It Is Not About My Money

Yesterday I went to the beach with 2 other friends, Glen and Nana Yaw, we went there to think about our lives, grand-kids and women who patronize weaves in general. We also went there to look at women, I say look because none of us is able to call a woman in public so all we do is to watch. Glen has had a woman at the beach before though. We went to the Labadi Beach and that place was packed even though the sun wasn’t really out.

Now here is what really happened, something very little but I still want to share, you might even insult me that I have wasted your time because this isn’t something I should post about. Don’t forget that we are different and your ‘irrelevance’ might be my ‘relevant’ so just allow. As we sat down enjoying my Don Simon juice with Nana Yaw, Glen was drinking Beer. Yuck…. Anyway, let me go on, as we sat down chilling and all, vendors and musicians came to our tables to sell their stuff and give us private performances respectively. Obviously, you have to pay these Rasta Musicians with their old rickety guitars. They fortunately they sound so well.

Anyway, beggars also came around but this woman with her little son had my attention because of one little thing. I don’t know where they are from but some say they come from Chad and other say Niger…one of those beggars came to our table with her little son. They got to our table and the little boy stretched his hands towards us, they both took a stand and the boy kept his hands stretched. I noticed something, even though the boy’s hand was stretched meaning ‘give me money!’, his eyes were on the box of Don Simon fruit juice. After about 30seconds, Nana Yaw gave the boy 50gp and the moment the coin dropped in the boy’s right palm, he started to cry. Now he started pointing at the Don Simon box and I kept on signaling to him that it’s finished but this boy wouldn’t stop crying, her mom was pulling him but the boy wouldn’t go, they got to the next table and the little boy was still crying hysterically.

Just then, an inner voice whispered, ‘Nana Osei, why?’, I understood what this inner voice meant so I called the boy back, took one of the plastic cups and poured him a cup full of Don Simon. You should see how this boy suddenly stopped crying and started to smile. I saw him brighten up suddenly as he gulped the juice. All the 3 of us looked at him and smiled at the same time, we are all satisfied. After he finished, he gave me a big high-five and that was it for me, my day was done. Never been so happy about something little like this ever before.


Then I thought, its not always about the money, not always about the thousands or millions but just a little something you do for someone can make his day, can brighten him up for a while or for the rest of his life.

Don’t insult me after this post, I thought it was something I could share.


11 thoughts on “It Is Not About My Money

  1. He is a fine young dude too. I remba once too i went out to KFC and as i got out ,i was approached by this chad/niger ppl. I didna have any coins so i gave my half drunk coke to the little boy cos he looked so longinly at it. It was Christmas day and i felt very happy cos he looked so happy with it.

  2. it’s said that, ”the purpose of life is the expansion of happiness”. Just imagine a world where we are all kind to one another regardless of gender, race or class. We also need to keep in mind that the world only gives us what we give her back…you spread goodness, you get goodness..

  3. even though you went there with a motive,this lil dude broght out the Nana osei in…big up motumbo…u large

  4. God bless you for the little effort and the smile to put on the little boy’s face…bless u!

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