I was called to the mountain top, and my eyes were made to see over yonder.There at a far away distance, I saw them coming. Millions of them marching forth, with sweat drops dripping from their foreheads. In their hands, I saw books written in different languages. Their tongues were painted with the many colours of the rainbow. Meaning that, they were masters in different languages. They sang a song known to many, but a song whose meaning has evaporated with time. The song which I heard them sing was, Ghana's national anthem, in all its beauty, glory and splendour.

Our day is finally here, I heard them say. As they lifted their hands in holy unison, in appraisal of their ancestors. We have walked through the desert, swam the deepest sea and flown against the wind. We have endured scorn, hardship, trials and tribulations, but we are here against all odds. For years, we have closely watched and observed the men. We have studied them from within and without. We have tried both their characters and competence to rule, but they always seem to come short. We have entrusted them with great power and strength to lead, but they only show signs of weakness. We have oiled their lips to speak the truth, but they only lie. We have given them hearts of men, but they only behave like boys.

To the left of me, I was made to see another group of women, with babies clinched to their thighs. These are the works of the women, I said. But what are they to mean, I asked? They are the pearls of the women, pearls of great price. As fathers, the men have proven themselves to be irresponsible, and shameless beyond believe. Therefore, the future generations, have been entrusted to the women. From now on, it would be their responsibility, to teach the future generations, the repercussions of lack of care and shame.

I was turned slowly to face reverse. There in the open field, I saw another group of women, conversing with the ghosts of Che Guevara and Dr Kwame Nkrumah. These women were warriors. Each one of them wore a crown decorated with the names, of all the great revolutionists ever to live. Their faces were tattooed, with the map of the old Ghana empire. Meaning that, they knew and understood who they are, as opposed to what they are not. Indeed, true daughters and princesses of royal descent. The men might forgotten who they are, but not the women. Even though, the men might have sold their self-respect, to be dis-respected by the White-man, the women pledged amongst themselves to keep their respect. The silver moon did set, and the day arose on the wings of the golden sun. A new day has began, yet I saw the men sleeping and snoring heavily.

And the question, which everybody was dying for an answer was: Are the Ghanaian men prepared, to play second fiddle to their women?