Antubam held the needle firmly, his body almost shaking with excitement. After all the suspense, Betty was going to be under his control.

He would conquer that beau­tiful, intransigent girl once and for all. And after marrying her, he would take her sister, Mary, and her friend, Suzzie, as second and third wives. And of course, he would continue to enjoy his regular supply of women from among the church members. Wow!

“You can see her, can’t you?” the old, little fetish priestess asked him.

“No, not yet,” Antubam replied, his gaze fixed on the two mirrors.

“Keep looking,” the Okomfo said. “She is bound to show up.”

Then something happened, sud­denly. A sound like a big windstorm engulfed the shrine, and descend­ed with great power. Vvvrrrr­rooooooom! It quenched the fire, and sent the three of them crashing onto the floor.

Surprisingly, the shrine stayed completely dry. For several min­utes they lay on the floor, very weak, their heads almost splitting with pain. Finally they managed to sit up.

“I told you, Antubam,” the Okomfo said, “not to fight with those people. They are far greater than us. We don’t fight that book, and I always tell my clients not to even mention it, if they can. But you insist on confronting that woman whose head is permanently stuck in it.

Now, leave this shrine immediate­ly, and come back in three days to perform purification rites to pacify Nana Kofi Broni. You have been ungrateful to him, after all those women he has given you. Now, leave.” He rose up to go, but the old woman raised her hand.

“Just a minute. He cannot leave without pacifying Nana Kweefi, the ruler of the mirrors. Nana wanted to help him, but his abnormal lust for women prevented this from happening. Now, follow me to my shrine, and I will enjoy your body for a couple of hours. That is your punishment.”

Antubam stared at her, disbelief and revulsion boldly written on his face.

“You dare reject me? Do you want to lose your manhood by noon today?”

Antubam shook his head and followed her. In twenty minutes they were there. She brought out a bottle from a big gourd, gulped down a good part of its contents and passed it on to him. Antubam took it, greatly relieved for alcohol­ic assistance in performing a very unattractive assignment. He did what he had to do and, still drunk, he scrambled to his car and took off.

He parked his car, and called out to his houseboy as he rushed to the shower.

“Bring me a new pair of shorts, and get my food ready. And put the whisky and a glass on the table.” There was no response. After sever­al minutes’ attempt at wiping away the morning’s ordeal, he wore his trousers again and headed for the bedroom.

But just when he opened the door, two big arms grabbed him and pinned him against the wall, and another hand gave him a hefty slap. A man seated on the sofa nodded in approval and pointed at Antubam.

“Now listen, you interfering idiot. I came to give you some friendly advice. You should have known that somebody has been to Nana Broni ahead of you, and come to me for approval and advice. But you have just gone ahead to mobilise people, and now you are going on radio. From today, you are going to keep within the limits I set for you.

You will make sure you don’t approach my market. I have been in the business way ahead of you. I am known in Europe and America, and I have done wonders for many Ghanaians, Africans and even white people all over the world. I am far ahead of you, and you will operate in the areas I set for you. If you don’t do that, I will cut you down. You are easy meat for me. Is that clear?”

“But who are you?” Antubam asked, and received another hefty slap. He realised that he had to do something quickly before they did something terrible to him. He remembered the stick. With great difficulty, he released his right hand, reached into his pocket and grabbed the stick. With a sudden gush of power, he pushed his two attackers and sent them crashing onto the floor.

“I see the other man said. ‘You have received some protection. Get up, boys and let’s go. This idiot wants a fight. We’ll give him a good one. Get ready, Antubam. I will show you why they call me Gidigi­di,” As they went away, Antubam shouted after them.

“You took me unawares, but listen, I will give you the bloodiest nose you have ever received in your life. Trust me. All three of you are just muscles and fat, no brains. If you have a quarrel, why don’t you go and settle it with Nana Broni?” As they drove off, Priscilla entered the house, her arms outstretched.

“Sweetheart, have you missed me?”

“I have learnt from experience that whenever you say words like that, my pocket is in for some serious trouble. But you are right, I have missed you. Why don’t we?”

“No problem. I will give you a good time. Your pocket must also remember to give me a good time.”

Mary picked up the phone. It was Suzzie.

“Why, Suzzie, can’t you sleep?”

“I slept very well, actually. I called to tell you that we must make a clean break with the past, and with Antubam, and stick with Betty. I thought about this whole Antubam episode last night, and I realize we were heading for trou­ble. I am sorry that I brought you into it.”

“Don’t be silly, Suzzie. We were desiring to do something produc­tive with our lives. Nobody was prepared to give us any free as­sistance. But I also realize that we should have gone to God in humility and not get involved with that fraud. Betty brought us to our senses, just in time.”

“Now Mary, let’s hand it all over to the Lord, as ask Him to help us out. Is Betty up yet?”

“She is. We were just about to start praying. Why don’t you join us?”

“I’m on my way.”

By Ekow de Heer

Ghanaians are becoming more scientific, perhaps too scien­tific for their own good. Some say they are scientific Christians and want to subject the doctrine of Jesus Christ to scientific analysis and proof. Such Christians need to be delivered in good time, lest they get struck on the way to Damascus.

Did I hear someone say the other day that he was following scientific diet? The person had formulated his own complex dietary regimen and called it scientific. I call it disaster. But who can blame him? There is freedom of speech. And the person’s stomach also has the freedom of expression, whether the stomach is manual or automatic.

A man has been battling a court case for some time now. His case is simple. He impregnated his girlfriend and together they were expecting the baby. A bouncy baby was delivered after five months and he celebrated with booze and break-dancing.

As he was preparing for an outdoor­ing, someone came to whisper into his left ear that his baby had already been outdoored and named by anoth­er man. He nearly developed stroke.

When he made discreet enquiries, he realised it was true. A thick-tall barrel-chested man had already out­doored his baby in pomp and pageant­ry, brass band and spin-music backed by a live band performance. A come­dian was at the ceremony providing all the laughter needed to make for a grand occasion.

ARGUMENT

He furiously confronted the girlfriend and she told him curtly: “The baby is not yours!” He nearly collapsed. Since when did the baby not become his? He endured a brief argument and then decided to send the matter to court.

Meanwhile he had information that his baby’s new father was someone who had been infertile or precise­ly was infertile. It meant that he couldn’t impregnate a woman no mat­ter the number of rounds he went per night. However, he was very success­ful and rich.

He was alleged to have been looking desperately for offspring. So when he had an affair with a lady and she came with the news that she was pregnant, he did not even enquire whether it was by him or not. He quickly accepted responsibility.

However, another school of thought has it that the man plotted with the lady to get pregnant by another man and let him (the infertile man) take responsibility. Unfortunately, the alleged true father of the baby won’t let go, so the matter went to court.

When a paternity case winds up in court, then scientificity comes to play, because the judge cannot use his legal knowledge, no matter how vast, to ascertain the true father of the baby.

In hospital, the simple method of using the ABO blood group test has been often employed. If the father has Blood Group A and the mother has Blood Group B, it is automatic that the offspring must have Blood Group AB and not O. However, the child could have AB and still not belong to the man because the other man might also have Group A.

So the most reliable method is what has made Ghanaians more scien­tific in their outlook lately. Everybody is talking about DNA. Even my grand­mother in the village knows about it, and she can tell you exactly what it is.

DNA in full is ‘Deoxyibonucleiacid’. It represents the genetic code of the human person. In other words your DNA determines how you look like. And there is a link between your DNA and that of all your offspring are iden­tical in a way. It is 99 per cent accu­rate in determining paternity.

JOY FM recently did an interesting programme on paternity. A man who won a US Visa lottery and wanted all his four kids to accompany him on the trip was required by the embassy to do a DNA on the kids. Lo and behold, two of them were certified as NOT his children. CHECK out the embarrass­ment!

ATOMIC

If this is true, then it means that other grand exposures are in the pipe­line. Happy families are going to be shattered with the force of an atomic bomb. What is man going to do with a child he has loved and cared for, educated and has become emotionally attached to only to hear that he was spending all his fortune on another person’s child.

The human female is not supposed to have the attitude of a nanny goat who doesn’t know or care to know the father of her children. After all, no outdooring or naming ceremony will take place. And there will be no US VISA requirement, if a nanny goat “jams an international luck.” By acci­dent or by fate.

Well, I guess and more people will be getting curious about their off­spring, especially when your kid looks exactly like a man living a hundred metres away.

I am aware of a man who has three children and two are not his. The man is however content. I’m sure the wife would be in for some hefty cut­lass wounds. So in circumstances like this, it is better to let sleeping dogs lie. Revelations can bring tragedy. They can bring death.

Now the question every family man should be asking himself is: How many of my children are mine? If you have cause to believe that all your kids are not yours, you can drag your wife for a DNA together with the kids trailing behind you. But remember you might end up with a hefty slap from your wife if the DNAs prove that the kids are all yours, after all.

Whatever it is, women should be coming to terms with the fact that people are indeed becoming more sci­entific. So gone are the days that you get pregnant by another man and give the child to another. Chances are that you might be found out and disgraced.

The human female must stop being a problem unto herself.

This article was first published on September 3, 2005