second letter to Sanda

Dear Sanda,

            I had to move to the office today, reason because yesterday’s assignment had to develop into a story.

            Sanda as I was walking through circle to my work place. I saw an old grown man (emphasis on an OLD GROWN MAN) literally NAKED. Sanda I didn’t know where to look, I managed to move away from the place and continued my walking.

            And again I saw another old grown man, this time attending to natures call in the full glare of the public. The man wasn’t feeling any shame, and this time again I had to quickly turn my face away. It is true I want to be a journalist and one of the key things that make an individual a better writer is to be observant. I don’t want to believe I have to be observing full grown men naked in the day when I haven’t taken my breakfast yet.

            I continued walking, this time my eyes were focused directly on the road just being careful not to see what my eyes and mind wouldn’t be pleased with.

            I got to the rail way lines and the place was filled with remains of the rain water from  yesterday. My disappointment this time is to cross the new artificial “river” without getting myself wet. I got lucky because I could jump, of course I have long legs, and what do you expect? I sometimes wonder why I didn’t join the athletic for Ghana in the London Olympic games, I will have been a good runner, or may be very good at the high jumping.

            But my problem was those who couldn’t jump, those whose legs weren’t as long as mine, to cross this new artificial  “river” , too bad for them. They had to walk through the “artificial river”.

            I got to work, wrote my story of the previous day. I was expecting the senior reporter to kindly read it. She just put my hard work down. But poor me Sanda, she wrote a new one, and the story has not being published yet, the expert writes.

            Sunday wasn’t that exciting, so I don’t have much to write on. But my concern was all mad men on the street of Accra; it kept wondering what the psychiatric outfits are really doing about them.

            As I walked through circle this Sunday, it looked like living in a less populated place, less people, less hawkers and you add less to every group that comes to mind.  

            The only group that weren’t lessened were the phone sellers, pulling you by the hand to come and purchase one of their “bomb” phones or “stolen phones”.

            That reminded me of what I witnessed last Friday at circle. A young man of about 16 years had gone to steal two phones belonging to a couple.

             Unfortunately for him the couple sent him with some thugs to come and get their phones back. It wasn’t a beautiful sight, I saw a small boy of his age being slapped to show to the thugs who really bought the phone from him.

            The guy who bought the phone also refused to accept the phone was sold to  him, well with the kind of people he was dealing with, he obviously took his fair share of the slaps, only to agree the phones were with him; but he didn’t know the phones were stolen.

            He had to give the phones up after the slaps, which he could have prevented from coming.

            I thought that was his choice though. If you live in a glass house, you don’t throw stones.

            I will end my letter here, in my letter tomorrow, I will tell you about how I got  my internship and what really happened.

            Enjoy your evening, do have a great sleep.