovers
cedar leaves are base
that renders tea-layers
seductive reflections,

“I love you”,
is an epi-centered
galamasey talks.
it wins not hearts
of carpenters
who shall litter
hammers and nails

Greenish are the ferns
which roams her lips,
dark are the paints
which novels her soul,

Should tomorrow comes begging,
I shall dabble this Pond
listing how this lover
aborted greens
for a foe-future.

Lotus Memoria; O’ Withered Bride

a.

i crane to steal
the depth of the sun
each night our fate salivates,
with those colourful
embraces in mind,
those warmth felt before
the breeze took a stroll

b.

our minds which walked-on
on each mushroomed twilight,
brings back minutes of counted silence

c.

weren’t we meant for each other,
o’ scorched bride
deep coloured memories snaps at me
of these uncured ailments

d.

a. bleeding heart
a. swallowing soul
a. broken branch
a. withering leaf
(this fertile land,
is now a muted desert)

This Wife; A Coffee-Box, A Lover

Lonely birds wrestle through
in deserted waters, in Malian musics
and chains of mustached-lips
the family becomes dis-united
though blood-is-blood,
sweat-is-sweat,
there is no healing like death.
she gave me stars of her golden melanin,
that when night comes in scarlet hungry feet,
I would used them as cover-sheet
all you’ve got reading when night is stripped of her clothes
is watch your own shadow
feel-a-fell of a loaned saliva
get wasted like tears of an orphan

It is with a withering heart,
a meditating spinach spinal
that I yearn for the coffee-box
as if there are no golden dreams
should a man’s chest be covered
with loam-blouse of dimmed sheets
“live long, longer-lingers”, said my brother
when whispers becomes louder than whistles
would the wet-bird cease irridiant moments
tapping through beautiful pregnant eyes of an owl?
I bet veterans to canvass their slippers
like igniting gloom to cleanse this laps..

Nana Arhin Tsiwah is an undergraduate student from Cape Coast, Ghana; a disciple of Pan-African consciousness, a cultural ideologist, an awensemist (poet) of different shade but tells of a hunter’s trails for Akanism. He is an orator and a village servant in a poetry movement dubbed; ‘The Village Thinkers‘

%%AUTHORLINK%
Poetry
TUCK
TUCK - ...magazine

By

Nana Arhin Tsiwah

Looking at the life of Ephraim Amu, one simply becomes confused, a tapestry saddled with the most appropriate words to choose in describing his achievements let alone to amply and satisfactorily describe his persona.

It is in this complex wholeness of a master poet, a great orator, an inordinate cycling human; one of elegance in the eyes of linguistics and language; one of a highly enriched African idiosyncratic masterfulness— the list would be a misfit to the nationalistic architect whose stretch of brain is beyond and is still beyond comprehension… A pioneer in African music and thoughts.

As a village boy, one who so desirously seeks a renewal of such divineness, it is in the left spectacles of such great men; who believed and still believe in death, that Africans are humans and have lived on through time with their own unique philosophy and civilizations that the worth of this living revolves.

Amu’s quest for an apex African understanding of his cultural worth is what “yen ara asase se ni” (this is our native land) which brings much reflection to my thoughts and affirmed beliefs in African culture and all its associations. Looking back to a poem I wrote of which it wasn’t my doing, but the spiritual ancestral forces, “This is our land: Song of a native son,” I am of the belief that Ephraim Amu’s reincarnated soul was at work on and in me. Having compared it with his song, I have come to realise that not only did I know I was tapped on every moment through unseen stimuli to echo that same voice far and nigh, but to some extent growing up as a Ghanaian child this song of his had fueled my thought to contemplate on the words that the song sung. It is in the essence of some of this meritorious sacredness of voice that is so gloriously infused in the true Africans’ writings that must not be left to be decided by western orchestrated literature.

Just like the many paradoxical statements that nibbles and dries in the harmattan, I have said without punctuated numeration that Africa would not and never progress on any paradigm and gallant pathway unless her people have collectively without shrewdness of doubt fostered into their developmental epistles the essence of their culture(s). Ephraim Amu posits, “nothing would ever be a semblance to the original— whether copied, altered and modified would never fit where its original feature had been forged.” For me, whenever you stand to pray on the plenitude words of either Christianity, or Muhammadanism chastising the African ancestral eminence, you are not only being insensitive but a murderous son that would watch his father’s testicles get severed in the interest of making him a Utopian impotent out of sheer envying of grayness and old age.

The life of Amu, which has followed the marked traces of Aggrey of Anomabo, Brako of Akyemfo et al, is what ought to be taught and infused into the fibre of our educational system, not the bleeding gums of these colonial machinery that have always thwarted, sabotaged and played the xylophonic tunes of fooldomsies on our progress as a people. Whether it is by pleasure of words, by the turn of life, the truth must always guide our path and that truth can only be realised in the cultures of our Africanness. For me the life of Ephraim Amu would live and breath through historical epoch and the ears of generations would hear what this great son of this land stood for.

This is a poem in memory of the man, who stood by the paws of the cat when he defended culture in the eyes of language and dress to the tune of his dismissal from the Presbyterian College when he was serving as a teacher…

“Brighter Than Self”

how often do we illuminate

our thoughts

in the eyes of truth

even when death

steals the purity

of our tears?

his was not for self

his was not for the winds

his a master-dom of believe

a believe that

culture could illuminate

and send humanity

on the transcendence

of conscience…

but how often

do lie in the pools

of our humanness

with thoughts

so potent for

nation?

He has paid his

Cause….

but a time would come

when we cannot be

reincarnated,

and posterity would

come seeking the tumor

in our souls

for we are locked sands

that won’t live

to see this

star anymore…

Nana Arhin Tsiwah is an undergraduate student from Cape Coast, Ghana; a disciple of Pan-African consciousness, a cultural ideologist, an awensemist (poet) of different shade but tells of a hunter’s trails for Akanism. He is an orator and a village servant in a poetry movement dubbed; ‘The Village Thinkers‘

%%AUTHORLINK%
Ephraim Amu: A Gallant Light That Still Glows (1899-1995)
TUCK
TUCK - ...magazine

By

Nana Arhin Tsiwah

Vindicating Dennis Appiah Larbi-Ampofo, President of Oguaa Hall, from irksome students’ political machinations, jingoistic tendencies and abortive dissimulations

It was on the break of a new morn in a somewhat deserted September that I took feet to the corridors of Oguaa Hall after I had undergone the rigorous necessities demanded of one to be admitted into this robust institution, the University of Cape Coast, Ghana. Indeed it was sad and disheartening to have been admitted into an institution I had bitten the edge of my tongue of ever attending. It was a heartbreaking experience— an experimental exposè of highest regret for the first time. This sad situation was aggrieved in its pod by the fact that I was to be affiliated to the ancient-pitied hall, Oguaa. Yes, a hall that has tasted the rafters teeth and been crooned as a demon amongst the frenzied of its other standings. I thought it could have been a different hall.

Being a native of Cape Coast and a direct descendant of the great progenitor, John King Aggrey I of blessed memory; whose inspiration through timeless epoch of proto-Ghana history catapulted the rebirth of political activism and consciousness in pre-Ghana era, the Fante Confederation. I have thus experienced this fraternity of University education in Cape Coast through practically reading unpublished documents and hearing oratures from the oldest library left in our house and that of the elderly. I have thus witnessed many moments in the University of Cape Coast even prior to being admitted as a student here. Now to save matters, let’s buckle our minds to the reason for this whole spread-head attestation.

It remains a fact; one of an undeniable primordial establishment to have made Oguaa Hall the premier hall of its caliber since the establishment of the University of Cape Coast as prologued by the eminent African of the millennium, the indomitable Pan-Africanist Osagyefo Dr. Kwame Nkrumah in 1962. As the mother of all halls in this institution, it has birthed to light other halls which have jagged it as though they were foraged before her. Many affiliates of other halls, students for that matter, have mocked, still keep at mockery, Oguaa hall with leveraged impudence. This impudence and gross disrespect which have lasted and etched in ruins throughout the memorial play-score of the university’s history on Oguaa hall and its affiliates, and which is still in perpetual display, stems from the fact that Oguaa hall lacked the requisite visionary student leadership of its kind. The type of leadership that is ready, willing and could steer the affairs of students and the hall to the feat it deserves.

I have lived in the hall and still hold as a place I would wish to live for the rest of my four year university education. The facts to be laid in the preceding exoduses. It was the era of Mr. Albert Martey as President of Oguaa that countless worries rogued the hall. Over-population was top of the list. Innumerable challenges that could take an audacious heart and mind of a leader to find solutions. As the president of the hall and a friend of mine, he was tagged an under-dog, but like all leadership acquitters; he did all he could and within his abilities to remedy the situation. By the time his leadership came to an end, he was able to do his best as predestined. He couched his achievement in this short statement during last year’s grand durbar of the hall’s celebration, “If it were height, I wouldn’t have had this opportunity to serve students of this hall; by leadership in Oguaa hall I mean to render the best of service to the people who matter to us as leaders.” That statement he made in his final address set enough filament of ripples in the river of my eyes. Indeed, he whom praise is due must be given to. I say, kudos.

At the time when Mr. Martey was leaving office as the president of Oguaa hall in 2015, he had made two flamboyant achievements; the acquisition of the hall’s plant and the operation of the hybrid library. Yes, he did well as president and a human in it right writing, yet deep down the souls of majority of hall affiliates, there was a lot more he could have done to catapult and place the prospects of students in good light. I knew from the numerous surveys conducted (personally); critical observations made that a host of other things were missing. The interconnected link of leadership, fragrance and charm that could facelift the hall and project the pride of affiliates to other hall affiliates. The spell that could place the hall in an enviable position amongst its compatriots.

Barely six months since the election of Dennis A Larbi-Ampofo as President of Oguaa hall, adding the vacation break, one can without microscopic support be overwhelmed with the achievements chalked thus far. The troubles of the writings I would take it upon myself to letter as this epistle goes. However, since Dennis made it an intention to contest for the SRC presidency 2016/2017, there have been speculations and damming castigations fallaciously cooked to mutilate the gallant achievements attained under his watch as Oguaa hall president. Such speculations have involved credulous mind-stringed allegations which are unfounded and notoriously nocturnal to the tumbles of facade. One must note that in mirroring the myriad problems of Oguaa hall and its development trend, it is important to look no further than the fundamental fraternity of Oguaa (Cape Coast) itself.

But before anything else, and the perusal of all concerned students who matter, these are the unprecedented achievements of the Dennis led administration in Oguaa Hall and still counting. Sit, relax and wear your unbiased introspective thinking caps to these plaudits of achievements.

••| The stocking of the Hall’s Library with Past Questions on all courses to prevent hallers from going all the way to the main library and departmental libraries for past questions.

••| Renovation of ALOVI FM. Renovating the in-house radio which included full rewiring of the whole system to ensure better performance. To this, it has cushioned the spread of information as major announcements and other worthwhile news-fos’ are leveraged through this medium.

••| Fixing of Cooking racks for all the rooms from G-block to A-block. There came a time when due to the lack of balconies in the hall students had to cook in the room they sleep. With this initiative, it has risen with the hope of curbing the problem of cooking in the rooms.

••| Solution To Water Crisis in the Hall. There has been the purchase of a 10 hsp pumping machine to replace the old one; further changing of old pipes. All these were done to enhance the performance of the borehole that serves Oguaa hall. As a Cape Coaster, the problem of water crisis in Cape Coast and its catchment areas has been a thing of time’s read. It happens as though it is an omen hanged on the neck of the town. Second cycle institutions, tertiary institutions as well as town-folk undergo this dreaded seasonal maladroit. I experienced the worst of this situation last year as a hall resident. But for the Dennis-led administration to salvage this situation plus buttress it with its frequenting water flow in the bathrooms and washrooms is a massive bolster.

••| Painting Project. Just as promised, considering the financial obligation of this project, it is in gradual phase. One does not need a survived luck-laden man from a holocaust to tell how bad the state of the hall’s walls were. With the phase deployment of painting the hall, grandly, most portions of the hall received a facelift, a touch of elegance to it. Had it not been for the Dennis-led administration, I never knew Oguaa hall could be this grandiose. The painting project although not completed, but any resident of the hall and frequenters can attest to the fact that there is adequate progress regarding this project.

••| Y3 Pra Pra. This is an innovative policy which looks at a monthly general clean up exercise in the hall. This is the first time I am witnessing any initiative of this worth targetted at curbing sanitation woes in the hall. No wonder the hall is now devoid of the previous mountainous health problems plaguing it.

••| TEWU works during Weekends. Through efficacious dialogue and negotiations with hall management, cleaners now come during the weekend to work. It is now about just coming to work, but to work as to the match that their services to the hall is as potent as a bee’s sting. This is sustainable through the award scheme which is to honour diligence, hardwork and commitment on the part of workers.

••| Procument of new set Entertainment Equipment. Through diverse requests and matched take, new set of machines have been acquired to aid entertainment and other worthful programmes in the hall.

••| Life Skill Empowerment Programme. The Dennis-led administration is not only encouraged to continually propound credible ideas but to tailor such ideas to merit concrete goals. This programme is developed to help train young women of the hall in simple skills; soap making, bead making, decorations and the like. The purpose, to give very basic lifelong empowering skills which would be effectual in the future.

••| Purchase of new set of Cadet Uniforms. What is the pride of joining a cadet corps when its uniform, a necessity of that measure, is to be borrowed always simply because they don’t have? To help remedy the every day borrowing of the cadet uniforms, a new set of cadet uniforms were procured in the end part of the previous semester to help the men in uniform. A thing the cadet is proud of today!

••| Massive purchase of Sports Logistics. Considering the stress our sports men and women had to go through last year, we have fully purchased items like jerseys, boots, shin guards, footballs, basketballs, volleyball net, tennis rackets, badminton and its rackets among others. The purpose, to help better the lot of our noble sportsmen and women who keep sacrificing for the hall.

••| Equipping of the hall’s INFIRMARY. An infirmary without equipment is consequential to a body without blood. To date, the Dennis led administration and abled infirmarian, have procured drugs, sphygmomanometer, thermometers, etc, to aid healthcare in the hall. Complaints logged to the infirmary have reduced drastically.

••| Refurbishment and installation of sound proof windows at the E-Block Library. To reduce the intensity of the sound that gets into the library, sliding doors and windows which will ensure noise is reduced is being fixed. This has augmented the library into a better state now as compared to previous years.

••| Bua Wo Nua Fund (BWN).
This is the first hall based fund in Ghana purposed to supporting brilliant but needy students of Oguaa hall. We might not be able to pay for everyone’s school fees but at least together we can support our colleagues. This is one initiative which wets my soul. Such an initiative can only be thought out by a leader whose dream is to see that the people he is made to serve realise their educational potentials to the fullest.

There are a lot more undertaken projects which have been kept beneath the root hairs. Soon a host of others shall be unraveled.

On the issue of some students dismissed from Oguaa hall, Dennis couched them in these words. “And as to dehalling of hallers, which university student can ever think that a hall’s president has power to dehall?” And don’t any one think that Dennis himself knows the effect of dehalling students and will try to prevent it if he could? Have you ever asked yourself what these students did? Did you read the letter to that effect to know what they did or who signed the letter? On records Dennis has not dehalled anyone for noise making or how on earth can a whole hall master dehall someone under the Dean of students’ supervision just because they didn’t support the hall president’s ambitions? Aba!! We are university students for Christ sake! On records the six students who have been dehalled and banned suffered this under the disciplinary lensicals of the hall master and hall administration because they have the power to do so. And after reading the letter how do you expect the hall president to save students who are ILLEGAL OCCUPPANTS OF THE HALL AND THOSE WHO ASSAULT THE HALL MANAGEMENT. Just as Dennis said during the SRC general meeting, “In as much as I have my political ambitions at stake, you don’t expect me to drop my guard of discipline, let us all note that these students had disciplinary issues but am surprised that colleagues want to intimidate me to stand for things I don’t believe in. What is right is right; what is wrong is wrong.”

A lot of people think that leadership is just a boys’ get-together. No! It is an absolution labeled in strong effective visionaries. It is about leading a team and people who are propelled on an upper deck of a feeling that they matter to the leader as much as the leader to them. Dennis Appiah Larbi-Ampofo might be a package of naivity and cropped in hubris-childishness as tantrums paraded about have to say. But in the mind of any right thinking student of the University community and Oguaa hall, the spell of this young man still is an inspiration and a leashed light. As humans, we all have our shoestrings and mundane shortcomings, but to look at these successes and still counting achievements by the Dennis led administration, and to throw dust into the eyes of innocent victims is tantamount to unpardonable felony.

By effectual leadership, I quote the eminent Pan-Africanist Marcus Garvey whose songs and poetic vibrations leaves Dennis to more thinking. He states, “To him who has the chance, let him mirror the problems of his comrades as his; let him challenge the status quo and work beyond normadics as though tomorrow, just tomorrow, he shall face death”. Dennis Larbi Ampofo is leaving etched traces of indelible marks into the minds of those who have seen him steer the affairs of Oguaa hall in it capacity as it President. It is not by mere anarchist asservations and parochial interest he seeks to contest for the UCC SRC Presidency, however, it is by the threads of pertinent prodigious student leadership that he seeks for this position. To those who have started the stereo calls of mudslinging and deliberate maligning of this attainment to a pomposity of fallacies and fluid debates, the success stories of this great young man has just emanated itself from the reincarnations of illuminations and lifelong enlightenment.

The things written therein are not merited egoistic opportunistic outcries or a detailed heartless political jingoism call. They are facts, marked traces in the sands of reckoning which can be verified, if doubt is a leading circumcision in the plains of the mind.

Nana Arhin Tsiwah
The University of Cape Coast, Ghana
A Concerned Student & Activist

Nana Arhin Tsiwah is an undergraduate student from Cape Coast, Ghana; a disciple of Pan-African consciousness, a cultural ideologist, an awensemist (poet) of different shade but tells of a hunter’s trails for Akanism. He is an orator and a village servant in a poetry movement dubbed; ‘The Village Thinkers‘

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Vindicating Dennis Appiah Larbi-Ampofo
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African Music: The Worlasi Syndrome: A look at Nuse vs Uncut Albums
Tuck Magazine
Tuck Magazine - Online political, human rights and arts magazine

By

Nana Arhin Tsiwah

This is something I have been wanting to write for the past two weeks. It’s about the music industry in Ghana and the crop of artistes and music players evolving in recent and a few past years. I have been following keenly the twists and game-monkisms that keep hitting the music scene. For the purposes of this write-up, it is about music essence and not necessarily the unnecessary music hype and dosage churning of chronic musicals or musicians.

As a Pan-Africanist and a believer in the theoretical and practical conceptual gauge markings of what should be our contributions to the true African agenda, I believe there are a host of rots spewing gibberish lyrics into the innocent ears of listeners. I am not an apathetic subscriber and ascriber of anything ‘music’— just a beat and rhythm slogans! But an assiduous music consumer who cares less about what the party ladies and club boys want.

Music just like poetry is medicinal. It is more of relevance to the senses than we imagine. Music has its smell, beauty, taste, visualiser and of everything that leaves it’s worth into the heart of legacies. The human anatomical system is filed in such a way that it is perceptible to adaptations to the things the ears get to hold on to. It is metaphorically an intense consumer of the things it comes into contact with— that is why profanity and gimmickries in lyrical compositions have tremendous ramifications to both the psychological and physiological compartmental functioning of the listener. Creativity is a positive earmarked sojourn. It’s fluidity can have drastic effects on those who are directly and indirectly affected by its power. The creative-life in music and in any work of arts spans over decades of years be it negative or positive before it dies.

These days, it has become a commonality syndrome for any person to just rise without any proper intellectual scrutiny of what they compose to churn it out to the consumer. The soul of music has been ignored. It has been buried into the mundane earthlings of premature lyrical dexterity. Sometimes, it becomes torrential and hauntingly a mistake listening to some artistes who without proper conduct of reasonings release tracks here and there for the sake of fame and attracting porous media gun salutations.

After months of diligent intellectual mastication and consumption of the music and creative works of Worlasi, I am satisfied and fortified on a whole and in so many dimensions that beats the norm of mere listenership. African music, be it rap, jazz, high-life or whatever genre, must be tilted towards an obvious truth of what the African was, is and would be. It is a potent mirror for reflecting into the past, speaking of the present and prognosticating into the future. We cannot, thus, forget in any measure its linguistical intricacies. African music can be first said or viewed to be more of essence than commercialism. It is more of the people, culture, than just sounds. It is more of spirituality than proliferation. It is more of linguistics than jump-cut words, etc.

Anything beyond the proper compositions of the African song makes it not only a hoot at the truth surrounding the people but a loose talk at any conscientious gathering. What I have learnt and realised with both Worlasi’s Albums (Nuse and The Uncut) is first of Essence. Essentially, one is drawn more to his mindset, persona and what he wants to tell the world about his people, Africa, than for mere viral-forage. The introductory poetry floating gently on a sea of beats on his first album, Nuse, is spiritual and cosmic. Tracks like Focus, Possible, Black Man and Someday tell of Africa’s journey which is almost a cyclic posterity showdown. The Nuse album, which I call it— a work in progression—fundamentally does not only expire within days upon listening but one that keeps informing, and reforming the shadeliness of African life. After weeks of listening to his second album, The Uncut, I felt a growing African man of true originality. His understanding of the folkliness of the Ewe people is one that reminds me more of the late Ghanaian-African Poet, the eminent, Professor Kofi Awoonor Williams. He makes you believe in the essence behind Awoonor’s “The Cathedral“. Tracks like Satan, River, Okada and Cartoon not only go a long way to confirm an infusion of the African poetics in his lyrical composition, but leave you in the pool of piloerection. He leaves you at the bank of a naked river, whispering to yourself of the amazing artist at work.

It may be true to say that his Supreme Rights, have not made the best of turns to highly commercialise his works, but for me as a conscious listener and believer of everything positively African, the essence at which he has begun this quest is more inspiring than anything else. It would be true to say that an empty sack has no feet to survive. But what is survival after all if one cannot leave a poignant, well emulating and purposeful legacy when the songs of death see his exit? The African life and its consciousness have never thrived on meaningless quest. It has however, partnered itself to surviving on essence(ism), despite years of robust colonial sabotage and machinations.

I personally believe, that a new focus and dimensional introspection must be sought by all concerned individuals within the heart of our music industry and the arts at large. A dimension that would seek to reposition a retrospective lense at policy and decision making aimed at reviving the arts industry on the continent— or something that is rewarding in itself for the continued survival of the phenomenal young artistes and artists availing themselves to representing the ‘all-we’ in their works. I think it is high time these music players and media refocus their attention on this Great Artiste and Legend in the making, Worlasi.

Nana Arhin Tsiwah

Nana Arhin Tsiwah is an undergraduate student from Cape Coast, Ghana; a disciple of Pan-African consciousness, a cultural ideologist, an awensemist (poet) of different shade but tells of a hunter’s trails for Akanism. He is an orator and a village servant in a poetry movement dubbed; ‘The Village Thinkers‘

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African Music: The Worlasi Syndrome: A look at Nuse vs Uncut Albums
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The Brymo Klitorism: Flutes on Brymo’s Klitoris album
Tuck Magazine
Tuck Magazine - Online political, human rights and arts magazine

By

Nana Arhin Tsiwah

Are you a sojourner who seeks solitude out of stupor or one who looks for spaceless elements to find a part of their lost selves; or perhaps, does your heart seek the beauties of life that fuels the soul?

Like Brymo’s “Dem Dey Go”…

“Once upon a time; some people come together; agreement between one another”

“We are born; and then are gone, nobody lives forever”

“It’s alright; and then it’s none, freedom is a kind of prison“…. These are the deific streams that Brymo’s Klitorism preaches and encodes into the mind and soul of the music critic and consumer whose ears get glued to the lyrical component of the masterpiece album, Klitoris.

After a week of carefully consuming Brymo’s critical album, Klitoris, from morn to sundown, I am now more convinced why Nana Antwi Boasiako kept insisting that I get the album as a platinum cover for my device. From “Billion Naira Dream“, “Happy Memories“, “Naked” through to “Mirage“, it can be argued without a flinch of doubt that the epic Afro-literature upon which the artist built his lyrics are profound and provokingly unmatched. The first track, “Dem Dey Go” is golden— rare lyrics that are memoired in a refined glare. “Mirage” is a mind blowing peanut that melts under the tongue; simply cumbersome to wholly describe what it actually stands for, like a magical spell!

The highly positivism cum jazz-like infused beats make the rhythmic maturity of this album a classified scholarly material of Poetry, Music, Cultural, Afrocentric, Aesthetics and Anthropological glory. For any good consumer of music, it would seem quizzical at some point trying to narrow the varied verses on the album to other greatest music legends from our continent, Africa.

What makes “Klitoris” more exceptional and a glorious gift of Art work to have emerged from Africa in the last decade is its ability to retell the very simple African stories in concrete Poetic and melting yet high-end lyricism distilled on fledged consciousness. If there is any album in the last decade of the 21st Century from Africa that gives every listener a bite for satisfaction and spellbind, then Brymo’s “Klitoris” is one huge brain work to that merit.

The semblance to the old tremendous legend, Fela Kuti of Nigeria and Ghana’s fresh breed, Worlasi is what makes Brymo’s Klitorism a heroic quest that positions itself into an autopsy of African Literature yearning for particulate meanings masterful of its own muscles. For me, it isn’t about the songs alone that makes me fulfilled after listening; it is about the curiosity behind every single line dialectically versed into this fine album.

Brymo’s “Klitoris“, an 11-track album is simply an eclectic nostalgia of literature cosmetics that can be sipped under palm wine and barbecued grasscutter meat.

Nana Arhin Tsiwah

The writer, Abeiku Arhin Tsiwah is a Ghanaian International Award Winning Poet, Critic, Africanist, Author and Village Thinker who writes from his fatherland, Cape Coast.

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The Brymo Klitorism: Flutes on Brymo’s Klitoris album
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Administrator Ghana’s Central Music Awards 2018: Retrospection Tuck Magazine Tuck Magazine - Online political, human rights and arts magazine

By

Nana Arhin Tsiwah

Music— the soul’s heartbeat, a fluid collection of sentimental harmonies punctuating the ears and filling the pores on the tongue. One would have their own meanings drawn out of every musical piece they listen to. While some adapt to its stream for purely pleasure or entertainment, others sit on the bench and siphon incredible philosophies from a recorded masterpiece. Whatever the reason, the effect of music on the lives of humanity and to a further extent other animate beings can never be undervalued.

On the front of the economic impact, the reality is for us all to dig for ourselves. It’s irrefutable to downplay the monetary gains and contributions to both industrial players and governmental set up within this space.

The Central Region with its capital Cape Coast is one of the most elite regions in Ghana. This region particularly its capital city, Cape Coast, is notable for its historical, educational and arts revolution, of which music in this case can’t be overlooked. The development of music in Ghana can’t be written without solid references to Cape Coast. The region has become one of the fastest developing music hubs over the last half decade with emerging big shots taking the Ghanaian musical landscape by storm.

The Central Music Awards (CMA), which is in its 7th edition evolved, out of its erstwhile names: Obama City Music Awards then to Cape Coast Music Awards. Being a brainchild of Candymann Lucas Mensah, this event meant to award musical acts from Cape Coast at the end of the year has expanded beyond its initial threshold to include all musicians and industrial players from the Region in order to make it more holistic and regional based.

This year’s edition was primarily powered by Heritage Promotions and took place at the Centre for National Culture (CNC) on the 26th of December, 2018. The show which was officially meant to commence at 9pm had its green carpet tipped by 7. Although the auditorium got filled to its capacity, the actual show down started in the lean hours of 11:12pm and anchored by the indefatigable Master of Ceremony (MC) Raza Swaggy of ATL FM.

Performances

The night had its highest blissfield in the area of performances though one would interject that the awards should score at the top of the benchmark. But obviously, many of the audiences pegged their lot with the performances. It is within this lens that many validations can be forecast and future projections sown.

The biggest performance of the night was that of TeePhlow. He brought to bear his mastery and demonstrated an epic skilled performance lobbied on maturity which sent the audience into a frenzied atmosphere. What more could one bargain for that TeePhlow couldn’t have fed them? From opening his act with his monstrous rap freestyle then lighting up the ambiance of the auditorium with tracks from his Phlowducation EP, this was nothing but an intriguing moment.

Other worthy acts who took the stage by storm and made the night worth remembering include: Soft Metal, Real MC, Kwamima MP, and Queen Haizel among others.

Awards

As expected of every awards event or programme, this was no exception. From the ultimate award of the night, the Artiste of the Year, through to the spotlight New Artiste of the Year; everyone present anticipated big wins for their Artistes.

Some Awardees of the Night:

—Real MC: Artiste of the Year

—TeePhlow (Preach): Rapper of the Year

—Chikel Baibe: New Artiste of the Year

—Harbour City Records: Event Management of the Year

—Ghanaplay.com: Best Blogging Site of the Year

—Snow Beat: Producer of the Year

—Ofasco Ne Beatz: Sound Engineer of the Year

—Joe Willie: Best Group of the Year

—Queen Haizel: Best Female Vocalist

—Twicy: Male Vocalist

—Mikey Benzy (Slow Down): Best Music Video for the Year

—Isaac Crentsil (Pentecost): Gospel Song of the Year

—Adeline Baidoo: Gospel Artiste of the Year

—Size Zero (Anthem): Best Hip Hop Song of the Year

—Jay Baba: Best International Act

—Eddie Khae (Do the Dance): Most Popular Ghanaian Song of the Year

—Kwamima MP (Wiase Ye De): Song of the Year

—Real MC (Yen Da): Hip Life Song

—Gully Grunk (Jah Know): Dancehall Song of the Year

—Sticker Songs (Duabo): High Life Song of the Year

—eShun (Fa Me Kor): Reggae Song of the Year

—DJ Nat Bubu: Best Promoter (Best DJ)

—Kweku Saki: Best Radio Presenter

Prominent great minds who have contributed to realising the fate of this award scheme were honoured on the night. Candymann Lucas Mensah and Mr. Candy GH among others were awarded citations on the night.

The unforgettable surprise of the night was with I.K Aning and Okotor Perry not winning any award at the event despite their heroic traverse in the musical landscape throughout the year. But whatever could have contributed to this can be estimated from the reason that the public votes were enormous in terms of the final aggregation of winners.

It must be noted, however, that among all the 24 categories or so slated for the night, only two came with cash prizes. That is, the Artiste of the Year (GH¢1000) and the New Artiste of the Year (GH¢500).

The Highs

This year’s event if anything to go by as in the truce of encomium is the most well rounded organized awards ceremony of its pedigree since its inception.

The incorporation of dexterous and highly laced metaphoric Poetry Performance by MC HAYMAKER (of the THM Poetry/Village Thinkers) coupled with the incredible Cultural display to set the show on edge shall remain etched as far as records remain atop.

The stage lights were beautifully tweaked to harmonize the show. The sound was of good score. Though there were times the DJ of the night was faced with difficulty trying to pick the right song for an artiste on stage.

The MC for the night, Raza Swaggy, handled his bait well so as the toastmaster who kept charging the audience from time to time. On the low, the female Co-MC was too monotonous for an event of this calibre.

The Lows

The most unfortunate moment of the night was with the time the programme started. The reality of timeliness whipped the orgaziners. Since it’s an event for people from every nook and cranny of the region, most of the audience had to leave the auditorium when they realized that time was fast gone.

How do we expect an award show to end around 4:15am in a city which almost seem deserted after 12am, especially at that point in time when all feet of educational institutions are on recess?

Recommendations

1 – It would be in the best interest of the organizers, Heritage Promotions and other stakeholders to reconsider the time within which the event is organized.

2 – Presenters of the awards need to be cautioned to be circumspect of the unnecessary time wastage and the undue antics used when given the opportunity to present Awards.

3 – Slots with specified time should be given to performers before the main night of the event and backstage prompters be up and doing.

4 – Performers should be scaled down, probably auditioning new acts who want to be given the opportunity to perform.

5 – Individuals given the chance to make speeches or addresses should be monitored to make it succinct and straight to the point.

Conclusion

This was a well-organized show. Aside a few shoestrings, Heritage Promotions need to sit and review the show in its entirety, make changes where possible and factor in other minds where necessary.

The dream to put Central Music onto the global stage shall be realized with continued efforts and pragmatic steps as taken by Heritage Promotions.

All hands must be on deck!

Nana Arhin Tsiwah

The writer, Abeiku Arhin Tsiwah is a Ghanaian International Award Winning Poet, Critic, Africanist, Author and Village Thinker who writes from his fatherland, Cape Coast.

%%AUTHORLINK% Ghana’s Central Music Awards 2018: Retrospection Tuck Magazine Tuck Magazine - Online political, human rights and arts magazine