Dear Dojiya

Dear Dojiya It serves as a voice for the voiceless, an Eye-opener for the blind, the movie of political pundits and the workshop of poets and lovers of the pen

This page is a poetically matured satirical headquarters where through the beauty of language and messages are passed in the African way like the chief linguist.

Dear Dojiya Time has flown like the water leaves the seashore but my muse is still as intact as the rocks that bound the...
17/03/2024

Dear Dojiya

Time has flown like the water leaves the seashore but my muse is still as intact as the rocks that bound the sea. Cruising to cloth the table has been the donkey year absence but I have come with plenty fiila for you.

Have you heard that Ghana, your benevolent soil, is left off the Internet hook because of a cut in a robe that carries electric magic that makes the world a global village? Yes it's true and the watchmen of these robes are adding salt to injury that they will be able to tie the knots in months. Hmmm!

I am very worried because women have had miscarriage and their husband no longer get er****on because of the issue and those do end with premature ej*******on on every episode of pages they have flipped.

This utmost fear has even made others cursed their husbands and wives especially on the day of this rupture for no fault of theirs.

Alas! There are some zubaligu that has brought some relief called the X VPN and as to what it means, will judge that. Even ʒim yili dabuɣulan'bia, ni saviɣu yili dabuɣulan'bia are still fighting among themselves who is Naa.

Until these robes are tied back...

Che ka n wuɣiri n noli ni ni shiri kom ka labi na (let me rinse my mouth with honey water and come back)

Dear Dojiya,ACADEMIC WRITING STIFLES CREATIVITYI took lift on the wings of time and business swallowed my time. I stole ...
10/07/2017

Dear Dojiya,

ACADEMIC WRITING STIFLES CREATIVITY

I took lift on the wings of time and business swallowed my time. I stole time from the busy schedules in my diary's time to say hi. I hope the family is good, alive and active?

A tumuor glows red on my conscience when any academic writing issue dawns on me. Articles, academic essays, project work and theses have made intelligent people look stupid over the years. These academic works, prove difficult not by their strengths but sometimes the wicked supervisors who supervise these works. People who suffer to define certain terms in their own way are insulted and made to suffer the consequences as a result, they graduate with their grey hair already pleading for their early graves.
Nothing pains more than the issue of references. The whole work is disgraced with countless reference almost at every paragraph as if the current researcher is nothing but log that laid in schools.
Why should ones capabilities be determined by a book he has quoted almost every sentence.

Anyway Dojiya, my system is clear and the educational system needs an update lest we should be prepared to continuously produce the same bunch of grandfather researchers and never practically based researchers. However, it is undeniable the fact that we have a few genuine researchers who have actually done what Napoleon Bonaparte couldn't do yet, we mock them especially their work.

Signed 2017/07/10
Fuseini Dipantiche Mohammed Naporoo Kamal-Deen Sh*tobu
(Creative Thinker)

Dear Dojiya,OVER ONE(1) BILLION PEOPLE CONFIRMED DEAD IN OUR VILLAGES My tears baths me still as a result of my mournful...
24/03/2017

Dear Dojiya,

OVER ONE(1) BILLION PEOPLE CONFIRMED DEAD IN OUR VILLAGES

My tears baths me still as a result of my mournful state. I got up from sleep in the slumber of yawning night and realised that the tears that kept flooding my biological paparazzis have a zero flow and I took to pen to feed your eyes with tearful ink drops. With tortoise hope, I have a concentrated believe that the family's number is as fit as tact. I still breath Naawuni's-The Creator of the Universe air, eat and drink from his Mercy. Glory to Him and Him alone.

Mba Adinpuya said, 'The gathering of rain clouds at the north-eastern skyline is not a warrant to a heavy atmospheric me**es'.This, veritably, never made sense to me as a young boy but time and actions have proven it true and real beyond any mortal imagination. Issues of ancestral turn over are becoming very rampant in our villages. Most common in mind is the case of our hopeful future leaders who met their untimely return to the silent majority world at a village called Kintampo-the land of cashew and natures' wondrous wonders. Reports that melted my ear wax had it that they had travelled from far and near villages to feed their eyes and souls of one crying three-in-one-table top-mountains sitting on the abdomen of the tropical forest there. That place certainly is a must go place because the Supreme Power of Naawuni- the Original Creator, is spelled black and white in this area. Their last vocal syllables echoed to the tip branch duelers of the baobab trees in the second world when some of the tall big trees responded positively to the pressure of the windstorm that r***d the area to pave way for the tears of the almost punctured skys. The elephant-like branches crashed them head-on-collision in the falling water from the mountainous tearful fountains. Your guess: Dojiya, hmm! Is as good as mine. 17 abled bodies laid breathless under the leaves that provided shade for their nudity after the Biblical Moses and Jonah saved their dead bodies. Few days before the market day, the soothsayers said the oracles were annoyed since those students defiled the water by doing what married couples do for procreation. Dojiya, help me pray to Naawuni to welcome decease peacefully and have mercy on the souls that are righteous and also forgive the unrighteous souls. William Shakespear said 'Death will come at the time it will come'.

Additionally, the 'Tie and die' has claimed so many souls in our neigbouring village with majority of them being our supposed future leaders. As a result, pessimists read doom news as the sun rises and goes back to sleep everyday since the expert generations of the fruitful future are havested unripe by death with billions of unborn children.

However, we thank Naawuni for the lives of our brothers at St. Charles-the only boys grown up school in Tamale when the devouring lips of fire licked dry and burnt a three storey with not even a pin picked from the rooms some few days ago. The flames of fire was so huge that our village fire fighters fought it hard but it still triumph. The good news of it is that, no soul was lost nor was injured. Alhamdullillah.
Dojiya! My physiological and psychological states are distorted but self repairing now and for that matter, I wouldn't keep adding more salt to injury to make my state worst. Extend three words to the whole family that I'm fine and kicking and till time permit me, Assalaamu Alaikum Warahmatulahi Wabaraketuhhu!

Yours Poet from our savannah
Signed
Fuseini Dipantiche Mohammed Naporoo Kamaldeen Sh*tobu
(Creative Thinker)

17/03/2017

Dear Dojiya,

ELEPHANT-SIZE ELDERS FOR OUR VILLAGE

It is with moanful tears I write to you now. On the thighs of a fat moon, we have been bathing and eating heat- no wonder harmattan respired its last few market days ago.

Certainly, the lightening and thunderbolts pelted against an iroko tree in the dry season can't be taken merely and for that matter, spiritual fortification and pacification would have to be taken to know the genesis to revelation of that ancestral anger. I rise in a peaceful war against the too much senior elders our village Naa has chosen to manage th custodian affairs of our land. They amount to 110 fully fleshed masculine and feminine Homo Sapiens and 216 elders of each sub village under our capital village jurisdiction. This would not have made my head ache but the back drains and pits they are going to dug from our cowrie treshhold.

The former elders each would cost our village a muskerteer, a mobile foreign engine made cart, 15000 cowries, a chinese furnished hut and many more. In simple how much and how many quantification, my little brain cannot fathom the goodies it will gully pit from our village silo. From grapevine source, our village silos were left almost dry by the former Naa from Bole and the current Naa sung this to all available members of our village. The question is: Is this the manner of competency he wants to stitch our torn silos?
Dojiya! Even the list of arbitrary elders to our neighbouring villages are not out yet and everyone is wailling. The promise of each sub village to its bone fide dam has been narrowed to the savannah sub villages. The free grown up schools has also change dimension and the current three streams of students in the grown up school has been eliminated as part of its beneficiaries.

My fear, Dojiya, is that, a lot of Naa spokepersons will be caught with mountain tongues in the few 12 full moonlights ahead. I am very disappointed in the choice of our Naa but it is too early to lose hope in our lion king.
Yours Poet from our savannah

Signed
Fuseini Dipantiche Mohammed Naporoo Kamaldeen Sh*tobu
(Creative Thinker)

Dear DojiyaPOLITICIANS AND LAWLESSNESS ARE THE REASONS FOR THE FLUNK IN ACADEMIC PERFORMANCE AT THE JUNIOR HIGH SCHOOLS...
17/02/2017

Dear Dojiya

POLITICIANS AND LAWLESSNESS ARE THE REASONS FOR THE FLUNK IN ACADEMIC PERFORMANCE AT THE JUNIOR HIGH SCHOOLS.

I have the hope of a pregnant woman that you sure are well. Though the weather is becoming un-becoming-ly cheery in heat just to shift the hour hand off harmmattan, I am with the strongest conviction that the blood chain of ancestral traits are in the love of nature against the tides of the odds.

The soothsayers of education, say that education is the complete development of the whole being; ethically mannered, psychologically stable, spiritually nourished, physically fit, mentally sound and intellectually adjusted. A tree has got a lot of shade, but buttocks can only occupy an area proportional to its size. Therefore, the end of children schooling is a bile in my food.

Since 2012, the academic performance of students has been on the decline with so much noises made on what possibly is breastfeeding this prodigious efficiency miser. Acerbic punctures have been thrown to the guiding angels of these students. Worst of those attacking militants are the societal hyenas who can't remember the national anthem nor the national pledge of our dear nation.

It is a human nature, to take credit for the good he succeeds in doing and blames God and the devil for the evil that befalls him/her. The patients put it better: God heals but the doctor takes the credit and pay. A visit to the learning workshop, with an objective lenses would reveal that the foot soldiers, among the guiding Angeles deserve praises for their meritorious and efforts in furnishing these students with the right information to come out with flying colours.

Regrettably, Dojiya, all these efforts of these angels are "a cotton in harmattan wind", ever since the state hyenas' love for power has grown beyond their sense of quality and better development of the children. Students who get the aggregate of the oldest oak tree in our village, get public learning workshops to attend. As a result, the zeal to rack ones brain to excel in exams in order to proceed to grown ups workshops is dwindling to extinction. Students now rely much on crammers to 'excel' in their BECE exams, with little attention to their studies and revision. This, though chafing the beauty of children end of education, makes the crammers buoyant producers.

However, these toothless barking dogs, have penetrated the very pith of our educational system and have poisoned the whole system with the 'I know my right ' syndrome. Believe you me, it is out of lawlessness on the part of the kings and queens of guiding angels, that these rots are swept under the carpet.

They go the lion-chase-buffalo mile to sit in their frozen ovens with no clue of what is happening in the learning workshops and draw the blue prints for the battle they have never seen. This is directly proportional to the level of measured cotton-headedness to believing the blind man that come announcing that he saw a life fish with an eye.

Indiscipline becomes the hallmark of a nation politicians- state hyenas, politrick with even the colour of the pant their citizens should wear. Consternation looms my mind now as I'm bathing in desolation at Yankazia- my new village of tutulege.

Tu-whit, tu-whoo! The last sleepless owl has announced sleep. Dojiya! Save my 'Tipagya' for our revered dynasty and household.

Your Poet from our Savannah

Signed 2017/02/14

Fuseini Dipantiche Mohammed Naporoo Kamal-Deen Sh*tobu

(Creative Thinker)

12/02/2017

Dear Dojiya

BRIBERY AND CORRUPTION ARE NOW LEGAL IN OUR VILLAGE

It is within a happy frame of mind, that I rise from the somnambulism of thoughts and mental configuration, to weep out even my liver to you. The horses of time, l must say, have been very smart in their flow since the globalization of our village keeps rising from one stage to another.

I had the singular honour on a down to earth physical phenomenon, where raw cola was dashed and slipped into the purse of people's palms to bank their packets, when they- the collectors, were the suppose watchdogs of our safety in the community. I have traveled far and near to the sub-villages under the geographic demarcation of our capital village entrenched in our constitutional articles and clauses but the worse keep surmounting me like the sediments of sedimentary rocks on fertile grounds reserved for farming activities against famine, as I passed from one village to another.

To each village we passed,where we saw our village musketeers who are paid by the sweat of the lone and poor farmers, petty traders and businessmen, they miraculously and dutifully hand shook the driver of our potential public coffin, bulge their drunk senseless eyes and pseudonymously kept glue to an empty file in search for nothing and slipped their cold folded palms into their cursed buckets as if hunting for a dog's meat in Saudi Arabia. Their final resolute always was to wink their corrupt and blind eyes of societal progress to the clueless drivers of the mobile coffins.
The smoke that is beefed out from the exhaust of those mobile coffins are enough to kill all the trees around the roads in the unborn moons to be birthed. Dojiya! Such are the women and men our village have chosen as our musketeers, to fight battles and defend our boundaries, prevent road umobile coffins, and save us from the gentlemen of the road. Are we safe?

The collectors- the chief elders of corruption, are usually officially packed like stationary tools and equipments, to protect us but the worst is seen when death financiers appear before them.

It is as fresh as the last lacccolith on earth on the brains of geologists, when I witnessed these legalizations. The thumb-print statisticians in whose hands every Tom, Dick and Harry of our village have entrusted their time, hope, soul and flesh, in choosing the crowned-slaves-turn-lords-overnight have failed us because they have each, "respected gem" sitting in the roofed white man hut except a handful hungry and ready to take even the egg shells, meant to nourish the poor system. A destitute, who has laboured for them and add to their cow beef worth of pounds, all in the name of 'appreciation'. I called this, greed beyond human fathom-abilty and unreasonable cheap market of ones conscience. These would have been comprehensible attitudes of drunkards and goons and not diplomats who are suppose to manage the thumbprints of their people.

Look, Dojiya, Not even a tinge of shyness was exhibited in requesting for the shame they called appreciation with the names of the appreciators written with golden pens on sliver papers with the aim of working with their partners in crime in subsequent exercises to be organised by them as the official thumb printing oracles of our village. Hmm! whilst these ill and over mannered behaviours are exhibited, we still trust them as our future lords manning who becomes our ruler. It is pathetic and cold to the bile, that such things are happening with the voiced majority on the gossip bench keeping their quiet! However, water remains the same even if its name is changed.

Extend my words to your sons, brothers and sisters.

Your Poet from Our Savannah

signed- Deens of Deens

Fuseini Dipantiche Mohammed Naporoo Kamal-Deen Sh*tobu

(Creative Thinker)

Dear Dojiya,I am very sorry for having written to you some time now. How are all the respiring clayed artifacts in our v...
30/01/2017

Dear Dojiya,
I am very sorry for having written to you some time now. How are all the respiring clayed artifacts in our village? Hope be, they are fine.
I think you have every right to prosecute me in th ourt of Judas. Over the sunny and moony momoents, I have become a slave to our capital village development and by the fortuitous combination of circumstances, my heels have become a tyre for our deterorating tared paths to our countryside.

It is fundamentally a crime to have converted Volta volts in our handsets which contains the micro gateway to joining the world as a global village through the wireless witchcraft of the blue-eyed man.

Sincerely and dutifully, I have bitten my fingers time and again for the passing of events which sublime into thin air but should have been brough before your glassy-fluid-filled retina for cosmopolitan analyses in the laboratory of gossip service.
Before the burial of the twelve moons' co**se, he had his last moon filled gorgeous and horific ventures that kept each member of our village glueed to the audio-visual vans to feed their hungry ears with all the nitty-gritty of the enthronment. Acidic and unprintable codes were vomited from the bucal cavities of most throne-seekers with no scintila of conscience on the kingmakers. Even peoples' biological and physiological natures were mocked, rubbished and lampoon.
However, the depth of the silence after the thumb-printing exercise was broked by a pulchritude woman who held the lone pin to be dropped. Though her mannerism was like a goat sending maize to the lions den, she finally did the honourable and restored the peace our teaming flamed village that was resting on a timing bomb awaiting ecalation. This was really a day i talk lightly of now.

Dojiya! You remember I told you of the supermodel tournament of six gallant men and a lioness was slated on December 7? The leaders of the people who rode on the elephants back for the fear of burning earth-already up!- was declared the only heir to the throne awaiting tradition to take it course till the seventh day of the first moon of the new twelve moons. Obviously Dojiya, the whole village now is riding on the elephants back for shelter and other lieves onamentals wih just a microsm of the kingmakers calling themselves pessimists, sorry, whips of fastidious optimism.

Their leader is the chief of our village and he has began the selection of the elders. Some opinion readers, sorry, leaders have been tasked to bring send them to their past, present and their future in respect both their usefulness to painting our village to the admiration of all.

Yours kind
signed
Fuseini Dipantiche Mohammed Naporoo Kamal-Deen Sh*tobu
(Creative Thinker)

Dear DojiyaI am reporting from the heart of N-nabuni that lies on the knees of Saboba. When the shadows of men lengthene...
22/11/2016

Dear Dojiya
I am reporting from the heart of N-nabuni that lies on the knees of Saboba. When the shadows of men lengthened beyond their normal heights, I sat gazing towards home and pounding hard on my brain keyboard: What is the fate of the boys who kill their souls, knuckle their fingers, bath their sweat and beg for freedom from starvation, in the days not known at all but yet to be born?
Hmmm Dojiya! My short memory will not always allow me think far before merciful sleep robs me into her snoring silent Tricycle ( Nahi-Nahi) to save energy for my next day farm work in air-conditioned farms.

Most certainly Dojiya, the lamps we have lightened shall live to be the agents of civilization and this among many others comfort my mensurating heart to drop its last clot. For I know they shan't be Iddi Amins and Adolf Hitlers. I don't only sow the seeds but fertilizes them with organic manure.

©Fuseini Dipantiche Mohammed Naporoo Kamaldeen Sh*tobu
(Creative Thinker)

21/11/2016

Dear Dojiya,
For silence currently battling with darkness, I take to the wireless sorcery to spill the beans without sounds. Peeping through the peeping hole - hold as a loophole - I see wobbling victories clinging on many faces of the ready-to-play footballers in this season.

Zhiang Gmambilana and Co have turned seers now to prevent vile of their own values because, over moons ago, some soothsayers from the pulpit trampled hilariously on their own fame to shame when they soothsayed on the match in the blue-eyed man's land. I will never use my quarter 'kulikuli' to bet on those prophesies. However, predictions from die-hard supporters owe to the skills displayed by the defending champions and the records they (trophy holders) set towards the tension packed matches.

However, the then trophy-less teams now have also got their supporters, who, through the vuvuzelas have mentioned times without number, their Asamoah Gyans and Sulley Ali Muntaris: how skillfully they dribbled, displayed field acrobatics before scouring the goals in the far gone tournaments.

Dojiya, the sweet sour situation is as fresh as the monarch of moving into an innocent girl. Having long-passed his youth and being given verbal punches for purported poor officiating, the referee who handled the previous tournaments has hunged his whistle. But the center referee mandated now (by the supreme regulator of regulations) is making spectacular spectators' faith faint and fate hmm in results of these imminent encounters, so many fans are locked in a dilemma of an awe for the proceedings. As gray hair connotes wisdom, the former referee overlooked certain minors to allow sleeping dogs snore, but this referee, a perfectionist, whose vocational know how in the game is still a bud officiates through the aphorism 'new king, new rules' - the reason for these mix feelings.

The pedantic philosophy of the new referee, as a result, allowed, out of twenty-two, seventeen teams to stand for inspection which even got thirteen of them disqualified. The judicial confederation with veteran referees and other officials, however, have ruled that for the purpose of equity without iniquity, the disqualified teams should return for inspection. The officials of the confederation have finally added three teams, totaling seven to go down to earth in this upcoming tournament. The first team revere the chicken of the red c**k and no doubt they wake up by its crow from their slumber. The second team, through the tireless flaps of a white dove, preach peace in their faint echoing voice of melody. For the fear of the rays spat from the blazing sun and the me**es of the adolescent skies, the defending champions of the last tournament are sitting under the c**k headed umbrella. The following team sit on the back of an elephant to free their legs from the burning sand burnt by the angry sun. Also, the magnificent free luminosity of the sun is the trail of the next team and lastly, we have the bold Dr Kwame Nkrumah incarnates who have seen no beauty in symbols-the independent heroes. This directive has made the affected teams joyous; but I see the chief referee hopefully nursing some draconian pitch rules.

Dojiya, I am now suffering from diarrhea of fear for if the fanatic supporters doubt whatever results the referee will give at the end of the day, the peace plant we all water to shade may be cut to hoist the flag of hooliganism. And the stance of anti-feminism will be strengthened, too, but let's keep our fingers crossed. I will hint you soon as the days eat towards the final game.

© 2016
Fuseini Dipantiche Mohammed Naporoo Kamaldeen Sh*tobu
Creative Thinker

Dear Dojiya,I have played possum with our landing and bedding for thirty-six undiluted full months not out of cowardice ...
18/11/2016

Dear Dojiya,
I have played possum with our landing and bedding for thirty-six undiluted full months not out of cowardice but a careful observation of how some state hyenas have been tirelessly catching us as preys in their vicious circle of "Make them Suffer, they have SHORT memories".
We fed our guts and nourished our minds with materials that were at times voluntarily-compulsorily placed before us. I remember vividly how one of your sons packed home not because he couldn't follow the instructions and taboos of the white man but the disastrous decision made by the head of our chiefdom with no tinge of mercy to the beneficiaries of the then "cushion your packets, buy the handouts of your white man gods and save for your fees". I can bet for amputation that even as of now, we wander in the hearts of typical hamlets with the what remains our fate a question unanswered. We fuel our donkey minds to lighten our darkened corners but but hmm, our long ugly foreheads are what we hear.
Dojiya! Tell your son that we have been backed up and our short memories are things even the knowledgeable can't remember.
Dojiya, hopping to hearing from you.

©
Fuseini Dipantiche Mohammed Naporoo Kamaldeen Sh*tobu

Creative Thinker

DojiyaHow are the hearts in our huts at home? I cherished the hope that they are all receiving manas from the Supreme P...
15/11/2016

Dojiya

How are the hearts in our huts at home? I cherished the hope that they are all receiving manas from the Supreme President of the able and disable in the heavens above, whose powers know no boundaries! How are the breasts and testicles that parade our village too?
I hope you can remember one of your Kenyan sons who, for the first time in the life of your milkers land rose to the highest office in their land. The son you named "Born African, Raised American, Complete Kenyan Original Black African, Managing American", he drove the train from junction zero to junction eight and has retired to rest in custom with their norms and traditions of how they rule in their chiefdoms. This opened for another battle and this time, they were both... Over the past moon, clothed nights and naked days, a man with testicles and another man with a womb were the historic combatants in a far blue-eyed man's land. They both with their people inclusive had low melanin skins and pink noses. The man with testicles was a master in nihilistic comments against the breast of creatures, the spectrum of human beings walking on the face of the earth who are not real bloods from their village and the Mohammadanists. Left unto your black uncles and aunties, Dojiya, this coward man would have been a persona non grata with no locus standi for a toilet man, but they have crowned him to instruct and discharge missile orders. The unfortunate grid of the whole puzzle is the fact that he will be, by the mental slavery your brothers, sisters and uncles are enchained in though independent, the crowned King for the rest of the villages man walks. On the contrary, the man with the womb is now like any other person in our village because the thumb printers in the thumb printing exercise, couldn't spoil her face more like they did to the testicle bearer.
Dojiya, all in all, we have tears like river Volta that can make both Sahara and Kalahari deserts oceans, if the crowned King begins to implement his imaginations. My okra fingers should be blamed but I am innocent.

© Fuseini Dipantiche Mohammed Naporoo Kamaldeen Sh*tobu
(Creative Thinker)

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