Here is the part I don’t understand and wish I did. Supposing both parties were Christian and pray to the same God, the father of Jesus; what happens to the prayer request? Does God get confused? Does he play favouritism by allowing one team to win instead of the other? Or may be, just maybe, it is more a matter of the best team wins? I have heard it said that luck is preparation meeting opportunity. If that is true, then probably we never succeed in confusing God, especially if we do not put in the hard work for which He has given us the ability.

Or, there are "soccer gods" out there who do supernatural things that ordinary mortals like me can never understand?

3). Ghanaian Accent is Endangered: The Ghanaian English accent of my childhood is fighting a fight of its life-time. A concoction of American and British accent is fast gaining root especially among the elite youth. Generously fertilised by a hungry appetite for modernity, the linguistic affection of the youth seems to be geared more towards African-American accent. We seem to be coming full circle with our youth hungrily copying the affected accent of descendants of slaves who were yanked from our shores years ago to build other people’s civilisation.

And, these foreign accents were brewed right here in the Ghanaian pot! Tongues have gone lose! How did that happen? I don’t understand.

As my generation ‘pass on’ (die off, give up the ghost, check out, go into eternity), what would Ghanaian accent sound like? It would be unrecognisable if our generation should take a peak from the after life. If the present trend continues, in as little as 10, 20 or 30 years, our distinguishing Ghanaian accent as we know it now might become extinct. You don’t think that is possible? Just last week (Jan 24), Marie Smith Jones of Anchorage, Alaska, believed to be the last native speaker of the Ayak language, died at age 89. End of Ayak!

Gone will be the glorious days when without a doubt, you knew when someone from the Volta Region spoke. Like okro, the words smoothly slip by, with the heaviness of akple to hold it up. For no provocation whatsoever, the Ashanti might seamlessly mix up the ‘l’ and ‘r’ without a grain of guilt. The Fante enters and without the slightest hesitation, roasts the English language to the point that is at once shocking and confusing to even the Englishman. The Fantes’ early association with the Whiteman elevates their ability to accentuate beyond reason.

A few months ago, a gentleman telephoned me. He sounded as American as apple pie. Naïve little me asked if he used to live in the USA. He said no. With calm pride, he added smoothly that he has never traveled outside Ghana! Overcome with surprise and forgetting my otherwise fine manners, I exclaimed: "Go-we-you."

I probed further: "How did you come by an African American accent?" He had the nerve and shamelessness to tell me: "I’ve always spoken that way since childhood." Gentleman, if you are reading The WatchWoman today, I’m saying to you again, without any apologies whatsoever: "Go-we-you."

4). Prehistoric Matters: Whenever I have difficulty falling asleep, my brain wanders and I stare at my life face up. The outcome is that my brain elevates to the surface several deep-seated issues about my existence which I don’t understand but wish I did. A typical one is: Did prehistoric man and woman ever have a good night’s sleep? For instance, would a husband have asked the wife in the morning: "How was your night, Sweet-Lungs?" And Mrs Pre-H responded: "My Mighty Pre-H, I had a wonderful sleep." Not a chance that such an exchange would have occurred.

Let’s face it, those early folks slept on hard solid stones with few hurried leaves placed atop. And, they had no pillows either. Unless you call a baby stone in the head region a pillow! I am a pint-sized post-modern woman with an unabashed love for soft beds and matching soft pillows – cushy cushy. So, if I had entered this world much earlier during prehistoric good (bad?) old days, my sleep would have been a lump of misery. I would have tossed and turned, cursed and cussed all night long with nothing good to brag about regarding sleep.

Owing to my low tolerance for hard sleeping surfaces, I would have preferred to sleep standing up like a horse or an elephant. That way, I would have had the luxury of leaning against the cave wall on my cassava stick legs, spreading them out to give me much needed maximum balance. With the borrowed support, I would have taken some quick deep zees, periodically falling down flat on my little face.

But then, if I had lived at that time, I wouldn’t have known better, especially, all these trappings of so-called modern society. I bet I would have done just fine and given birth to many runny-nosed prehistoric children with no family planning to slow me down.