Features
An SOS call from the motorway
Driver from Accra to Tema is often thrilling when you hit the fast-track idea and get cracking down the motorway almost airborne. In six or seven minutes, you must ease up. Welcome to the Harbour City.
While decelerating, you are likely to look to the left, and there lies Ashaiman, a town of many parts. You are forced to make a slight bow in honour of one of Sikaman’s unkempt habitations. That is also where some armed robbers are born and bred, using the motorway for their practical attachment.
Some of the robbers were not born criminals, though. They began life as corn-mill attendants and as magicians, but magic is not paying these days. Armed robbery is the single most lucrative profession today after church business. So the magicians now turn to procure arms not to fight a civil war, but to make money.
Along the length of the motorway, there are various camps for the robbers, some of whom come from Baatsona area, some from Accra suburbs and of course Ashaiman, otherwise known as Hanoi. Business begins at about 8:30 p.m. on week days, 7:00pm at weekends and public holidays.
The targets are motorists. There is an overhead bridge somewhere along the motorway, from where some criminals drop boulders or blocks on cars to disconcert the drivers. It is a trick to get them to stop to find out what the hell is happening. They are then pounced upon and robbed.
Cars that break down are rather easy prey. The robbers just walk leisurely to the driver and demand all the money on him, his briefcase, watch, shoes, shirt, trousers and all. If you are not careful, you can end up at home like a mad man completely naked.
That is, if you are not lucky and they ask you to hand over your “supporter” as well.
Well, if you are a lady, you can well imagine your fate.
The problem with the motorway is that when you break down at night, the palaver is between you and your God. No motorist is prepared to stop and help you because everyone is thinking you might be an armed robber posing as a motorist in distress.
On February 1, 2001, I was cruising comfortably on the motorway in my Concord, listening to some good music on Atlantis FM, wishing to get home early to catch some rest. Perched on the front seat beside me was a lady colleague I lifted. She usually alights at the end of the motorway.
I was enjoying the ride and it was about 5:50 p.m. when the Concord developed a fault with all the jerks and power off. I veered into the pedestrian lane and realised I was really in for it. Luckily, a taxi had also developed a fault and a mechanic was fixing it up. He came up to me and asked to help. I opened the bonnet.
He did what he could and asked me to start the engine. It kicked into life and I was delighted. “What’s my charge?
He picked up the money and I zoomed away. 100 metres away, the car grounded to a halt again. I asked the lady to stay by the car; I’ll do a quick dash to fetch the mechanic.
“I’m afraid,” she said. “What of if armed men come here?”
Okay, I’ll stay here. Walk briskly and get the mechanic down. He took the money and did no job. Drag him right here.”
She walked back to get the mechanic. It was about 6:30 pm and she wasn’t getting back early enough with the guy. I was worried. I started walking after her to see what the hell was happening. I saw her from the distance returning alone. “Jesus Christ of Nazareth,” I said to myself.
I didn’t know I was such a good Christian. The word “Jesus Christ came naturally to me, the only one who could save me.
The lady and I now started waving down speeding motorists and none stopped. One attempted to stop, but I guess he decided otherwise when he saw my height and frame.
I am six feet tall and I look like a semi-professional heavyweight before. Actually I can deliver a slugger when it comes to it, but that has never been my style. I’m quite sure the man who decided to stop but sped on thought I was a very dangerous criminal playing a trick.
The lady and myself kept begging for anybody to stop and just listen to what we had to say. For about one hour, we were at it. At a certain point, I wanted to kneel down so that passing motorists would not be terrified at my height. Of course, nothing worked so far.
I had to seek the face of God. Earlier, I had alerted Jesus Christ that an SOS call was in the pipeline. I started praying silently to myself. The time was about 7:45pm. Time was running out. “Oh Jesus, it is only you who can deliver me, Kwame Alomele and this lady from evil. If you don’t do it, who else can? Our trust is all in you….”
It is a long time since I attended church, and I wondered whether Jesus was listening to me. “Jesus, you came to redeem sinners, not the righteous,”
I reminded Him, “Please, save me.” And He did.
A car sped by but miraculously screeched to a halt about 100 metres away “Oh glory! Oh glory!” I intoned.
A man came out. “I think I know Are you not the writer?”
Yes sir. My car broke down here and none is stopping to help us out. What’s your name sir?”
That’s not necessary now. I’ll get you to Tema and then we can find a mechanic or someone to tow your car.”
I picked up my briefcase, removed the tape and locked the power windows. We hopped into his car and off we went, leaving the Concord behind. Even if they removed the windscreens, it could be better than going home naked.
It was about 9:00 pm when we tracked down my mechanic and by the time I finally got home it was 11:00 am. A day well spent on a motorway that had no police patrol, no security of my sort, to phone system, nothing. That is why the armed robbers are having a field day on Ghana’s beloved motorway.
Attention-Deficit or Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) is often mistaken for laziness or indiscipline. In consulting rooms across Accra and in reports from school teachers, the pattern repeats: children who are bright but forgetful, parents who feel helpless, teachers who see incompleteness.
Research is clear-Barkley (2015) and others describe ADHD as a difference in the brain’s regulation of alertness, impulse and working memory, not a lack of effort.
The family’s role begins with structure. Regular sleep, predictable meal and homework times, and a simple visual list (uniform → books → water → corridor) provide the external scaffolding of these children need. Praise what is completed—“You opened the book and wrote the first sentence”-instead of rebuking what is missing.
Schools can help by seating the child front-row and centre, giving short written plus verbal instructions, allowing brief movement breaks, using quiet nonverbal cues and, where possible, grading effort and method as well as neatness. These adjustments reduce conflict and raise submission rates without lowering standards.
Couples and caregivers should share roles: one grounds, one pivots, and both protect rest. Shame-“bad parenting, bad child”-needs replacing with fact: different wiring, needs scaffolding.
Outcomes improve not by promises of perfection but by daily routines, clear limits and warmed connection. One homework slot kept, one instruction chunked, one calm repair after blurting-these small wins shift the family climate and let the child be seen beyond the label.
Resource
• CPAC (award-winning Mental Health and Counselling Facility): 0559850604 / 0551428486
Source: REV. COUNSELLOR PRINCE OFFEI’s insights on special needs support, relationships, and mental health in Ghana. He is a leading mental health professional, lecturer, ADR Expert/Arbitrator, renowned author, and marriage counsellor at COUNSELLOR PRINCE & ASSOCIATES CONSULT (CPAC COUNSELLOR TRAINING INSTITUTE) – 0551428486 /0559850604.
WEBSITES:
https://princeoffei22.wixsite.com/author
https://princeoffei22.wixsite.com/website
After two weeks of hectic activity up north, I drove to the Tamale airport, parked the car at the Civil Aviation car park as usual, paid the usual parking fee and boarded the plane for Accra.
Over the last two weeks, I had shuffled between three sites where work was close to completion.
One was a seed warehouse, where farmers would come and pick up good quality maize, sorghum and other planting material.
The other was a health facility for new mothers, where they were given basic training on good nutrition and small scale business.
And the third was a set of big boreholes for three farming communities.
The projects usually ran on schedule, but a good deal of time was spent building rapport with the local people, to ensure that they would be well patronised and maintained.
It was great to be working in a situation where one’s work was well appreciated. But it certainly involved a lot of work, and proactivity. And I made sure that I recorded updates online before going to bed in the evening.
When the plane took off, my mind shifted to issues in Accra, the big city. The young guys at my office had done some good work. They had secured five or six houses on a row in a good part of the city, and were close to securing the last.
When we got this property, unusually, Abena greeted them casually, and appeared to be comfortable in the guy’s company.
I was quite disappointed to hear that, because until the last few weeks, it seemed as if Abena and I were heading in a good direction. Apart from the affection I had for her, I liked her family. I decided to take it easy, and allow things to fall in whatever direction.
Normally I would take a taxi to her house from the airport, and pick her up to my place. This time I went to my sisters’ joint, where they sat by me while I enjoyed a drink and a good meal.
“So Little Brother,” Sister Beesiwa said, “what is it we are hearing about our wife-to-be?”
“When did you conclude that she was your wife-to-be? And what have you heard? I’ve only heard a couple of whispers. Ebo and Nana Kwame called to say that they have seen her in the company of—”
“Well said Little Brother,” Sister Baaba said. “By the way, Nana Kwame called an hour ago to ask if you had arrived because he could not reach you. Someone had told him that Jennifer had boasted to someone that she had connected Abena to a wealthy guy who would take care of her.”
I was beginning to understand. For some time, Abena had been asking me what work I was doing up north, and after I had explained it to her, she kept asking. So I think Jennifer fed her with false stories about me in order to get her to move to the Ampadu guy. Jennifer must have been well compensated for her efforts.
“In that case,” Sister Beesiwa said, “you should be glad that Abena is out of your way. She is easily swayed. Anyone who would make a relationship decision based on a friend’s instigation lacks good sense. I hope the guy is as wealthy as they say?”
“Who gets wealthy running a supermarket chain in Ghana?” Sister Baaba said. “Our supermarkets sell mostly imported products. Look at the foreign exchange rate. And remember that Ghanaians buy second-hand shoes and clothes. Supermarkets are not good business here. Perhaps they are showing off that they are wealthy, but in reality they are not doing so well.”
“Amen to that,” I said. “I’m beginning to understand. For some time, Abena had been asking me what work I was doing up north, and after I had explained it to her, she kept asking. So I think Jennifer fed her with false stories about me in order to get her to move to the Ampadu guy. Jennifer must have been well compensated for her efforts.”
She said that David Forson was only an agricultural extension worker in the north who did not have the resources to take care of a beautiful girl like her. And apart from being wealthy, the guy comes from an influential family, so Abena had done much better leaving a miserable civil servant like you for him.
“Amen to that,” I said. “I’m beginning to understand. For some time, Abena had been asking me what work I was doing up north, and after I had explained it to her, she kept asking. We would be able to sell all five houses to one big corporate customer, and we had already spoken to a property dealer who was trying to find a buyer in order to get a good commission.
That was going to be my biggest break. I had asked the boys to look for a large tract of land on the outskirts of the city where we could develop our own set of buildings, blocks of storey houses and upscale apartments. Things were going according to plan, and I was quietly excited. However, things were not going so well regarding my relationship with Abena.
My buddies Ebo and Nana Kwame had called to say that they met Abena and her friend Jennifer enjoying lunch with a guy, and Ebo believed that Jennifer was ‘promoting’ an affair between Jennifer and the guy. They were of the view that the promotion seemed to be going in the guy’s favour, because only an agricultural extension worker in the north who did not have the resources to take care of a beautiful girl like her.
And apart from being wealthy, the guy comes from an influential family, so Abena had done much better leaving a miserable civil servant like you for him.
“As I’ve already said, I will stop by her place, but I will mind my own business from now. Hey, let’s talk family. How are our parents? And my brothers-in-law? And my nephews and nieces? Why don’t we meet on Sunday? I’m going to drop my bags at my place, and go to see Mama and Dad.”
