Daily Monitor
Saturday February 20 2021
Philip matogo
Kwabena and I stood there, our eyes red with rage as we both breathed fire: in and out. Each of us were ready to dish out punishment in the form of “knuckle sandwiches” onto each other faces.
Two best friends turned instant enemies, like powder milk inside a powder-keg. With the galaxy hanging in a balance above us, a violent reckoning was about to arrive.
So, to lead the way, I stepped even closer to Kwabena and vowed to “adieus” his existence. He quickly covered his mouth with his right hand.
“It seems you didn’t brush your ‘teet’ this morning,” he protested.
Daily Monitor
Saturday February 13 2021
Yet, in many ways, we were opposites.
Kwabena was a tough-as-nails kid whose thick Jamaican accent dulled his words into blunt instruments which thumped his hearers into a dead-perfect silence.
For only in silence could they try to figure out what he meant when he said things like, ‘Small Up Yuhself’
Kwabena had a tendency to exaggerate, everything.
With him, life was what you made it up to be. I was less theatrical.
So he was the apples to my oranges, the night to my day.
Our differences, however, were the superglue of our friendship.
The first person plural of ‘we’ was us. So the only ‘I’ in our friendship was in our intimacy. But, sadly, this “bromance” was to be sorely tested by a ‘siren’ with no ‘off’ button.