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When drunks warm up for Jesus’ second coming
Sikaman Palava
To the hell-bound unbeliever, it doesn’t matter whether Jesus died on the cross or kicked off while in the wheel-chair. What they would forever be grateful for is that Judas did his job perfectly, sending Jesus to Golgotha so that Easter can become a yearly celebration, anointed with the flow of palm wine and tots of Alomo.
Many natives of Sikaman normally do not celebrate Christmas. They see Christmas as a bother. The kids won’t stop reminding them about their new shoes and dresses, hats, watches, and every nonsensical nonsensicality under the sun, moon and stars.
And the kids will not relent whether you are financially anaemic or generally ‘kpokpomatic.’ It is not so with Easter. It is only on Palm Sunday that the kids start whining about palm branches they would use to herald Jesus’ triumphant entry into Jerusalem. Loud Hosanna!
When I was a kid, I used to look forward to Palm Sunday. After we went to Jerusalem and back, we were welcomed home with Rice and curried chicken. And little Kwame Alomele would be seen dialoguing with a chicken wing in a most graceful manner, while eyeing a chicken thigh that is waiting to be peer reviewed.
PICNIC
I realised that the kids did not celebrate Easter in any definitive manner apart from the Easter Monday picnicking during which we drank a mixture of Coke, Fanta, Asana, Sprite and Mirinda and accounted for it very miserably and dishourably around midnight. The super- holy mixture turned the stomach at the eleventh hour and the result was one hell of a voting bout.
But it wasn’t only the children who vomited from mixing drinks. The big folks sometimes ended up in the gutter having mixed beer, stout, palm wine, akpeteshie (better known as sodabi). When they happened to eat kokonte and groundnut soup before drinking all these, what they threw up was a side attraction in itself.
The whole mess could be something amazing. But you are sure to see a crab’s claw somewhere, and you’d wonder whether the man swallowed the crab whole. The truth is that some people do. They don’t like chewing.
They are used to swallowing fufu and kokonte so much that they swallow virtually anything edible in sight. So to them swallowing a crab whole is no big deal. Just one of those things, if not a hobby!
To most folks, the celebration of Easter itself is not as exciting as the preparation for the event. Most guys would want to celebrate at Peki or Kwahu, the two accredited and gazetted Easter celebration points endorsed from heaven. Any woman whose husband goes on trek during Easter should be informed that the trek is not a genuine one. You can locate your husband swinging at Peki or Kwahu with a fair-coloured lady. I can bet on it!
Others would want to go to their own home towns to show off their moustache. But it all requires cash because while exhibiting your stylish upper-lip you must also “do show” to attract the attention of the ladies. You’ll need one to warm your waist when the cold comes at dawn. AIDS or no AIDS. All die be die!
So the preparations must include moustache-trimming, latest hair-shaping, cash saving and of course studying the latest dance style. Normally, you’ll not be expected to repeat the style you displayed a year back, otherwise you’ll be branded as not trendy. You must storm the stage dog-style and behave like an animal.
That is how the ladies will offer you “scholarship.”
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What has fascinated me most is the Easter Sunday church service. That is where the ladies release the latest or imported kaba styles. They come to church not to hail the resurrection of Jesus Christ of Nazareth, but to prove to all and sundry that indeed, they know how to dress.
And the way they strut to the church service is something I have never believed could ever be possible. But they accomplish it effortlessly.
You wouldn’t know whether the ladies want to fly like a vulture or glide like a crow. But they all, without exception, behave like a peacock. The men folk wonder at the ladies’ elegant clothing and their affected pomposity. With measured steps, they enter into the church hall, and instead of sitting the ladies perch like birds. They are possessed with the spirit of the occasion.
The Easter sermon is normally predictable. Judas will be condemned a bit, but not too much because the man is credited with betraying the messiah through which the redemption of man has come.
The pastor himself is normally in high spirits. He is expected to announce that Jesus has indeed resurrected after three days; and all eyes focus on him.
“His blood is what you Christians must strive for. It can redeem you from sin,” he’d wail.
SECRECY
If he is overzealous or happens to have taken some wine in the secrecy of his bedroom to loosen his tongue, he can say it exactly as it is, and risk offending the congregation.
“Jesus’ blood is for people like you sitting right here in front of me. You are fornicators, adulterers, crooks and common thieves. It doesn’t matter how well-dressed you are. After all, a decorated donkey is more or less an ass.
“Some of you are murderers, idolaters, rapists, armed robbers and car-jackers. With some of you, it was out of criminal activities that you had money to celebrate this Easter. It is for people like you that the Lord Jesus shed his blood. You need to repent and believe in his gospel.”
Everyone will be sure the pastor wasn’t referring to him or her. Of course, every Easter Sunday service is also attended by people who declare themselves village tramps and drunks. Once in a year, they come to the altar to ask God to free them from the witches who put pots into people’s bellies. They are expected to fill the pot with akpeteshie, but it never gets filled.
“Did Jesus die for me too,” a common palm wine drunkard would say aloud.” Pastor tell me something.”
Features
Tears of Ghanaman, home and abroad
The typical native of Sikaman is by nature a hospitable creature, a social animal with a big heart, a soul full of the milk of earthly goodness, and a spirit too loving for its own comfort.
Ghanaman hosts a foreign pal and he spends a fortune to make him very happy and comfortable-good food, clean booze, excellent accommodation and a woman for the night.
Sometimes the pal leaves without saying a “thank you but Ghanaman is not offended. He’d host another idiot even more splendidly. His nature is warm, his spirit benevolent. That is the typical Ghanaian and no wonder that many African-Americans say, “If you haven’t visited Ghana. Then you’ve not come to Africa.
You can even enter the country without a passport and a visa and you’ll be welcomed with a pot of palm wine.
If Ghanaman wants to go abroad, especially to an European country or the United States, it is often after an ordeal.
He has to doze in a queue at dawn at the embassy for days and if he is lucky to get through to being interviewed, he is confronted by someone who claims he or she has the power of discerning truth from lie.
In short Ghanaman must undergo a lie-detector test and has to answer questions that are either nonsensical or have no relevance to the trip at hand. When Joseph Kwame Korkorti wanted a visa to an European country, the attache studied Korkorti’s nose for a while and pronounced judgment.
“The way I see you, you won’t return to Ghana if I allow you to go. Korkorti nearly dislocated her jaw; Kwasiasem akwaakwa. In any case what had Korkorti’s nose got to do with the trip?
If Ghanaman, after several attempts, manages to get the visa and lands in the whiteman’s land, he is seen as another monkey uptown, a new arrival of a degenerate ape coming to invade civilized society. He is sneered at, mocked at and avoided like a plague. Some landlords abroad will not hire their rooms to blacks because they feel their presence in itself is bad business.
When a Sikaman publisher landed overseas and was riding in a public bus, an urchin who had the impudence and notoriety of a dead cockroach told his colleagues he was sure the black man had a tail which he was hiding in his pair of trousers. He didn’t end there. He said he was in fact going to pull out the tail for everyone to see.
True to his word he went and put his hand into the backside of the bewildered publisher, intent on grabbing his imaginary tail and pulling it out. It took a lot of patience on the part of the publisher to avert murder. He practically pinned the white miscreant on the floor by the neck and only let go when others intervene. Next time too…
The way we treat our foreign guests in comparison with the way they treat us is polar contrasting-two disparate extremes, one totally incomparable to the other. They hound us for immigration papers, deport us for overstaying and skinheads either target homes to perpetrate mayhem or attack black immigrants to gratify their racial madness
When these same people come here we accept them even more hospitably than our own kin. They enter without visas, overstay, impregnate our women and run away.
About half of foreigners in this country do not have valid resident permits and was not a bother until recently when fire was put under the buttocks of the Immigration Service
In fact, until recently I never knew Sikaman had an Immigration Service. The problem is that although their staff look resplendent in their green outfit, you never really see them anywhere. You’d think they are hidden from the public eye.
The first time I saw a group of them walking somewhere, I nearly mistook them for some sixth-form going to the library. Their ladies are pretty though.
So after all, Sikaman has an Immigration Service which I hear is now alert 24 hours a day tracking down illegal aliens and making sure they bound the exit via Kotoka International. A pat on their shoulder.
I am glad the Interior Ministry has also realised that the country has been too slack about who goes out or comes into Sikaman.
Now the Ministry has warned foreigners not to take the country’s commitment to its obligations under the various conditions as a sign of weakness or a source for the abuse of her hospitality.
“Ghana will not tolerate any such abuse,” Nii Okaija Adamafio, the Interior Minister said, baring his teeth and twitching his little moustache. He was inaugurating the Ghana Refugee and Immigration Service Boards.
He said some foreigners come in as tourists, investors, consultants, skilled workers or refugees. Others come as ‘charlatans, adventurers or plain criminals. “
Yes, there are many criminals among them. Our courts have tried a good number of them for fraud and misconduct.
It is time we welcome only those who would come and invest or tour and go back peacefully and not those whose criminal intentions are well-hidden but get exposed in due course of time.
This article was first published on Saturday March 14, 1998
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Decisions have consequences
In this world, it is always important to recognise that every action or decision taken, has consequences.
It can result in something good or bad, depending on the quality of the decision, that is, the factors that were taken into account in the decision making.
The problem with a bad decision is that, in some instances, there is no opportunity to correct the result even though you have regretted the decision, which resulted in the unpleasant outcome.
This is what a friend of mine refers to as having regretted an unregretable regret. After church last Sunday, I was watching a programme on TV and a young lady was sharing with the host, how a bad decision she took, had affected her life immensely and adversely.
She narrated how she met a Caucasian and she got married to him. The white man arranged for her to join him after the marriage and processes were initiated for her to join her husband in UK. It took a while for the requisite documentation to be procured and during this period, she took a decision that has haunted her till date.
According to her narration, she met a man, a Ghanaian, who she started dating, even though she was a married woman.
After a while her documents were ready and so she left to join her husband abroad without breaking off the unholy relationship with the man from Ghana.
After she got to UK, this man from Ghana, kept pressuring her to leave the white man and return to him in Ghana. The white man at some point became a bit suspicious and asked about who she has been talking on the phone with for long spells, and she lied to him that it was her cousin.
Then comes the shocker. After the man from Ghana had sweet talked her continuously for a while, she decided to leave her husband and return to Ghana after only three weeks abroad.
She said, she asked the guy to swear to her that he would take care of both her and her mother and the guy swore to take good care of her and her mother as well as rent a 3-bedroom flat for her. She then took the decision to leave her husband and return to Ghana.
She told her mum that she was returning to Ghana to marry the guy in Ghana. According to her, her mother vigorously disagreed with her decision and wept.
She further added that her mum told her brother and they told her that they were going to tell her husband about her intentions.
According to her, she threatened that if they called her husband to inform him, then she would commit suicide, an idea given to her by the boyfriend in Ghana.
Her mum and brother afraid of what she might do, agreed not to tell her husband. She then told her husband that she was returning to Ghana to attend her Grandmother’s funeral.
The husband could not understand why she wanted to go back to Ghana after only three weeks stay so she had to lie that in their tradition, grandchildren are required to be present when the grandmother dies and is to be buried.
She returned to Ghana; the flat turns into a chamber and hall accommodation, the promise to take care of her mother does not materialise and generally she ends up furnishing the accommodation herself. All the promises given her by her boyfriend, turned out to be just mere words.
A phone the husband gave her, she left behind in UK out of guilty conscience knowing she was never coming back to UK.
Through that phone and social media, the husband found out about his boyfriend and that was the end of her marriage.
Meanwhile, things have gone awry here in Ghana and she had regretted and at a point in her narration, was trying desperately to hold back tears. Decisions indeed have consequences.
NB: ‘CHANGE KOTOKA INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT TO KOFI BAAKO INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT’
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