I have read some memoirs; I have seen autobiographies too. Stories spanning tortuous careers, tracing failures and successes and on uncountable occasions, such supposedly candid stories swerve the subject of love, not with their wives, but the numerous girls who did not eventually make it to the altar with the Memoir's hero when he was a nobody! The "heroes" often narrate the start of their love life from when they met their current wives, and sometimes some chidhood love fairy tale as is the case of writer Mahama, John; and by that these writers intentionally or unintentionally close the door shut on the genuine stories of the many, many damsels who once upon a time had the best of relationship and bed time with the writers, sharing their times, and minds and if it were actually true love, their hearts. The love chapters of such books create the impression to all gullible readers that up until they met their wives, they had nothing to do with anyone. I must admit that the whites are often honest than our African 'statesmen'.

That's how most African great men often write the stories of their lives.

Perhaps given the Divine mandate of making the Holy Bible an autobiography or memoir, Sololmon or David would have highlighted prominently the defeat of Goliath than telling us, if David for example, would at all, tell us that he had over 700 concubines and that Uriah’s wife had some irresistible Cocacola shape and butts, pardon me, which could precipitate a parochially diabolic plan as to send her beloved husband to frontline war to die in order for the powerful monarch to harvest a one-night orgasm with Uriah’s wife—even South Africa's Jacob Zuma will not do that!
Generations have learnt from that story. Let’s thank God then, the God who took over ‘authorship’ of His own Bible, lest men lie about their roles.

So when a young man who feels by himself destined for some unknown but yet to be reached greatness and mindful of death too because greater men like John Kwaku Nketia have died ahead of their time, feels bogged down by the magnetism of the great-grand- daughters of Eve is torn in a dilemma of whether to continue pursuing the panty doctrine of Father Bacchus and 'Vandalism', or make himself a Saint Francis of Assissi among Cassanovas, such a fellow finds himself stranded as there is no clear cut example to follow clearly in the stories written down by those who have been there before, if he desires to learn, while of course cutting his own unique story. #HonestTalk

Those writers of memoirs, like me who is writing this article today, have poetic license- the right to write their work of literature in the manner they like, splicing and dicing, omitting and even lying, and no one can take them on!

I don’t know what right I have over someone’s work, but I often felt it's sheer organized opportunism to dissipate your youthful energy in bed with these gracious ladies in Universities, Polytechnics and Training College campuses who were not even at the worst relationship break-up outburst, hookers; but rather partners who helped in some way to sustain the confidence and perseverant focus of a man marching towards some goal and in writing, the man would not so much as tell their stories even if pseudonymously.

Take the case of Kwame Nkrumah, in the context of this article, he wrote his autobiography as if he had the privilege of having his first orgasm with the mother of his kids- the woman he married under really, really dramatic circumstances! The drama is that Nkrumah asked the Egyptian government for a wife. A sort of close-door "Miss Egypt" was convened and some 3 ladies were shortlisted. Their pictures were dispatched to Ghana with their full names and ages written in ink behind the pictures, and an accompanying telegram requesting that Nkrumah chose only one. On an afternoon, Nkrumah entered his office, his secretary informed him about the Egyptian government response- "how many", he asked; "Three" was the response. "Okay choose one for me, and use your kindest discretion, Ma'am. I will be in the office!" So Fathia Rizk Nkrumah became the chosen one- indeed "Fathia fata Nkrumah-- thanks to the well-sharpened propaganda machinery of the CPP! Can we have a Kumawood movie on this?

Promiscuity was not rife then, so we could agree to give Francis Nwia Ngoloma the benefit of the doubt. Now here is the point I want to make on Nkrumah--- Can we hold on to this sanctimonious sexuality mini-concensus, at this time, a time when an alleged ‘impostor’ has apparitioned from nowhere splashing money to members of the Nkrumah Extended Family, laying claim to having been fathered by the Charismatic African Showboy and even asking that he be allowed to take over "his father's" CPP? Such possible but slightly unlikely Dominic-Straus-Kahn-like one-night bye products makes one want to believe that there was more to Nkrumah's title of ‘African Showboy’ than the onerous struggle to emancipate Africa! Sekou Nkrumah...Ernesto.. Any dimension I missed?

Should I put up Ex President Kufuor on the chopping table, on an issue such as this, what I will write may be unsatisfactory for readers who may likely accuse me of writing less than I should have, about a man who at 63 was considered "sexy" by many and pestered with numerous speculative talks of travelling around the world to honour or dishonour Daughters of Eve to the incendiary propaganda that carved a resemblance between Snr Kufuor and the twin babies of Gizelle Yadzi! Talk of a youthful Kufuor, don't we need the highlights of the youthful moments, if for nothing at all, but as a flag to remind us of their humanity and infallibility and importantly guidance for 21st century youth who find grace in orgies and sextapes?

Talk of His Excellency John Dramani Mahama, the area fine boy! The proud Commonwealth Hall Vandal, and responsible father of children he owns up to! Maybe some day, the story Will be told with pomp and cheer, as reference for many misguided present day Vandal students who do worse in Commonwealth Hall inner Rooms than Togbe Afede, Spio Garbrah, Clement Apaak etc did. You may expect me to do some equalization here; thus mention Nana Addo Danquah Akufo Addo of the NPP. Well can I blame you, being a typical Ghanaian in a country that likes funerals more than it likes weddings and outdoorings. Talking of love for funerals brings to mind Nana Akufo Addo's tribute to Theresa Ameele Tagoe -- alias Bottoms-- according to the seasoned Lawyer, politician, astute diplomat and rights activist-- Bottoms is the name he called her in their student days-- what a Volta Hall nickname!

May his soul rest in peace; we are told his only child is not the son of Naadu Mills. Rumours has it that she is one Ruby, who is mother to the former first son. May his soul find rest. You get my point?

There are dots ..dots.. Dots ... and the untold stories and the silence and the writer is not into mischief.

MIKDAD MOHAMMED 0244599591