Life is an Adventure

January 20, 2009

I am so excited! The date of my departure to Durban, South Africa draws ever nearer. I fly from London to Durban on 7th February, 2009 and will be there for six weeks. I cannot wait to meet up with my dear friend and Manager Donnette Davis (http://www.staidenhomeschool.com) who has arranged the book signings for me. I’ve never been to this part of Africa before although I have lived and worked in West Africa. I knew many ex-patriot South Africans in the pre-Mandela era. I am so looking forward to getting to know the country and its’ people. “Tales My Ghanaian Grandmother Told Me” Strategic Book Publishing New York New York is my first book so never before have I done book signings. If anyone can give me some do’s and don’ts for these occassion I would be most grateful. I’ll keep you up to date as to how everything goes.http://www.strategicbookpublishing.com/TalesMyGhanaianGrandmotherToldMe.html

Some Examples of Illustrations in Childrens’ Books Through the Ages

September 25, 2009
Childrens' Books and their Illustrations Through the Ages

click on picture

Children’s Book Illustrations

September 23, 2009

Illustration from “Tales My Ghanaian Grandmother Told Me”
akuas-folish-wish1

Things we need to bear in mind when buying illustrated childrens books.Some are self-evident, others are not.

We buy children books with stories which we ourselves enjoy and illustrations which appeal to us. We know that children are sensitive to pictures before they can speak let alone read. This fact has led to the production of books with pictures and no text which are aimed at the very young. Children can look at the pictures and their imaginations are ignited as they create their own stories.
Illustrations help young readers understand the message of the text more easily. Illustrations can also help a child to discover his or her own identity and cultural heritage. This is an important point for children from minorities or those who belong to groups which have been held in low esteem or discriminated against.
Illustrations show such things as objects, landscapes and processes which it would be hard for a child to comprehend from a verbal description.

Folktales often feature creatures and situations which the young reader will have difficulty in imagining. This is the reason why I have full color illustrations in my book Tales My Ghanaian Grandmother Told Me for Information Click Here
Illustrations can send positive, uplifting messages to readers. There are so many wonderful, original authors and illustrators at work that it can be very difficult deciding which book to choose. We need to be discriminating buyers.

TALES MY GHANAIAN GRANDMOTHER TOLD ME <a href="http://www.lulu. Some are self-evident, others are not.

We buy children books with stories which we ourselves enjoy and illustrations which appeal to us. We know that children are sensitive to pictures before they can speak let alone read. This fact has led to the production of books with pictures and no text which are aimed at the very young. Children can look at the pictures and their imaginations are ignited as they create their own stories.
Illustrations help young readers understand the message of the text more easily. Illustrations can also help a child to discover his or her own identity and cultural heritage. This is an important point for children from minorities or those who belong to groups which have been held in low esteem or discriminated against.
Illustrations show such things as objects, landscapes and processes which it would be hard for a child to comprehend from a verbal description.

Folktales often feature creatures and situations which the young reader will have difficulty in imagining. This is the reason why I have full color illustrations in my book Tales My Ghanaian Grandmother Told Me for Information Click Here
Illustrations can send positive, uplifting messages to readers. There are so many wonderful, original authors and illustrators at work that it can be very difficult deciding which book to choose. We need to be discriminating buyers.

TALES MY GHANAIAN GRANDMOTHER TOLD ME http://www.lulu.com/content/5427635

Two Free E-Books on Writing a Book

August 2, 2009

    1. Have you ever felt that you have valuable experience or ideas that could become the basis for a book? Perhaps you have no idea how to set about writing a book. Here are TWO FREE EBOOKS to help you get started.
      The Easy Way to Write presents "Becoming a Successful Writer" by Rob Parnell
      Rob Parnell is owner and founder of the Easy Way to Write, an Internet copany established in 2002 dedicated to providing excellent writing resources to writers of any proficiency from beginner to seasoned pro. The Easy Way to Write provides books and corses designed to help authors with anything from self-motivation and practical writing solutions to selling their work.
      http://www.dance-to-health-help-your-special-needs-child.com/support-files/writingsuccess.pdf
      "Writing for Fun and Profit" by Brian Scott
      He writes; "I've kept this book extreely simple for several very simple purposes:
      1) To show you how easy ti is to write your own book.
      2) To show you that it it really is a step-by-step process that you can follow over and over again.

      I want one very simple thing from you.

      I want you to forget everything you've learnt or heard or felt or thin is the truth. Not forever, just while you read through this book. I want you to read this with an open ind and a blank slate.
      http://www.dance-to-health-help-your-special-needs-child.com/support-files/bookwritingforfunandprofit.pdf

      Tales my Ghanaian Grandmother Told Me

      http://www.dance-to-health-help-your-special-needs-child.com
      http://www.squidoo.com/DonnetteDavisSMMarketing

  • Children and Reading- a Site you May Find Interesting

    July 30, 2009

    This article originally appeared in:http://thebookchook.blogspot.com/

    I just discovered a wonderful web site where kids can practise reading, and follow directions to create all sorts of toys. At the same time, they recycle junk and learn about science. Is that a win/win or what!

    The site is Arvind Gupta’s Toys from Trash. It has hundreds of projects. Once you click on the thumbnail that takes your fancy, its page comes up with a series of diagrams and instructions to follow. The directions are clear and pitched at about primary school level.

    I tried out several experiments. Some were simpler than others in that the equipment needed was more likely to be lying around the house, but all that I tried had been expertly described with step-by-step instructions. More complicated projects had a “Do it details” link to a pdf. Young scientists will find so much to do here. So will young mathematicians, engineers, musicians, and artists (see Beautiful Butterfly and others in Paper Fun section).

    While you’re there, check out the amazing pdfs available (Books/English). They have different reading levels, so you need to browse to find suitable material for your own little learner, but I loved The Paper Aeroplane Book, The Rubber Band Book, AHA! Activities – a huge pdf of practical science lessons – and String Games, because they fascinate me still. So much to read, so much to do!

    For younger kids, Thumbprints is cute. It starts with a lovely poem about using our thumb to make prints, then follows up with some wonderful animal thumb print ideas to spark some artwork. More Thumbprints adds objects. Leaf Zoo shows how to add details to leaves to make some great creatures.

    There is also a gallery of films, showing the making some of the toys, and other documentaries. Most are not in English or subtitled, but fascinating just the same.

    This site would make a wonderful resource for one of those No TV evenings, or for teachers and parents looking for hands-on science activities. Arvind Gupta is so generous with what he’s made available online. I thank him on behalf of children everywhere.Tales my Ghanaian Grandmother Told Me by Dzagbe Cudjoe
    http://www.squidoo.com/DonnetteDavisSMMarketing
    http://www.dance-to-health-help-your-special-needs-child.com

    Are some children’s Classics Unsuitable for Kids?

    July 24, 2009

    Guardian.co.uk

    When ‘savages’ and ‘heathens’ start appearing, reading the greats my daughter becomes very uncomfortablePosted by Kavitha Rao Thursday 23 July 2009 08.00 BST guardian.co.uk
    My nine-year-old daughter loves to read. And unusually, she loves to read classic children’s literature. This should make me both happy and smug. And mostly it does. But it also makes for all kinds of dilemmas.

    When she was about eight, we read Little House on the Prairie by Laura Ingalls Wilder. She was immersed in the bucolic delights of pioneer life, when suddenly she was catapulted into the world of a bigot. “The only good Indian is a dead Indian,” is repeated several times by various characters, as the book goes on to describe Indians as “wild”, “terrible”, “savage warriors” and “screaming devils”. Then Charles Ingalls, Laura’s father, says, “When the white settlers come into a country, the Indians have to move on. White people are going to settle all this country.” ” Why do the Indians have to move when they were there first?” asked my daughter. I began to talk about how the world of the 19th-century settler was very different from ours. But eight-year-olds see the world in black and white. “I hate Laura’s family!” yelled my daughter. And that was that for Little House on the Prairie, for another year at least.

    There are many children’s classics that I devoured as a child, but on rereading them I discover knobbly bits that stick in my craw. Like The Secret Garden, where the heroine Mary, newly arrived from India, is outraged at being mistaken for “a black”. “You thought I was a native! They are not people – they are servants who must salaam to you,” she sputters. Or the blithe stereotypes of Enid Blyton in her admittedly addictive St Clare series (let’s not even talk about Noddy) where French spitfire Claudine displays a variety of “un-English” behaviour such as cheating and fibbing. In the end, Claudine declares, “the English sense of honour is a fine thing”. As my daughter happily gobbles Blytons like cookies, I wonder how to explain away old Enid’s consistent portrayal of Gypsies as thieving, rascally, child-thumping varmints. Tintin was a beloved part of my childhood, but after reading about the revolting Tintin in the Congo (African women bowing and intoning “White master is very great!”) I will never feel quite the same again.

    I have to wonder what message I am sending my daughter, especially since as an Indian Hindu girl she might once have been that “savage” or “heathen”. There are those who argue that racist authors were just a product of less enlightened times. “That’s just the way people were back then,” they say, pointing out that Wilder, and others of her ilk, were far less racist than many of their time. I don’t disagree, but not talking about why things were the way they were seems foolish.

    Most people I know just ignore the racism, as my parents did. Many are just thankful that their kids are reading. That’s certainly the easier way out, but I’d like my daughter to read the classics critically. Particularly because in India – where we currently live – many classics are prescribed as school textbooks and therefore accepted as near gospel truth. As I read with her, I constantly tell her, “That’s the way people were back then, but that doesn’t make it right.” I’d like her to enjoy the sublime prose of Rudyard Kipling and Rider Haggard while challenging their covert, and sometimes overt, imperialism.

    Of course, there is such a thing as looking too hard for racism, and that way madness most certainly lies. I didn’t get the memo, but apparently the Chronicles of Narnia, Babar and even Peter Pan are all racist now. The list of banned books that offend someone or something is ever growing. I don’t want my daughter feverishly scrutinising books for things to be offended by, and I would never support a ban on any book. I want her to hate the prejudice, not the author.

    I could simply focus on reading modern children’s literature, replete with Asian heroines and positive role models. But I think the classics, even the dodgy ones, have lessons to teach modern children. Currently, we are reading a simplified version of The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn, and talking about why she can’t use the “N” word. “But Mark Twain uses it,” she says. “Was he a racist?” “Why don’t you tell me when you have read it?” I suggest. And she does. We begin talking about slavery and end up talking about Barack Obama. Finally, we reach the conclusion that yes, we shouldn’t use the N word, but no, Twain was not a racist. This is not a conversation that I can imagine myself having while reading Harry Potter.

    And yes, we have returned to the Little House series. Thanks to Wilder, my daughter now knows about the plight of the American Indian. “I think Laura wasn’t a very nice person, but we should read her books anyway because she’s a very good author,” she says. Exactly.

    Tales my Ghanaian Grandmother Told Me by Dzagbe Cudjoe

    Nuggets of Wisdom from Writers

    July 12, 2009

    logo-video

    I have always been admiring of and intrigued by people who are able to express their wisdom and insight in a clear and pithy manner. Here are a few gems on writing.

    “The total life of the writer
    is the source of his work,
    all of these go into his writing
    in varying quantities:

    the sense, as of taste and touch,
    the rate of metabolism, blood pressure,
    the digestion, body temperature,
    the memory of things past,
    perhaps going back to the childhood
    not only of the writer but of the race itself.

    The success of his work
    depends on the liveliness
    and alertness of his brain,
    previous reading of books,
    shrewdness of insight into human character,
    his ear for the sound of language.

    The writer, therefore,
    must have a more than ordinary
    capacity for life
    and the power to retain what he experiences.”

    Paul Engle

    “I write for the same reason I breathe- because if I didn’t, I would die.” Isaac Asimov

    “You write in order to change the world, knowing perfectly well that you probably can’t, but also knowing that literature is indispensable to the world… The world changes according to the way people see it, and if you alter, even by a millimeter, the way … people look at reality, then you can change it.” James Arthur Baldwin

    “When written in Chinese, the word ‘crisis’ is composed of two characters – one represents danger, and the other represents opportunity.” Saul David Alinsky

    A book must be an ice-axe to break the seas frozen inside our soul.” Franz Kafka

    “You can’t wait for inspiration. You have to go after it with a club.” Jack London

    “You must write for children the same way you write for adults, only better” Maxim Gorky

    Tales my Ghanaian Grandmother Told Me
    http://www.dance-to-health-help-your-special-needs-child.com

    http://www.squidoo.com/St-Aidens-Homeschool


    http://www.squidoo.com/DonnetteDavisSMMarketing

    Shush! Writer at Work

    July 8, 2009

    I’ve finally decided on a plan of action for fitting writing my next book into the rest of my life. Mornings are good for me. If I wake up early enough I get to enjoy the down chorus. Then breakfast, exercise and bathing come nexr. I’m full of energy until late afternoon when things rapidly go downhill.

    The best plan seems to be for me to try and do my writing first thing after breakfast. This is not set in stone as sometimes something else will have to take priority. I’ve no intention of stressing myself out by trying to maintain a rigid regime.

    The characters and the plot of this book for 12 year olds are growing and taking shape. Although I enjoy writing I am nevertheless disquieted by this book which will of necessity portray violence.

    The thought passed through my mind in an idle moment that children’s stories give authors an opportunity to invent words. I thought of “smish” a word combining the idea of “smear” and “smash” and “schroon” for screaming and groaning at the same time.
    If you have any words that you would like to bring into existence do please let me post them. Thank you.

    Tales my Ghanaian Grandmother Told Me by Dzagbe Cudjoe

    “The Hand” – by Dzagbe Cudjoe- a story for all those people who live under the threat of terrorist attack

    July 5, 2009

    The eyes gazing into mine are young, full of sympathy and deep hurt. Those eyes will never acquire a hard, cynical expression. How long will this young man remain in a job suffused with such profound pain and distress I think to myself? Slowly I turn my head to stare fearfully at a small table covered with a green cloth. Dark green is a positive life-affirming colour. It’s not a colour we associate with death. It’s the colour of Nature’s yearly re-birth.

    I notice how carefully laundered the stiffly starched cloth is. You can see the creases where it was folded into four. It could have been the handiwork of a well-trained butler in a stately home. I struggle to gather my thoughts together. I force myself to concentrate on the green cloth, steeling every nerve against the even greater pain to come. My chest heaves then the muscles contract. Frantically I attempt to breathe out. Take deep breaths, relax and try to concentrate I command myself in the midst of my panic.

    When the young man senses that I have regained control he puts the question “Ready?” Incapable of speech I can do no more than nod. Carefully he pulls back the green cloth to reveal an object in a shiny stainless steel kidney dish. At this point my vision blurs and tears prick painfully at my eyelids. Icy shock renders me incapable of speech or movement. It is with a superhuman effort that I manage to focus on what is in the dish.

    It is a human hand. Not a strangers’ hand but an instantly recognizable, well known, and dearly loved hand. It had lain under hundreds of thousands of tons of rubble and must have been extricated covered in dust and grime and debris of an indescribably guesome nature.

    The hand now lies cleansed, the severed writst area neatly concealed in a white surgical napkin. The finger nails have been carefully filed and the cuticles pushed back. I can see that the hand has been treated with respect. It has been understood that this hand symbolizes the only mortal remains of a Beloved Person – someone’s grandmother, mother, sister, daughter, niece. How were they to know which? The stainless steel dish shines like a sacred silver reliquary. She never did like silver, She had always associated it with the qualities of reserve and the female upheavals of life. She had always been a sun-worshipper. She had loved its’ masculine warmth, the fierce intensity of life it symbolized. She had understood its’ pulsating life-giving energy.

    I scutinized the hand as never before. To my intense surprise and overwhelming relief I found that there was nothing gruesome or ugly about it. I could only give profound thanks that this precious relic had survived. How many hundreds perhaps thousands of grief-stricken people would be left with nothing to lovingly place in a funeral casket. The thought came to me unbidden that the entire family must come together to design a casket befitting such a special hand. It would be a labour of love.

    In death the hand communicates the same qualities that it had in life. It is an incredibly beautiful hand that like the rest of her had aged very well indeed. True, time had thickened the fingers and coarsened the hand. It had always been her dream to have a weekly manicure but time and money had never coincided. Her dream of having hand-made shoes for her awkwardly shaped feet had also remained an unfulfilled dream. Still she’d done the best she could herself with her impatient manicures. It was the same story with her hair – she couldn’t cope with it herself but she had always had to.

    It was a hand that had been dedicated to bringing beauty, love and healing into peoples’ lives. This had had a twin with which it had knitted, crocheted, stiched and painted. It had done housework dutifully but with a marked lack of enthusiasm. It had made the lightest pastry and the most delicious of cakes. The cakes were marvellous but she had always felt that she let herself down on the decorating front. Acturally this was not true.I remember many breathtaking birthday cakes.

    The hand is unmarked by liver spots. Ageing seems to be kinder to dark skins. It is a completely unadorned hand, the fingers unmarked by rings. The first gold band she had worn conventionally on the third finger of her left hand. The second gold band was worn for twenty-one years on the little finger of the same hand. The little finger now with a bent first joint which she had never again been able to straighten completely. This had come about as the result of her enthusiasm for gardening and this accident marked the end of her guitar-playing days. Her final, gloriously creative, blessed and joyous relationship was not to be symbolized by a gold band on any of her fingers.

    I ask myself what she would have thought about the cataclysm which had engulfed her and thousands of others and left them all lifeless. She was a Libran and had been a woman who sought equilibrium for herself and harmony and justice for all people. She had understood that true peace is essential for these states to manifest themselves in this world. She had been a human being who made no distinctions based on race, nationality or religion. This was a person who had been open to all and always endeavoured to understand people’s true motivation. In our family we had a traditional African stool with a carved base showing two hands holding a human heart. This symbolizes purity of heart something which she had always strived and prayed for.

    I pictured in my mind the thousands of people walking down the steps of the buildings from one floor to the next moving calmly and helping the less able. These people showed enormous courage in the face of death. The fortunate ones escaped but how will they rebuild their lives after such a catastrophic event?

    Would she have felt that the answer to this heinous crime lay in blowing to smithereens both the guilty and the innocent of a totally impoverished land? I think not. She knew that violence is self-perpetuating, that it does not lead to long-term solutions. She would have been introspective and would have considered whether the people who perpetrated this terrible act had any legitimate grievances whilst fiercly condemming the evilness of their act. She believed that only by bringing about change in people’s hearts can you bring about change in their minds. Look first for common ground, not for differences she had always told the family.
    “Don’t follow the herd” she said “Do the right thing!” She believed that we can take the most terrible, dark, evil, negative events and through goodwill, love and right action can like alchemists transmute the negative into the positive.

    My reverie ended and once again I looked at the had. This was a hand I had known all my life. It was one of a pair and now was bereft of its twin and mirror-image. This hand had helped carry me, feed me, created things for me, supported and soothed me from my birth to its dying day. In my babyhood it had played the game “Two little dicky birds sat upon a wall, One named Peter, The other named Paul. Fly away Peter! Flay away Paul! Come back Peter, Come back Paul.”

    Another of my earliest memories is of these beloved hand intertwined with mine playing “Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, baker’s man, Make me a cake as fast as you can: Pat it and prick it, and mark it with D, And toss it in the oven for baby and me.”

    This same hand had offered healing and love to many in pain and distress. This hand had been an open one and not a clenched fist. It had been a conduit to her heart. The unique quality of the life that was represented in that hand radiated clearly still for the living to see and experience. This hand had not met death in the hoped for manner but somehow there was a feeling about it of acceptance and peace. I gazed at that dearly loved hand and gave thanks for a life rich in its’ living and understanding. I saw not just a hand but a complete and iridescent human being.

    “Yes” that’s my mother. There is absolutely no doubt about it” I told the young attendant. But was it desperate, heartfelt wishful thinking on my part?

    Tales My Ghanaian Grandmother Told Me for Information Click Here

    The Frustrations of a Would Be Writer

    July 3, 2009

    Today the temperature was more than 30 degrees Celsius. I know for many of you this probably represents springtime conditions. But for me it is just too, too hot. Nevertheless I have actually achieved quite a lot. This has necessitated numerous lie down on the sofa with the air conditioning on. I’m trying to do my bit for the environment and I felt bad about turning it on. I have also dutifully increased my intake of water.

    The reason why the day has not been entirely satisfactory for me lies with the choices I had to make earlier in the day. I am a great believer in prioritizing tasks so clearly making a loving input into my neglected website Dance to Health was the first thing on the list.

    In my heart though I longed to begin work on my second book. I wanted to start designing the plan of the town where the story is set. This plan kept coming into my mind and needed to be firmly banished. One of the signs of the passage of time where I am concerned is that I am no longer so good at multitasking. I need to fully concentrate on one thing at a time so I do not like switching from one projet to another.

    When I wrote Tales my Ghanaian Grandmother Told MeI had the exceptionally good fortune of being able to concentrate solely on that project. Now like most people I have to find a specific time to write. Getting up an hour or so earlier is not appealing but may be the way forward as going to bed later is out of the question. I’m going to have to find a solution. I have ideas for the book which I am dying to put to paper but the problem is one of organization.

    But that’s life and these things are sent to try us. When I’ve found a solution I’ll let you know!

    http://www.squidoo.com/DonnetteDavisSMMarketing

    A Free Children’s Story

    June 29, 2009

    ‘s ME READING TO KIDS

    Click here to print this page

    Special Online Story

    written & narrated by Sharri McGarry

    “I saw a rat last night in the garden,” Mum said. “A big brown rat!”

    Dad looked up from fastening his briefcase. “Did you?”

    “We’ll have to get rid of it.” Mum said pointedly.

    “Well,” Dad clucked, as he picked up the briefcase and walked from the room. “If you see it again, we’ll get the poison out. Now, I’ve got to go. See you later!”

    “Is a rat…DANGEROUS?” said little Jimmy in a wobbly voice.

    His brother, Ben, turned to him. “Oh YES!” he said fiercely. “Rats have got long, sharp front teeth and if they catch you, they will BITE you!”

    “Nonsense, Ben!” said Mum sharply. “Rats will run away from you!”

    Ben shook his head at little Jimmy and screwed up his face into a vicious expression. He smoothed his face as Mum turned from the sink. She set down two glasses and two chocolate biscuits on the table.

    “Here’s your elevenses, boys,” she said as she hurried out. “I just have to say goodbye to Dad.”

    Ben grabbed his biscuit. “Watch this!” he said, and stuffed the whole biscuit into his mouth.

    “Coo!” said little Jimmy admiringly. He reached for his own biscuit.

    “LOOK OUT!” screamed Ben. “There’s the RAT!”

    Little Jimmy shrieked and leapt on to a chair.
    Ben grinned wickedly, picked up little Jimmy’s biscuit ….
    And calmly popped it into his mouth.
    “Got you!” he said.

    The swimming pool was hot and steamy. Ben grabbed his goggles and headed for the slide.

    “I want to go on the slide!” little Jimmy yelled.

    “Are you sure, dear?” Mum asked. “You’ve never BEEN before!”

    “I WANT to go on the slide,” little Jimmy insisted. “with Ben!”

    “Ben!” Mum called him. “Please take little Jimmy up the slide.”

    “Aw Mum!” Ben moaned. “Do I HAVE to?”

    “Yes!” Mum insisted. “Be a good brother and take your little brother up the slide.”

    Little Jimmy followed happily as Ben slouched off towards the steps.

    “Is the slide FUN, Ben?” asked little Jimmy, nervously climbing the steps.

    Ben stopped and considered him. “Fun?” he asked slowly. “Fun? No! Not fun! Did you know that this is a RAT slide?”

    Little Jimmy looked around nervously. “A …..RAT….slide?” he echoed.

    “A RAT slide,” said Ben firmly. “You have to slide down ….the rat’s tail!” Ben continued. “Round and round and down and down his long black tail….until…. PLOP! You fall straight into his…..STOMACH! Into his stomach filled with bubbling, gurgling ACID! PLOP! Glug..glug..glug….”

    Little Jimmy’s eyes filled with horrow. “D..d..down his t..tail?” he quavered.

    “Down his long black tail!” Ben insisted.

    “And into his…gulp…stomach?” little Jimmy wavered.

    “PLOP! Into his nasty, acid-filled stomach” said Ben firmly.

    “O..o…o..h!” little Jimmy shuddered. “I.. want…MUMMY!” and he set off back down the steps at top speed.

    Ben chuckled and continued up the steps…by himself.

    “That was very naughty of you Ben,” Mum scolded. “Scaring your little brother like that!”

    She opened the front door wearily. “He was so nervous, I had to take him up the slide myself, just to show him that it was quite safe.”

    “It was FUN!” little Jimmy beamed happily.

    “He loved it so much that I had to go up and down twenty times with him.” Mum sighed. “I am exhausted!”

    Ben grinned unrepentantly.

    “I am hungry!” he announced.

    “Yes – so are we all!” Mum agreed. “You can have a biscuit while I put dinner on.”

    She put two chocolate biscuits on the table and went out to the freezer.

    “Aaagh!” screamed little Jimmy, pointing behind Ben. “It’s a RAT!”

    Ben caught a movement out of the corner of his eye. Something sleek and black passed behind him. He spun around in horror, ready to shriek in terror. And there was the cat. The cat stared back at him, raising its fur in alarm.

    Ben groaned. “Aw Jimmy! You BABY!” He turned towards his brother. “It’s not a rat! Its only the…”

    He stopped and stared in amazement as his little brother calmly stuffed the last biscuit into his overfull mouth.
    “GOT YOU!” said little Jimmy.
    Tales my Ghanaian Grandmother Told Me by Dzagbe Cudjoe

    ______________________________