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 An SOS call from the motorway

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Sikaman Palava

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.

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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.

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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?

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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Features

Press freedom & the bearded goat

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journalists covering assignment

THE journalist is a hunter. He goes after human rats and grasscutters personified, matters about whom he can salt and spice and present as news. The fatter and juicier the catch, the better, because sensation is essentially our cup of tea.

Sikaman Palava
Sikaman Palava

Our job is to sell news and sell it in grand style.

Because the journalist is a hunter and is created with a special kind of nose for sniffing out news, he is usually not welcome in many places. He is seen as someone who has been born to make people uncomfortable.

The problem is that some people don’t want things written about them even if it is promotional and favourable. When it entails publishing their pictures alongside the story, they are doubly scared.

“Please, don’t use my picture. People will think I’ve got money and come for loan,” someone told me.

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Anyhow, journalists are seen as intruders, undesirables, born with plenty of okro in the mouth; maybe some also in the nose. Some of my friends are no longer too close because they fear I’d give them full coverage in the Sikaman Palava column. Ha ha ha! What a funny world!

Well, people like my Uncle, Sir Kofi Jogolo, my former classmate and born-mathematician, Kwame Korkorti, and ex-football star cum human-salamander Kofi Kokotako don’t mind featuring in the hilarious inches of this column. Kofi Owuo alias Death By Poverty is one personality who has to be mentioned in this palaver.

These are people who are going to live long, primarily because they see the world as one big ball of fun. When Kwame Korkorti was told that his dear mother was dead at home, he smiled and asked the bearer of the message whether his mother had cooked the afternoon meal before claiming she was dead. Until her death, Korkorti ate his lunch at his mother’s end.

When my Uncle Kofi Jogolo was picked and lost 1,500 dollars and a good amount of Sikaman currency, he didn’t lament the loss. Instead he was amused. In fact, he was almost glad about it, because he grinned from ear to ear, stroked his delicate moustache and congratulated the thief, adding that “He is smarter than I am.” Yeah, Jogolo is the man who employs a Swedish barber to trim his moustache.

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And when Kofi Kokotako was unemployed and was nearly hit by an articulated truck, he called the driver a fool. “The idiot should have killed me,” he said to me. “Didn’t he know I was unemployed and suffering?”

Today, Kokotako is employed as a Reverend and is not doing badly at all. Thanks to the regular silver collection.

And what about Kofi Owuo, the celebrated poor man. His wife left him not because he was poor, but because he swore in front of her that he would never prosper.

The following dawn the wife packed bag and baggage and went back to her parents and told them all about her husband’s alliance with poverty. Her parents were bewildered and called the alliance unholy. They had no option than to send back Owuo’s drinks to end the marriage.

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Kofi Owuo alias Death By Poverty did not contest the issue. He was more engrossed thinking about how to become poorer than to contest what he called a frivolous matter. The wife could go to hell, he said. These are people longevity smiles upon. Nothing worries them.

Getting back to talking about journalists. I’d say that anywhere there is journalism, the issue of press freedom is not too far away. Is the press free? That’s one question foreigners want answer to when they are on visit.

Well, journalists celebrate a yearly WORLD PRESS FREEDOM DAY to drum home the idea of press freedom as a very important thing in the practice of journalism.

This year’s was celebrated almost a fortnight ago but people didn’t see much of us because we are normally not good celebrants. We should have mounted a float to roam the entire capital, dancing asaboni to brass band music just like PTC did recently.

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Although journalists are known to be very good dancers because they walk very much, on that day, they were all busy writing. It was the Minister of Information, Mr Kofi Totobi Quakyi who saved the day by addressing a forum organised to mark the day.

He is a man I’ve always admired since his radical university days. He spoke much on press freedom, cautioning the press not to abuse the freedom granted by the Fourth Republican constitution, but to use it for the progress of society.

Well, press freedom has been defined by many journalists as the freedom to ‘write nonsense’. This definition is not quite accurate. I asked one staff reporter to define press freedom. It took him fifteen minutes to put up something.

“Press freedom is the freedom that is enjoyed by the press that enables journalists to publish or broadcast any kind of material so long as it is absolutely true, is not libelous and slanderous, and is not against the national interest.”

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I gave him eight out of 10, a straight A. I guess every journalist is old enough to know that certain things he or she writes is for or against the national interest. We certainly must guard against writing against the national interest; that is very important.

There is also the question of criticising government. The government can be criticized, so long as the criticisms are genuine and the President and his ministers are not insulted and called names. Let us criticize, but let us do it decently so that the journalistic profession can be revered, and its nobility acknowledged. We are not war mongers, are we?

One area in which journalists are not spoken well of is the complaint that they misquote people. Journalists sometimes misquote people, but in four out of five complaints it turns out that nobody is misquoted after all.

When we interview people they say things unreservedly and we publish unreservedly. When the publication is out and their friends or superiors read it and accuse them of having said too much to the press, then they start claiming they were misquoted.

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We have encountered these ‘misquotation palaver’ every now and then and reporters are usually accused of this transgression. However, when they bring out their note-books or recorders, it is realised that they wrote nothing out of the way. “Book no lie”.

My advice to people who deal with the press is that if they do not want anything written, they shouldn’t say it. What they want to say is OFF-RECORD, then of course, there is no reason to say it. When you say it, you’re taking a risk. In that instance, you can’t also claim to have been misquoted or words put into your mouth.

And it isn’t every journalist who would be circumspect in matters that are supposed to be off-record, because journalists often want to be as sensational as possible to make their stories saleable. So say just what you want to see published and you won’t later regret it and claim you were misquoted.

Well, I’m not holding brief for journalists, because a few of us are notorious for colouring our reports sometimes sand-papering the words so much that they look very bright in front of readers.

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As I once said, when the police tells one such notorious pressman that the thief stole a brown goat, the pressman would want to know whether the goat was bearded. Of course, the police would say ‘Yes’.

However, in the press report, it appears, “A gang of notorious goat-thieves were apprehended in the early hours of yesterday. In the car in which they were riding was a brownish-red goat having a long beard. Upon further examination, it was realised that the goat also had a greyish moustache.”

When the story appears, the police are naturally disturbed. A single thief turns out to be a gang of thieves. The goat also becomes a chameleon and changes colour to brownish-red. And a moustacheless goat overnight wears a greyish moustache whether you like it or not. Luckily the journalist does not add that the moustache was trimmed by a Swedish barber.

Yes, we have a few of such mischief-creating, chronically notorious journalists. But they are one in a hundred. In any case, we make the world. And we shall always do our best to make it a happy place to live in.

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 This article was first publish on Saturday, May, 20, 1995

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Features

Mindset change: The Greater Works factor- Part 2

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When I hear of people who are of the opinion that they cannot make it in life unless they travel abroad, l become sad.  

Whenever I see on TV, news of people, that is migrants who have drowned in the Mediterranean Sea, while attempting to cross to Europe, l become filled with sadness and then anger. 

The underlying factor is desperation born out of loss of hope, in life.  When an individual tends to believe that his only hope of making it in life is to travel abroad, the risk of dying at sea, does not deter him or her. 

The role of some pastors on shaping the mindset of people, especially the youth, leaves much to be desired.  You hear them declaring on various media platforms how they can pray for you to get a visa to travel abroad, instead of encouraging them to find something to do to improve their lives as the Bible teaches that God will bless the work of their hands.

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The GREATER WORKS CONFERENCE is geared towards renewing the minds of people with a specific focus on people of African descent to rid themselves of the negative perception of lack of capacity to excel in life.  

Pastor Mensa Otabil believes that every human being, no matter the skin colour, was created in the exact image of God and therefore has the capacity to do exploits. 

The whiteman was not created in the image of God while the Blackman was created in the image of something other than God.  The Black person therefore can achieve whatever the whiteman can achieve.

 The development in terms of industrialisation that is lacking which has generated unemployment for the youth, is due to lack of effective leadership.  The lack of moral integrity in society, is what is causing the lack of job opportunities, which is as a result of corrupt acts which drive away private investment.

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A culture of inferiority complex exists which needs to be dealt with, so the African can develop the self worth necessary for personal development which can then result in capacity deployment to avhieve personal goals. 

Success in life begins with the individual’s recognition that he or she is capable of achieving the dreams he or she has conceived in his or her mind.  The Bible teaches that the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and the knowledge of the holy is understanding according to Proverbs 9:10. 

Christianity was the driving force behind the development of Europe because no society can sustain development without high moral values.  GREATER WORKS therefore is a deliberate project to shape the minds of people, especially the youth, who will become the leaders of our future, to prioritise morality in their daily lives.

This is the only way to see a massive transformation in every aspect of our lives as Ghanaians and Africans in Ghana and the rest of the continent.

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Since the inception of the GREATOR WORKS CONFERENCE, it has made a lot of impact in the lives of many people from the youth up to the senior citizens level.  I recall the testimony of a church member who was motivated and pursued higher education and became one of the youngest Chartered Accountants in this country.  Year after year, the impact of the conference has been enormous and lives in Ghana and across the continent, are being transformed. 

Black people have started regaining their self confidence and the youth have started getting into areas that previously were considered out of bounds.  At a personal level, certain ideas that some years ago, l would have not dreamt about suddenly has become realistic dreams. 

The Christian lifestyle has impacted on my children and those close to me.  Mindset change starts with one individual, then another and then gradually it spreads like a viral infection until a critical mass is attained and them a massive impact.  There is hope for the future.

By Laud Kissi-Mensah

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