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Borla man —Part One

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Even though Martin and his family were well known to my parents, the issue of my marriage to him generated great controversy at home. Mama thought he was nice and respectful, and since his parents were hardworking and of good report, he would be a good husband for me.

But Dada said nothing in his demeanour convinced him. Martin had to wait for over four months for their decision.

On my part, I was indifferent. All my friends and relatives thought he was a nice, respectable guy. And since he was a graduate with a good job at the Excel Health Insurance Company, they felt he would take good care of me.

I thought they made some sense. I quite liked him. He was always nicely dressed, and had the aura of a responsible person who had a great career future. But I didn’t feel the kind of love or even affection I thought I should feel for a prospective husband.

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And the other problem was that even though everyone thought I was intelligent, I had been unable to pass WASSCE after three determined attempts. I badly wanted to get a degree.

But everyone encouraged me to go ahead. Love, they said, often developed over time. And as for getting a degree, there were so many paths. One could even write a matured students’ exam and enter the university.

And since Martin himself was a graduate, it was almost certain that he would assist me, since I would then be in a position to support him, at least financially.

Eventually, my parents came to some form of agreement. Dada would accept ‘drinks’ from Martin’s family to signify that he had agreed to our relationship, and I could even go and live with him if I wanted to. But he would agree to the actual formal ceremony after Martin had ‘proven himself’.

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Martin was promoted to the rank of Manager and transferred to Takoradi. He rented a nice flat, and I joined him. Life was very comfortable, initially. Rather early in the day, he started coming home around eight about three days in the week, even though he closed at four-thirty.

He explained that he spent a couple of hours at the club house with his contemporaries working in Takoradi, and that it was nothing to worry about. At least, he said, I always knew where to find him. And moreover, he made sure he didn’t stay too late. I didn’t worry too much about it, because when he was home, we enjoyed each other’s company.

Then the problems with the ladies started. I saw the signs early. First, he always went out of earshot to take his calls. Then I started smelling ladies perfumes on his shirts. Then he put a password on his phone.

After many attempts, I broke into his phone, and saw quite a number of intimate exchanges between him and one Elaine. So the following morning, I called Elaine, introduced myself as Martin’s wife, and asked her to stop seeing him, forthwith. I assured her that if she didn’t, she would face worse problems than she was causing me.

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That evening, Martin parked the car, flung the door open, and demanded to know why I called her. Before I could answer, he slapped me. I fell, more out of shock than the effect of the slap.

‘Sarah, you are lucky I didn’t give you some dirty blows!’ he declared as he walked away’.

I got up and went to the kitchen, turned off the half cooked jollof rice, and sat on the stool. He came in after several minutes.

‘Are you bringing my food or shall I get someone to give me food?’ I ignored him. He picked up the car keys and walked out. But he must have given up on that plan, because he returned to the kitchen, peeled some kenkey, put two pieces of chicken and some shito on the plate, and sat down to eat.

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I spent the night in the spare room, alternating between thinking of my future outside marriage, and catching up on my WhatsApp messages. Before slipping into sleep, I prayed for guidance to take the right steps, and psyched myself up to live a disciplined, fruitful life, no matter the obstacles that came my way. I decided to start working towards university admission the following morning. I would buy the draft, do the application online, and treat myself to a good lunch.

I woke up at about 6.15, prepared breakfast, and went to the bathroom. I dressed and came to the hall to find that Martin had eaten breakfast and gone off to work. Just when I finished breakfast, my sister Dinah called from Brussels, and for the next hour and a half we discussed arrangements for her return. I locked up the shop at about ten, and was walking off to the bank when a young man stepped out of a pick-up vehicle with a Top Clean sign. He greeted, and I responded.

‘Sorry to disturb you, madam. Can I give you the past month’s cleaning bill?’
‘Ah, okay. Thank you’. He started walking away, then he stopped and turned.

‘Madam, I hope you don’t mind. Please forgive me. I stood, waiting.
Madam, you are very beautiful. Your husband is a very lucky man’. Tears rolled down my cheeks.

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‘Oh madam. Please forgive me. I’m very, very sorry’.
‘Don’t worry’, I said. ‘You’ve done nothing wrong’.
‘Then please allow me to take you where you are going’.
‘I’m going to the nearest bank to make a draft’.
‘Okay, let’s go. Er, quite obviously, you are going to prepare the draft for a purpose. Do you mind if I take you there?’
‘I wouldn’t want to take up your time. After doing the draft, I’ll go to the nearest internet cafe to fill an online application’.
‘No problem. I’ll take you there. Please forgive me if I’m being a nuisance. But actually, I have a couple of hours to spare. And moreover, you are our client, so this is one way of thanking you for your patronage’.
‘Okay, you’re on. Let’s do it’.

He stopped at the bank, and I spent some twenty minutes getting the draft done. He was busy on his tablet when I got back, entering some figures into a table. He turned it off and started the engine.

‘Now’, he said, ‘let me take you to a comfortable cafe where the internet is reasonably fast, and you can work in some privacy. I’ve used it a couple of times. And as you’ve already seen, you can take as much time as you like. I’ll be doing some work’.

‘But, er…. I don’t even know your name’.
‘Paul. Paul Allotey. I’m Sarah, by the way. Paul, why don’t you leave me here, since this is the last important thing I’m doing today’.
‘Okay. Now Sarah. I was just thinking. You will be here at the cafe for about an hour. By then it will be about twelve thirty. By then, you would be thinking of buying yourself some lunch, to eat here or to take home. So if you would please allow me, I will take you to one of the nicest eating places in town, and after you have sorted that one out, then I can drop you home. Just that one errand, then I won’t bother you again’.
‘You are not bothering me at all. You are being very kind to me. And I just realised you are a mind reader too. The last item on my agenda was lunch’.
‘I’m so glad I appeared at your doorstep, just in time’.
‘Okay. Now Paul, since you say the cafe is a comfortable place, let’s go in together, and you can do your work while I get my application done’.
‘Okay, Sarah. Thanks. Let’s go’.

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By Ekow de Heer

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The eye is indeed the lamp of the body

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There is a scripture that is found in Matthew 6:22 which says that the lamp of the body is the eye and therefore the eye must see well to enable the body to get to its destination.  

What most people do not know is that behind the scenes, there is a strong interaction between the eyes and the brain before a picture becomes clear.  The state of mind therefore is crucial to the eye seeing clearly to enable the body to process accurately the information the eyes are feeding it for proper identification of what the eyes see. 

This is similar to how a person behaves i.e. what informs the decisions that forms in the mind that results in the actions that a person performs.  The actions of a person does not therefore just happen but is as a result of things that went on in the mind, which in most cases resulted from information passed on to it by the eyes either consciously or unconsciously.

There are so many issues that affect our society which makes one wonder, whether the people who displayed such acts were created by someone or something other than God. 

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How can a person see a beach created by God with beautiful beaches and fresh air blowing all around, decides to defecate at such places, and therefore desecrate the environment?  lt is simply mind boggling? 

When other people in other countries who dwell on the coast are using their beaches for tourist attraction purposes as a means of livelihood and also to promote environmental health, some people living around our beaches, have turned them into rubbish dumping sites and toilets. 

It is a very sad situation and the earlier we did something about it the better.  It is a national emergency that must engage the attention, first of the government and then the citizenry, where religious bodies and NGOs must play a critical role.

The things we focus on in this country, needs to be addressed.  Our minds which processes the info the eyes send to the brain, must be disciplined.  There are certain behaviours that a disciplined mind can ignore even when the eye has provided info to the brain.  One of the things a disciplined mind does, is the avoidance of a second look, which is critical for every person who wants to avoid adultery or fornication. 

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Once a person is not blind, he will see things.  The boobs, the ‘shankus’, the coca cola shapes, the light complexioned, the dark complexioned etc. the eyes will definitely see and report same to the brain.  What the brain or the mind decides to do or instructs the eye to do is the issue. 

It can decide to instruct the eye to take a second look and let the mind drool over it or say ignore it and that will be the end.

If the mind becomes trained to focus on environmental issues like clean environment, the eyes will automatically be reporting on insanitary conditions to the brain as and when it sees them.  The mind will pay attention to such data and begin to process them and to identify solutions to deal with the reported insanitary conditions. 

There is the need to encourage citizens to train the mind to focus on the right thing so that in tandem with the eyes, focus will be maintained.  When the mind is so trained, it communicates with the eye to also focus on hood things that helps in both are spiritual life and our secular lives, for indeed the eyes are the lamp of the body.  God bless.

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 Arming the Sikaman journalists to the teeth

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THE relationship between New Times Corporation (NTC) and African Concrete Productions (ACP) is based entirely on matters of the stomach. Each depends on the other in a dietary symbiosis, reinforced by the close proximity of each other

At lunchtime, you’d see a particular set of Times workers marching regimentally to ACP to face the wall. You’d think they are soldiers. It has long been declared that the company manufactures the best kokonte in the Greater Accra Region. ACP is, therefore, a culinary haven for those NTC kokonte fans, both male and female.

As the NTC kokonte warriors cross the border to ACP, you’d see some ACP banku fanatics dancing joyously to NTC. They are lucky folks because they do not have to obtain visa to enter into ‘Times’ to attack the balls of banku with precision and accuracy. They also claim that the lightsoup at ‘Times’ is arguably the best in West Africa.

So the relationship between the two entities was quite cordial and based practically on stomach palaver, until ACP workers staged an industrial revolution, whereupon the managing director, accountant and estate manager were allegedly stripped naked and locked up in a room. An insurgency had began in earnest.

An ACP worker came to ‘Times’, this time not to eat banku and okro. He had come to inform newsmen that juicy stuff awaited them at ACP. It could make a front page lead story.

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A camerawoman and a female reporter were accordingly dispatched to go and bring back news, juicy news as juicy as kokonte and groundnut soup.

Sikaman Palava
Sikaman Palava

I was driving to work when I espied the familiar camerawoman clicking away outside the ACP premises. I didn’t see any ‘Times’ reporter but angry workers who were on the verge of getting violent. I slowed down and the driver behind blew his horn at me like a lunatic. I drove on.

Later, I heard the reporter and camerawoman were harassed and brutalised. The report came,. “The camerawoman, Mrs Salome Adonu-Agbottah and reporter Mrs Doreen Allotey, in an attempt to retrieve the camera which the workers had seized from them were severely beaten. They were manhandled and almost pushed into a big gutter opposite the company’s premises.

BRUISES

“….The camerawoman had bruises on her body, her hand bag was destroyed and the money in it stolen. Mrs Allotey’s watch was also snatched and her feet stamped on.”

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Luckily, it was not her nose that was trampled upon. She has a beautiful nose.

The bad news was received with extreme sorrow. If the victims had been men, it would not have seemed too bad. But to brutalise women is just unacceptable. The New Times Corporation has not stopped mourning the incident which has been condemned in many circles.

Some people keep asking me why Times sent females to cover a potentially violent demonstration. I tell them they might as well ask why CNN’s amazon, Christina Amanpour, is assigned to cover the carnage in Bosnia-Herzegovina and Rwanda. She is always on the frontline in jeans and jacket.

Journalism is a potentially hazardous profession, and once you accept to study and practise the trade, you might as well bone up to face any assignment as long as your superiors feel you are capable of handling it or you have demonstrated the capacity to handle it. Both males and females can be assigned anywhere, anytime just like policemen and women are assigned.

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The only difference between cops and pressmen is that the latter are armed only with a pen and the former with a gun. The question is should newsmen also arm themselves so that in any event of an assault they would not be found wanting in self-defence? They can’t adequately defend themselves with a pen and a jotter. A pen cannot even disfigure an opponent’s upper lip.

Photo-journalists have particularly suffered violence. Spectator ace-cameraman Vincent Dzatse was severely assaulted by AMA men when he attempted to take pictures of their indiscretions.

Sports cameraman, P. K. Arthur has been beaten more than once at the sports stadium when riots errupted and he wanted to capture it on his lenses.

Some sports journalists have been banned from entering the Accra Sports Stadium by supporters because in their comments, they didn’t write “sense”. Some supporters once nearly lynched Christian Abbew, Spectator Sports Editor, near a courtroom. He was stoned like the biblical Stephen. He had gone to defend a contempt charge.

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I think it is time journalists met and discussed how best to defend themselves in any event of an attack by individuals or mobs. In the pursuance of their duty, they must be free from harassment and assault.

Some journalists go to work and return home with a black-eye or a double fore-head. It is just not right. Something has to be done about it. I think journalists should be armed. But first we must be trained in the use of firearms so that our warning shot do not hit below the belt. What about training in Kung Fu?

This article was first published on Saturday, October 17, 1998.

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