Confessions Of A Brat

Confessions OF A Brat



Good God Almighty,

                                          Forgive me for I have sinned. That phrase should really sound cliché to you by now. Every now and then I come to you feeling sorry for myself, begging for forgiveness. I don’t know when you stopped forgiving me but I believe you still do, even though I have never deserved it. But thanks anyway.

                                         God, can I call you my nigga? I need to make this confession personal, so it will feel a bit more comfortable if I called you my nigga. I remember some religious person shouting out that our connection with our maker should feel as personal as ever. So I guess this is how different this confession will feel from the others. Honestly nigga I can’t explain why I sin. It’s not like I don’t know it’s bad, or I don’t know it comes with a punishment, but my “Adamly” genes still cause me to sin. Or maybe nigga it’s you? I mean why create sin when you know humans like me will fall prey to temptations and commit it?  Wait, hold up, I guess I shouldn’t be trying to get on your wrong side by questioning you, because I desperately need your forgiveness and in effect blessings.

                                         Just last week, I was just driving around in the neighborhood. It was raining cats and dogs but that didn’t deter me from enjoying my ride. As I approached the junction, I saw the waakye seller frantically stopping me for a lift, but I sped by and consequently splashed the rain water from the pot hole onto her already drenched attire. I felt no remorse for leaving this geriatric alone in the cold rain. After all she wasn’t my responsibility. I went further to brag to my friends about how I had abandoned the woman, and they were all thrilled by my actions. Such fools. The next day I sent my brother to get us some waakye. He returned in a short while and began to narrate  how the waakye seller had made him cut the queue and given us extra portions of meat. I was utterly surprised. He even reported that she made my order, which she knew all too well, extra special and asked that her regards be extended to me. I was shell shocked. Ah?! This woman, knew exactly the way my Range Rover looked. She would never have mistaken it for anyone else’s. (No one had chrome rims like mine)  She also clearly saw my face as I approached her that rainy day. So why then would she treat me so nicely after the ordeal I had put her through?

                                  Whatever her motives were they clearly pinched my soul. She chose to drive out the hate she had for me with love, sweet tasting Ghanaian love. Nigga in heaven, I realised my sin when this woman chose not to hate me but love me, and it hurt badly. I didn’t know how to respond to this after eating the waakye, obviously. So, I went on my knees and opened my tobacco stained mouth to ask her forgiveness for my bad behaviour. I thought she would lambast me with that “rich boy, bad attitude, your parents didn’t raise you well speech”. But yet again she hugged me and told me to go home for I had done nothing.  Jaw dropped, I dragged my deflated ego behind my steering wheel and drove home.

                              I began to think, and then it hit me. The waakye seller had succeed in making me feel remorseful for my actions by reacting in the exact opposite way I predicted her to. An effective way to curb sin? What if my father had spared me the lashes when I first stole his Jaguar to impress the girls in high school? What if my school had educated me rather than sent me home on suspension when I stole test answer? What if everyone in the world LOVED everyone else, and treated them as such. Would there be war, starvation, and all those other global issues? But hey nigga, what do I know? I’m just a fool who has just realized how much of a wreck I really am.

                     Nigga (I should really stop calling you that), I guess in the world of Cinderella, which is the only book I ever read, the waakye seller was my fairy godmother who transformed me from a rotten grape to a temptingly beautiful bottle of 1943 Chardonnay. But before this transformation is complete, I need your forgiveness. I would love to list them all, but we both know that my grand-kids will be born before I’m over with that. So please God, forgive me (the full package with the blessings and all).  For I think that will be your little contribution to this decaying world. Helping a young man become wholesome, as he was at birth. And I Swear, this time I really mean every words.

             So yeah, say hello to all the goodfellas in heaven chilling with you. I’ll be joining y’all soon. Have fun and Thank You Very Much.


                                                                                                                     I Will Always BE,

                                                                                                                        Your Child the spoilt Brat.

PS: The Waakye is to die for!!! You should try it before you destroy this world again. Bye!  





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