The concert tomorrow, May 29th at 8pm at Alliance Française in Accra.
Tsewww. Google the details yourself. I ain’t here to talk about no daggum concert. I’m here to talk about my angsty emotions about missing said concert.
On May 29th, my one and only son turns six years old. But please believe that if I had the opportunity to hop on a plane and jet over to Accra to be a part of this concert, I’d do it. I’d miss Stone’s birthday, leave him with a bottle of Coke and some bubbles, and I’d go see Ambolley in concert rather than spend the evening with him. I’m not saying that I LOVE Gyedu Ambolley more than I love my son…I’m just saying that I love him a lot. Besides, I’ve known Ambolley longer than Stone.
The Simigwa Hene and I have a very strong e-relationship. Okay, fine. We USED to have a strong relationship. I was hoping that it would one day manifest into a full-bloomed Shakespearean love-triangle-tragedy… but it didn’t. I don’t know what happened! One day, all transmission between us stopped. I never stopped loving him, though. And I know deep down inside, he has not forgotten and still loves meeeeee… (Along with his other legions of adoring fans.)
This love I speak of? Me, I have proof o! The Innanets is forever, and even though I will miss seeing him live – AGAIN – I still have the many tweets we exchanged with one another two years ago. I infrequently press them close to my virtual bosom and sigh losing myself in the reverie of what never would have been, interpreting his every innocent word into whatever meaning I desire.
Ambolley tracks my sleeping habits because I’m THAT important to him:
And then there was the time he asked me to move in with him:
This one time, he allowed me to do a mini-interview with him, thinking that everything to know about him was already known. Nuh uh! There’s always more than meets the eye with a man such as this. Look at his answers.His favorite color is RED? Everyone knows MY favorite color is red! Ambolley was showing me how kindred we truly are:
Ambolley thinks I’m funny. Any proper man knows that the way to a woman’s heart is to tell her she’s funny. Look at how he just snatched the beating muscle out of my chest:
ALL my friends and “friends” are going to this concert tomorrow. I feel like the one kid whose mother didn’t allow her to go to the Shabba Ranks concert because it “cost too much money” or “the boys will be too rowdy” and was forced to sit home and mutter midnight prayers instead. It’s not fair. It’s not right!
But guess what, suckas? MY name is on the sleeve notes of The Simigwahene’s re-released album. Mine. Malaka Grant. Open it and see for yourselves. Muahahahaaa!!!
Who am I fooling? It’s not the same as being in the crowd, sweating out my yellow-yellow to my spiritual boo’s signature baritone growl.
I (don’t) hope you all have fun.