Arti-Blog: Amanful Disastrous Deluge – ADD

            On Wednesday 15^th June, 2022 around 5pm the drizzles of rain which commenced with seemingly no intentions to cause havoc in the suburban community where I grew up turned disastrous deluge outlook in the Amanful West. Slowly by surely, in the 6pm hour unpaved paths started engulfing drops of rain which later affected pavement portions of the area. It’s crystal clear visibility, refrigeration repair shop, kebab selling structure ,seamstress as well tailor shops, provision shops, backyard garden, building hardware shop, pharmacy, mini bars, hospital and various houses within parts of Amanful locality had become like a lagoon or river as a result of such torrential rain. Initially, whilst writing some new songs on paper there’s bit writer’s block so I paused and reached out of the parental room which is having some stubborn disturbing bed-bugs… Oh, gosh, ouch!

They pinch like unseen pins in the living room chairs and the carpet. Among other things, many fell into gutters and holes they couldn’t see due to such massive flood situation which affected cars on the roads here on Amanful West suburban community in Takoradi. Although floods have been taking place more often in the Western Region of Ghana in the wet season, this time around it exceeded previous years of such rainy magnitude. Based on research done, Southern Ghana records two rainy seasons; major season from April to July and minor from September to November. It’s evident that the rate of this recent Amanful Disastrous Deluge #ADD supersedes the happenings which have taken place over a decade. Of course, when I was trying to rescue some items moving away from the house, it’s seen that height or level of flood was around my neck. Thus, it’s capable to cause drawn or death even as it’s seen some birds such as fowls, hens and ducks died because there’s no shelter for them in such a typical flood zone.

            In relation to one-on-one interaction as vox-pop, some of the neighbors’ or folks revealed that the Interchange project taking place on Principal Street of Takoradi at the Kwame Nkrumah round-about has also been the major cause of such disastrous deluge in the area. Indeed, due to the block of water-flow in the huge gutter, aside it’s hard to have appropriate or proper tunnel to ensure movement of rain-water. Another cause as fact is bad drainage system and sanitation because some indecent folks put garbage in gutters causing chokes at the long-run.

Aside, improper architecture planning of the suburb in terms of settlements has various effects whenever it rains cats and dogs. According to some elders of the community where the flood i.e. (deluge) took-place. It used to be lagoon about a century ago so your guess is as good as mine.  Terribly, it’s about 5 hours of non-stop down-pour and those of us using ground-floor facilities were adversely affected as some experienced sleeplessness due to flood invasion. Indeed, some of the spoiled and missing items include the following: television sets, laptops, electric fans, study desks, sound speakers, bed mattress, pillows, shoes, bags, hall tables, chairs, clothes just to mention but a few. It’s quite obvious the rate of disaster cause by such deluge made folks clean almost every part of houses, especially as witnessed at the Amanful West for days. Heaps of rubbish and other broken items seen on the aftermath were refrigerators, television sets, electric irons, stoves and others. 

            Surprisingly, on 18^th, 19th and 20^th June, 2022 those who have traveled and returned to see such mess done by the deluge, they’re still cleaning and putting their items in order. Another point to note in this Arti-Blog at the time of completion it became crystal clear as video recorded in the midst of torrential rains and the deluge had been sent to the Member of Parliament for Takoradi Constituency as well being the Western Regional Minister, Honourable Dr. Kwabena Okyere Darko Mensah to ensure possible assistance to the folks affected. However, there’s no rapid response to aid the Amanful West community. Well, his verbal statement to help construct another pavement path on the other side of the flood zone has not been done, thus over seven years since making promise to the electorate of Amanful West in Takoradi, Ghana. It’s obvious, some political leaders in Ghana are often concerned about making their families rich whilst majority of the citizens suffer in times like this due to poverty. Factually, as a leader people look up to you in terms of honoring words you voice-out or state in ensuring fulfillment. 

It’s so unfortunate and sad, even the Assemblyman of this Amanful West by name Nana Baiden has not even come to visit or see the rate of damage caused so as to find long-lasting solution to this bane. Even my private message to him about meeting-up to share communal development related ideas with him never yielded positive result. Well, are people elected to leadership positions in Ghana worthy to be called Honourable if they’re not honouring the words of promise to the masses? Indeed, this Amanful West has got lots of issues and problems with the youth in relation to reckless living and such disastrous deluge has compounded it environment bitterly. Obviously, solutions of fund support can only come from the outside world like USA, UK, Canada, Australia, Germany and other great nations. Its estimated $3500 is needed to assist the rate of damage caused in the Amanful West suburban community so as to ensure our lives turn around in goodness.

Kindly, make use of the attached pictures as proofs or evidences with regard to this Amanful Disastrous Deluge #ADD in order to bring about support. Thank You.

Ike Boat writes from Takoradi in the Western Region of Ghana, West Africa.

Synchronized Chaos International Magazine – SCIM Regular Contributor

Email Address: ikeboatofficial@gmail.com

Artiste WhatsApp: +233 267117700

WhatsApp Biz: +233 552477676 <—> MTN Mobile Money Number.

Registered ID Name: Isaac Adjei Boateng

"The End Again"
(Trilogy)

"Depopulated"

Desolate the land of cities
buildings like decapitated statues
streets covered in chucks of ruin

slump shouldered we wandered for months
finding the rims of the far mountains
forests covering where we hid

our quiet settlement
of the depopulated
survivors thankful and now unhurried

accepting weak walls and roofs of tree
rain and ponds and a lake of sweet water
faraway from the sea full of past pollutants

our children now no longer afraid
they play and sing and we listen
trying to forget the long ago explosions

my wife tenderly touching
scars on my back
loving me at night

darkness still
memories of the dying
and what we could have done.



"The Wind"

My brothers often visit
trying to give me a constant of cheer

telling me where they've been
and what they've seen

assuring me the sea recovering
stench of death disappearing

schools of fish returning
without sores that never heal

my brothers have found and married
young wives with unblistered skin

boats rebuilt and sails tall in the wind
many new islands blossoming

some seeing a gondola balloon
with people waving above the clouds

wind cleansing past the horizon
world freeing flowers again.



"Just Like the Old Days"

The old man walked into our new village
claiming nothing changes

men fighting again
over land and women and beliefs

shaking his head with tears
beard matted like his hair

prepare yourselves he warned
they've repaired their guns

bullets reclaimed from the ruins
helmets and knives and brass knuckles

with a maniac in charge
speaking smooth words dripping with poison

promising the power of hell
in his back pocket

the old man laughed and spit
looking at my wife and kids and peaceful land

you should tell the others
chaos is coming again

returning with twisted faces
eyeing every direction
where you dream and live

but this time
maybe you will pray
a little more and mean it.

Freedom Or Freedumb

There isn’t a simple answer to what freedom means to me.  There are things that it is and there are things that it isn’t.

I have freedom of movement, but that doesn’t mean that I get to drive a Cadillac or take a cruise around the world if I can’t afford it.

I can believe or not what I want.  That doesn’t give me the right to force people to believe as I do, or do as I want them to do.

I can own a firearm with limitations according to whatever local law and the Supreme Court is saying on a given day.  I’m not in a regulated militia and don’t want to kill, so I avoid gun ownership.  As I am writing this, fourteen people were killed with a gun or guns in a school in Texas.  Revision – nineteen people.

I can support or vote for the candidate of my choice, but for several years I’ve had a choice between different losers, so it doesn’t do much for me.

I get an education, but it is up to me to evaluate it and use it.  Many ignored or forgot most of what they learned in school and now depend on conspiracy nuts, talk shows, and celebrities for their information.  The loudest, craziest, and most partisan are responsible for most of the noise.

I get health care, but if I weren’t on Medicare, it might not be good.  While many in the USA get inadequate health care, some get too many tests and waste doctors time.

I can live where I want if I can afford it, but it might not be a pleasant place and I might not be wanted.  Depending on my race, religion, and looks many places that are technically open to me are not practically available.

I have freedom from want, but it isn’t guaranteed, it depends on my bank account.

None of us have freedom from fear because of hateful people who might want to kill us because of our race or religion, or some other reason.

I can live and love with the person of my choice if that person agrees to it.  Unfortunate people end up with abusers or alone.

I have freedom of expression within legal limits (plagiarism, libel, perjury), but no one has to offer me a venue or listen to me.

I have the right to pursue happiness, but I’m not guaranteed of attaining it.

I have the freedom to try for the occupation of my choice, but nobody would pay me to play basketball or sing.

I can’t speak of other countries, but in the USA freedom is frequently unused, misused, and abused.

To appear in Written Tales

The Padma Bridge

The moon has risen in the dreamy sky of us
From Mawa to Janjira you dreamt of
Linking the two parts over the river Padma
25 June 2022, the plan got established 
It blazed the light on the dark river
Long waited love came to light 
Joining the south and western part of the country to Dhaka city
Facing the challenge we once had for freedom in 1971
Our great leader Bangobandhu Sheikh Mujibur Rahman handled the leadership 
His fittest daughter Sheikh Hasina, our prime minister
Just proved how brave she is in her heart and fruitful her merit!
The Padma Bridge provided us all to live in connection 
Mitigating the needs from one part of the river to everywhere in speed.
 
  
Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
28/06//2022


 Fire

Fire is in, fire is out
The heart is firing for sex
On the other it's firing in love
Look! the bodies are firing in the container depot fire at Chattogram
In some distance the body is fired on suicide
The sun-burnt eyes are firing in terror
On the other some are firing in anger or pain
Some are firing for the absence of the lovers or beloveds
The garments factories are firing with bodies of the workers
Plastic warehouses containing hazardous chemicals
At Nimtota of Chawkbazar in Old Dhaka fired hundreds of lives
Some are firing with the neighbors to win the fight
Some are smiling with fire
Over the glory of entering into world unknown
  
Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
28/06//2022

Welcome, all, to June’s second issue of Synchronized Chaos. This month’s contributors take a step back, contemplating our world and our lives. Many show thought and care, aware of the loss and grief around us, and even the more celebratory or humorous pieces draw upon our fragility for inspiration.

Mark Blickley and Miss Unity’s ekphrastic work shows the vulnerability of a silent performer who must gesticulate for her living.

Multimedia work from Jeff Crouch, Soumailia Zoungrana, and Diana Magallón also involves performance, a dancer giving a very athletic performance in old-time gritty black and white, as if she’s a legend fading with time. Stephen Crowe sketches out a scene at a dying California lake.

John M. Brantingham’s novel excerpt deals with the passage of time. Its main character is an old man facing death, unsure how or when to share that news with his grandson.

Tess Tyler presents a lovely scene of outdoor family life in Northern California that turns into a lament for murdered children, while J.K Durick comments on gun violence and rising gas prices and Lewis LaCook’s surrealist poems probe death, intimacy, and wildfires.

Ahmed Aminu and Yahuza Abdulkadir mourn political corruption, violence, and social injustice, as does Mahbub, in a collection otherwise devoted to time-stopping moments of connection and beauty.

Candace Meredith’s short story brings the poetry of a fairytale to the real-life drama of drug addiction and recovery. Amos Momo Ngunbu’s piece also highlights the social influences we can have on each other, for good or ill.

Chimezie Ihekuna reflects on how social shame inspired him to falsify his report card as a child, and how his deed was discovered. Fatihah Quadri also remembers childhood vignettes entertainment from a friendly neighbor who has since passed.

Benyeakeh Miapeh contributes elegant, figurative verse about grief, while Ayiyi Joel reflects on the touch of a lost love.

Stephen House describes memories of the past and of lost causes. Steve Brisendine’s poems set in America’s heartland explore what we remember, what happened and what didn’t.

Robert Ragan’s piece skirts the fine line between describing the anger stage of grief and the way love can turn to possessiveness and hate.

J.J. Campbell’s poetic speakers are misanthropes on the edge of society who still crave some type of human companionship, although by sexually objectifying women of color.

Ryan Quinn Flanagan also writes poems of middle age, but with heavy helpings of humor tossed in with the laments.

Mehreen Ahmed’s pieces convey sanctity and privacy, while Michael Robinson reflects on the comfort he finds in Christ.

John Culp’s work illuminates the physical sense of elation. Ojo Olumide Emmanuel’s poems can serve as expression of his feelings, but can also seek lives of their own, independent of his will.

This month includes visual art as well: striking photographs of signage from Hannah Greenberg and graffiti-style work from Texas Fontanella.

Thank you for reading June’s issue of Synchronized Chaos.

Broken Legs

it's Ramadan,
& we would wear the lips
of a night,
& speak of the dark memories
standing on
the borders of our country.

we would watch the back
of our hands,
to see the pictures
of schoolgirls, whose mothers
are through waiting
for them to come home.

we would try
to echo the screams
of people,
who lost their hopes
inside a moving train.


we would remember
the burning bodies of women,
& children whose ashes
now paint our sky grey.

& we wouldn't
want to taste the blood,
that quench the thirst of hungry zombies
walking through
the borders of our country.

our legs are broken,
we don't have the strength
to stand and fight again.

we are left with only our hands,
& we would raise them
tonight.

& ask our lord
for a piece of cloth,
that would wipe our tears.

 _For Abunic 

you told me of death/the pain and the weight of its scars
when it paddled canoe with grandma 
on the hot surface of tears 

my tears still falling on the footprints of death
when it walked off my doorsteps with daddy's breath 

you undressed death in lines of poetry 
 planted on grandma's grave

never told me 
that you'll be a poetry/poetry that will count my teardrops 

ball of my pen runs through your flesh 
for words that'll give you pillow in the Lord's arms 
you left your broken pieces scattered on my sheet like puzzle 

you were the pen i knew 
 -spilled on what it feels to run out of ink
like strolling with breeze along the seashore

& told me not of this day
day that will fall like rain from my eyes 
day that will push the arms of the clock 
without counting the sounds of your breath in the air 

i fasten buttons to cover the pain in my chest
fighting to find the semicolon that once held my poems 


it was Wednesday, when the news pointed gun at my head
& stole happiness of my closet 

march 16/ the chapter of 2022
that taught me how to recite euleulogy 
& write elegy 
for a brother with bundles of unfulfilled dreams 


let the soul Rest In Peace 
as the memories forever Rest In Pain
hoping to capture you again.