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Death Song Your lips are blue, almost black, and swollen with yellowish cracks carved into them. Your cheeks are scorched, deflated tennis balls. Your stomach is painfully-puffed up, in sharp, awkward contrast to your bony, mutilated, fragile frame. Your eyelids are thin and sunken with dark discoloration.…

In one of my favourite Whatsapp chat groups, we often find ourselves debating topics ranging from politics to artificial intelligence to Valentine’s day plans. Often, our debates about Ghana orbit around problems with ‘the system’ and ways we can solve them. No system has been spared our wrath;…