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Matters of the heart

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Sikaman Palava

 Perhaps Indians are the greatest lovers. The fact is that they have got time for love just as they have time for work and sleep. An Indian male who is head over heels in love with a damsel can spend three hours every day singing love songs and dancing just to express his love. And the girl, if she is not convinced, will just sit down looking at him won­dering if he is not out of his mind.

So the boy will need a lot of stamina to do three hours a day just expressing and portraying love. When the girl finally agrees to be in love, she also has to join and do three hours. Just watch Indian films and you’ll realise that matters of the heart cannot be toyed with in that country.

I guess the incidence of broken hearts there will also be very high because when love between two peo­ple becomes too intense, the rela­tionship crumbles sooner than anyone would expect.

It is also possible that half the cases of broken hearts in India end up at the mental hospitals because of the way they handle love.

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“What actually is disturbing you?” the psychiatrist would ask a new victim.

“Sir, I fell in love with a young woman and she jilted me. Later, I saw her in the arms of an ugly man, and so I’ve decided to grow mad until further notice.”

Yes, love is one of the greatest forces we have in the world. That is why when a man with a cutlass in hand catches another man on top of his wife, he’ll instantly become a butcher specialising in human bare-backs and legs. He would hack the man to pieces before realising that butchering is not his profession.

And when he is charged in court for manslaugh­ter, he’ll explain mat­ters to the judge.

“Your honour, the man whom I butchered to death really deserved it. He is not fit to live because he reaps where he has not sown. Your honour, I had to borrow large sums of money to enable me marry this woman. I buy her Valen­tine cards every year, and spend a great deal furnishing her with cloths and jelly-curl kits. In fact I love her like gari and shito.

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“When I travelled and returned earlier than planned, I came to meet this man with a barrel chest and a slim but active waist enjoying my wife to the fullest. So your honour, it was out of extreme provocation that I quickly decided to be a butcher on the occasion, and I think I did a good job of it.

“Your honour, I never knew I was such a good butcher till I worked on the man. But if you say it is not good, then I hold your foot. Next time, I won’t kill the person. I’ll only hack off his legs and tell him not to be silly next time.”

In cases of this nature, the judge is normally sympathetic because he (the judge) might have done worse things if he had found a macho-man dancing top of his flexible wife.

“You should have exercised re­straint. You don’t kill someone just because you’ve found him sleeping with your wife?” the judge would say just short of adding that he would have castrated the man if he were the accused. “So you’ll go in for eight months.”

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If he had his own way, he would have concluded. “Next time you catch an idiot on top of your wife, don’t kill him, maim him! You get the point? “

Yes love, just like hatred is a real force to reckon with. For this rea­son, Valentine’s Day is well observed in most countries especially the advanced countries where people are accustomed to certain romantic gim­micks. It is a day for lovers and it has a short but varying history behind it.

In Africa, most people do not care about Valentine because they are preoccupied with seeking the king­dom of the stomach. If you remind someone of Valentine’s Day, he’ll ask you, “ibi Valentine you go chop?”

Last Sunday was Valentine’s Day and some people celebrated it, I don’t know how properly the peo­ple celebrated it. I don’t know how properly the celebration was done in each respective case. People sent out cards; someone probably ex­pected card from me that she never got, and I didn’t get a card myself, but life continues all the same, and love perpetuates.

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In retrospect, I think the type of love we experienced when we were schoolboys and girls, was far more exciting than anything happening on Valentine’s Day. It was devoid of intimacy but fully of abstract values and imaginings about a loved one you regarded not as a mortal, but a celestial being.

Most often you had to write a love letter to the girl in decent handwriting and of course you didn’t expect a reply. But the thrill of hav­ing sent your lover something to read which probably ended in poem you composed yourself was more satisfy­ing.

But immediately you delivered the letter through a friend, you started praying that the girl should never send the letter to the class teacher for redress. And any time the teach­er called you, you were startled, thinking the girl had delivered the contraband. If she did, then trouble awaited you.

I wrote one of such letters with a poem at the tail end but never found the courage to send it to my dream lover. I hid it in my science note-book for weeks debating in my mind whether or not the girl would report me if I dared send it to her.

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One day, the girl told me she had received the letter. Which letter? Of course the one I wrote. I looked puzzled.

“Didn’t you write me any letter,” she asked. “I did, but…”

I needed to check my notebook to see if the letter was intact. I looked for it for almost two hours to my dis­may that someone had rather deliv­ered the letter on my behalf.

I went back to the girl, and asked her who gave her the letter. Of course, it was a close friend of mine who found it in my notebook and who realising that I was apprehensive about sending it, mischievously did so on my behalf. I was lucky it didn’t wind up on the table of the class teacher.

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Love goes beyond affection for the opposite sex or love for another human being, like motherly love, brotherly love, etc. There is one important thing which is called LOVE FOR ONE’S COUNTRY. When it is ex­cessive, it is called JINGOISM.

Yes, it is necessary that everybody should have a fair amount of a love for his or her country. Ghanaians love their country so much, and that is why they support their national teams whenever they are on any as­signment that would bring in national honours.

Those who do not love their country are those who do not want sustained progress and development. They include corrupt officials, em­bezzlers of state funds and of course those who incite and promote vio­lence. They want to destroy Sikaman just because they have not found the means to personal aggrandizement.

They should not pretend they love the country because they do not wish the country any good.

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Let us show love for our country and maintain the peace that we have always enjoyed. For, the love for one’s country supersedes all.

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The audit of the years: Why old age does not reward sacrifice- Part 1

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We are raised on a foundational myth: that sacrifice is a currency, and time is a bank that honors it. From youth, we are fed the romantic notion that self-denial is an investment.

We are told that if we starve our own ambitions to feed the collective, if we endure silent strains, postpone our vitality, and mortgage our peace for the security of others or the demands of an unrelenting system, the ledger will eventually balance.

We are led to believe that old age is a benevolent auditor-a quiet season where the universe presents a receipt for our endurance and hands back comfort, reverence, and ease.

It does not.

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Old age is not a rewards ceremony; it is a reckoning. And the bitterest truth of longevity is that aging does not care how much you gave up. It cares only how you are built to withstand the descent.

The myth of deferred living

To sacrifice is to treat the present as a disposable bridge to a destination that rarely resembles the brochure. In the architecture of a lifetime, the human body and mind operate under strict biological and emotional laws.

Every time you override your limits, swallow your voice, or defer your joy for a hypothetical tomorrow, you are not saving credit-you are accumulating debt in tissue, joint, and spirit.

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When people reach advanced age, the societal narrative expects them to bask in a golden twilight of quiet dignity earned through decades of self-effacement. But look closer at the reality of unrewarded sacrifice.

The worn-out joints do not ache with the romantic resonance of a noble history; they ache simply because they were overspent on things that ultimately did not require or appreciate the cost.

The silence kept to keep the peace turns into an isolation that no one bothers to breach.

Time does not compound the value of a sacrificed life. It merely exposes the vacancy left behind.

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The biological and psychological toll

From a systemic standpoint, chronic self-denial is a high-stress pathology. The nervous system remembers every time you ignored its signals in favor of duty.

Structural Breakdown: Chronic tension-whether physical or emotional-alters posture, compresses the spine, and locks the body into defensive, braced patterns that harden over decades.

The Emotional Ledger: Emotional suppression leaves a residue that compounds into bitterness or detachment. When the external roles that demanded your sacrifice (the relentless career, the draining obligation, the unreciprocated loyalty) finally fall away, what remains is not a triumphant hero, but a depleted vessel wondering where the trade-off went.

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The universe has no sentimental attachment to your martyrdom. Biology does not check your resume to see how many weekends you surrendered. It responds strictly to mechanics, alignment, and nourishment. If you spent your life running on empty to fuel everyone else’s engine, your own chassis simply wears out sooner, leaving you stranded on the roadside of your own history.

Reclaiming sovereignty before the audit

If old age refuses to honor sacrifice, then the only intelligent response is to stop offering it. Sovereignty cannot be postponed until retirement; it must be practiced in the present tense.

Sovereign living requires a radical shift in how we value our energy:

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Cease the silent ledger: Stop keeping a mental tally of what you endure for others, expecting a delayed payout. If a duty requires your self-destruction, it is a bad investment. Cut the losses now.

Honor the vessel first: No system, institution, or relationship is worth the structural integrity of your body and mind. Alignment and self-preservation are not selfish; they are the baseline requirements for a functional existence.

Redefine legacy: True legacy is not built on how much you endured, but on how fully you inhabited your own autonomy. People are remembered not for how quietly they suffered, but for the distinct, uncompromised shape of their truth.

The years will pass whether you spend them as a perpetual offering or as an autonomous agent. The calendar does not pity the martyr. Strip away the romanticism of endless endurance, reclaim your boundaries, and demand that your life pay dividends now-because the future owes nothing to those who spent it all on a receipt that nobody is going to cash.

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By Robert Ekow Grimmond-Thompson

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Palaver of the Sikaman media and the future

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WITH the advent of multi-party democracy, press freedom was born again. And soon after, Ghanaian journalists started speaking in tongues. Small groups of people, infected with the idea of a free press, got together and sought finance to produce newspapers.

The newspaper craze was also contagious and overnight, the newsstands became laden with newspapers of various sizes, colours, shades, emotions and, of course, notoriety.

Readers of newspapers became confused. With purchasing power constraints to consider, they didn’t know which papers to buy. Moreover, it was difficult to know immediately which papers were worth reading and which were mere garbage.

The Media
The Media

Soon, the sheep were separated from the goats. Some papers which got no saleable news and survived on lies and speculations were eventually boycotted. When they couldn’t break even, they quietly left the stands. Others were hopelessly sub-standard in content, language and layout. For some time, they survived on artificial respiration but lapsed into coma. Others simply disappeared after paying damages for libel.

Today, the fittest have survived, notable among them the Ghanaian Chronicle, Independent, Free Press, Ghana Palaver, Democrat, Public Agenda, Statesman, P & P and Insight. They are slugging it out on the stands and only time will tell which of them would survive the beginning of the next millennium.

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On the electronic front, radio stations have come operating Frequency Modulation (FM) units. Short Wave (SW) being too expensive to venture into, the result is JOY 99.7 FM, GOLD, ATLANTIC, CHOICE FM and other private regional, town and cottage FM stations that dot various parts of the country.

These have brought about variety and jobs. So have the television stations. Ghana Television (GTV) is facing competition from TV3 and Metro TV. Competition brings about in efficiency, and for once we can all see that GTV is performing better after being divested of the monopoly it enjoyed.

Journalists who man the newspapers, radio and television stations together form the Ghana Journalists Association (GJA), an association which, until recent years, existed only in name. It is now feverishly preparing to celebrate its Golden Jubilee, an occasion I believe will give more meaning to the Association and anchor it firmly for good as a closely-knit union of Ghanaian media practitioners.

PRINT MEDIA

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Print journalism has really come a long way, plodding on like the proverbial snail, hoping to achieve the ultimate. It has had to contend with vicissitudes of fortunes as one political era succeeded another.

Of interest is also the fact that from the cut-and-paste method, press outfits now employ desktop publishing techniques with PageMaker components, making the job easy and speedy.  From for four-page newspapers we can now boast of are 30 pages and more, radio stations are on air 24 hours a day.

The development of the media is one thing people have taken note of, and in years to come, the fourth estate of the realm will be well-equipped to collect and dispense information more efficiently, more accurately, and more speedily.

There is another side to it. The media is likely to develop into a monster, the way it has developed to harass Lady Diana, the Princess of Wales, to her death; the way it has made Bill Clinton very uncomfortable by making a showpiece of his private sex life, and hundreds of others.

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Indeed, until her death, the Princess had no privacy. She couldn’t sneeze without it being reported somewhere in a newspaper, complete with pictures in colour. At one stage, she lamented being a celebrity and asked the press to leave her alone to lead her life without world attention. She died while speeding away from pressmen who were furiously chasing her (and her boyfriend) on motorcycles.

If the press develops in Sikaman to the extent that it can in future drive someone to his or her death, cause heart attacks, and destroy families and leaders, can be tolerated as it has been in the United States and Europe?

Some of us think that becoming copycats of alien values and foreign systems is causing more harm than good to our society. For instance, it would be very unfortunate if the Ghanaian media developed to the negative extent that it can publish pictures nude girls as some British tabloids do.

The African culture is a decent one and should not be tainted with the wholesale acceptance of everything western.  In Europe there are magazines for homosexuals and lesbians, glorifying their acts and promoting their perverted ideals.

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The homosexual culture is gradually seeping into African countries, Sikaman inclusive. Should we, therefore, expect to see a homosexual magazine on our newsstands one day?

If the European and American press can harass celebrities, presidents and top shots to the point of discomfort and even death, should the African press copy same if our culture is palpably different in form and orientation, history and tradition?

What I would like to see of a future Ghanaian media is a development-oriented press system seeking to promote the ideals of societal progress, economic growth, agricultural development, political unity, social cohesion and technological advancement.

And what I’d hate to see is the kind of media that is overly interested in wanting to know what the president eats for breakfast, which women he has spoken to of late, and when he is likely to sneeze without covering his nose with a handkerchief.

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What I’d also hate to see is a media that seeks to play one tribe against the other, take to pornography or pry into the private lives of people not for any other purpose than to sell newspapers that only thrive on the obscene.

I’ve heard some editors say, “If you don’t write and insult Rawlings your paper won’t sell.” What kind of mentality is that?

The African press must develop, but it must do so in a positive way and not in the negative and destructive sense.

This article was first published on Saturday August 29, 1998

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