Features
Keta under siege
The decision to live in Keta, was entirely mine. As a four-year old, I was put in the Queen Elizabeth Nursery in Koforidua. Papa would come get me in his black Morris with registration number AR 1429 when we closed. But there was a day Papa did not come for me and I decided to walk home because I knew the route. The nursery was behind the present GCB Bank building, but on getting to the main street in Koforidua there was no way a toddler would be minded to watch out for vehicular traffic, so I just had to walk across.
Then out of nowhere came a cyclist who knocked me off my feet and I reckon I might have landed with a thud. He was elderly in my estimation then and he picked me up and asked if I knew where I was going. I said yes and directed him to my home just about 150 metres away. It turned out my jawline was twisted from the impact and I had a big wound on my left foot.
I took quite some time to fully recover. Then the issue of going back to school came up. And that was when the rebel in me was woken up. To be knocked down again? Not me. Nothing would make me go to school; not even a ride on my granduncle’s black Chevrolet. Finally, I decided that if I was to go to school I would prefer to go live with my maternal grandparents who I had visited at Peki with Mother a couple of months earlier. It turned out that Grandpa Demanya had retired and had relocated to Keta.
That was how, sometime after Ghana’s independence in 1957, I arrived in Keta. As to whether it was easy to get me to go to school again is for another edition. But I did go finally. We lived very close to the main arterial road in the town, just a kilometre and half or so to the East of Fort Prinsensten, built by the Danes in 1784. The sea was about two kilometres south of our home. Grandpa forbade us children from going to the beach by ourselves.
Keta simply means vast land of sand. When the Danes built Prinsensten it was very close to the ocean because it was good for trade and shipment of slaves across the Atlantic. With time the sea receded leaving sand behind for a few kilometres. Over decades the people started building houses on the sand. I remember Grandpa saying at a point that the sea might one day come to reclaim its sand. Prophetic, if you asked me.
One day in November of 1961, I went to school as usual and when I got home for lunch, I saw my grandmother waist-deep in water trying to salvage the cooking pots that were floating on the water. The ducks we had in the house were having a field day on the water. Our goats and a couple of fowls were saved earlier; the building broke in two with the southern end tilted into the sea. As a nine-year old I had no appreciation of the magnitude of the problem.
All our belongings were packed by the side of the road where the whole family spent the night. It was a moon-lit night so we knew where everyone was as we awaited the break of dawn. School was on my mind at daybreak, but Grandpa got a Bedford truck to load the eight-member family and our belongings to the landing of the Keta Lagoon near the main Keta market where we were loaded on to a canoe that was to take us to our hometown of Anyako where I was to spend the next six years in basic school.
Just last week, the tidal waves struck the coastal areas one more time. And during the week I heard people make all manner of analyses of the situation. I overheard one person described as an expert postulating that the people of the area relocate. Ghana’s media landscape has become one giant avenue for people who know next to nothing carrying themselves as experts in areas they have little knowledge about. And there are equally illiterate people behind studio microphones who have no interviewing techniques asking very silly questions.
This posture is akin to asking the people of Louisiana, Texas, Florida, Alabama and other southern states in the US to relocate because of the annual hurricanes that assail those areas. Even in the great America,no one suggests to the people to relocate. Simply put, they do not run away from nature. They manage to live with nature. How have we as a people managed our coastal erosion?
Keta has become a strip of land between the Atlantic Ocean and the Lagoon named after the town. If nothing is done about saving the coast from further damage and the sea washes Keta, and its environs along the coast and hits the Lagoon, almost all towns around the Lagoon will be consumed by the sea. Seva, Anyako. Aborlorve-Nolopi, Afiadenyigba, Atiavi, Alakple and, indeed, 90 per cent of Anlo will vanish from Ghana’s map.
I remember some iron planks were used back in those days as a barrier between the sea and land. Now I realise that they were not effective for long because the engineers overlooked or underestimated the salinity of the ocean. The salt gnawed at the metals rendering them useless. With Polar Ice melting fast as a result of climate change, thus increasing sea levels, our situation can only get worse.
A comprehensive, yet quick action is needed to tackle this phenomenon. We can learn from how the United States deals with hurricanes. Better still, Cuba will be ready to teach us how they do it, willy-nilly. All we need is a responsible leadership to the needs of all our people. The “can do” spirit is all that is needed. Tackling issues of national importance is not a cold intellectual process.
Writer’s e-mail address
akofa45@yahoo.com
BY DR. AKOFA K. SEGBEFIA
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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Features
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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