Features
Borla man —Part Four
After a couple of days, Martin had finished breakfast and was about to leave, when his mother motioned to him to wait.
“Martin, I came here from Koforidua three days ago, not because I have nothing to do at home, but because your father and I thought we should find out how you and Sarah are doing. Yet since I’ve been here, you’ve not sat down with me for even fifteen minutes.”
“Mama, I’m getting late for work. Can’t this wait till when I get back in the evening?”
“When will you come back this evening? And in what state will you be? What’s happening to you, Martin? Where do you go after work every evening?”
“Mama,” he said as he moved to the door, “I’m sorry I have to leave. Moreover, I’m not a boy anymore. I’m quite capable of managing my affairs.”
But his mother blocked the door.
“If you are capable of managing your own affairs, why did you call to make all those complaints about Sarah? Since I’ve been here, I’ve noticed that the place is always clean, there’s always good food available. She washes your clothes and even irons them. And what’s your response? You’ve turned yourself into a ghost, leaving home first thing in the morning and coming home late, every day. All those tales you told us about Sarah, they have turned out to be lies. Listen, you either change this stupid lifestyle, or we will force you to change.”
“What will you do, Mama, beat me up?”
His Mama surprised him with a big, nasty slap, nearly flooring him. Very angry, he picked his briefcase and went out.
He came home very late as usual, ate, and dropped off to sleep. The following morning he confronted me as I was preparing his breakfast.
“Sarah, what nonsense have you been telling my mother? If you can’t keep your mouth shut, then it’s best you go to your parents. After all, even though our parents gave their brief chat, the elderly lady went to her room.”
“So what’s happening?” she asked. “Has there been any improvement since the old lady has been here?”
“No. Things have gotten worse. Apparently, he called her and made all kinds of allegations against me. And she’s found out the truth. But you know, he’s not paid her any attention. He’s not sat down with her for five minutes. This morning he was quite rude to her, and she slapped him.”
“Oh dear. And she’s leaving today?”
“Yes. I’ve asked her to come with us and drop at the station.”
“I don’t believe this. Martin is not dropping her at the bus station? Sarah, where did you pick this guy from? If he can do this to his mum, then you had better leave before things get really bad.”
“His mum says she and his dad will go and apologise to my parents, and then I can leave. I have no regrets whatsoever. By the way, what did Paul Allotey say?”
“Basically, he liked you the moment he saw you. He wished you weren’t married. If you were single, he would have done everything to grab you.”
“Life’s like that, isn’t it? Whilst someone is treating you like garbage, someone else is wishing he could have you. He is quite a guy. But aren’t you hitting it off with him already?”
“He’s a very nice guy. I certainly like him. But you deserve him, so let’s see if we could make something happen.”
An hour later, I sent the following note to Martin: “Hi, this is to inform you I walked back with him, and he begged his mum to come back. Very reluctantly, she came down, and Martin picked up her suitcase.”
“Okay Mama,” I said. “I will see you at the house shortly.” But he held me again.
“Sarah, I need to have a word with you. Please wait a minute.” I waited as he led his mother to the car, placed the suitcase in the boot, and came back.
“Sarah, I’ve been very foolish. Please forgive me. I need you very badly. I, I’m in trouble.” He walked with me to Paul’s car.
“Hi, Dinah and Mr Allotey, please forgive me, I need to have a little discussion with my wife. Please.”
“Oh, that’s okay,” Paul said. “Sarah, let’s do it another time.”
Unwillingly, he followed me to her room. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she heard him out.
“Ei Martin, you see what your arrogance has gotten you. You prefer a prostitute to this beautiful girl? Let’s go to the police now. Twenty thousand cedis. Goodness! I’m calling your father, then we’ll go to the police.”
At the police station, we were handed over to Inspector Beatrice Addy who, surprisingly, listened patiently to Martin.
“Okay,” she said. “Martin, you are fortunate that your wife and your mother are standing by you even though you were disloyal to them. I will get together with my colleagues, and hopefully we can get at least some of your money for you. It appears that the lady is a fraudster, in addition to being a prostitute. So our team will locate her, and I believe you will recover some of your money. I am very glad that you have come back together with your family. I hope this unfortunate incident will make the family stronger.”
Dinah called soon after we returned from the police station.
“Okay, what’s the news?”
“He got into a problem with a prostitute he’s been going out with. She stole twenty thousand cedis from him. Now the scales seem to have fallen from his eyes.”
“Oh dear, oh dear. You can’t leave now then. Hang on a bit. Give him a chance. But don’t compromise on going to school.”
“That’s exactly what I plan to do. But I will insist that he makes changes immediately. No more hanging around with the boys after work, no more getting drunk every day. And I hope after the experience with the prostitute, he will keep clear of girls. Actually, from the signs we are seeing now, I think he is already a changed person.”
“Sarah, that girl, I don’t know what she did to me. I just, she seemed to control me.”
“You said you are in trouble. What has happened?”
“Immediately I get home, your father and I will go to her parents and apologise to them, then I will personally come back and take her home. I hope you understand the implications of the behaviour you are putting up. You are not only rejecting Sarah, you are rejecting your parents. You can go away. Sarah will take me to the Accra station.”
To my great surprise, he left.
Dinah came in just when I came out of the bathroom. She greeted Martin’s mother and sank into the sofa.
Paul stopped his car, and I carried the old lady’s suitcase in. We drove off to the station, and I led her to buy the ticket. I hugged her warmly, and she boarded the bus. As I was walking to the car, I saw Martin, looking as if he had been run down by a car, rushing towards me.
“Sarah! Please Sarah, where is she?” I pointed in the direction of the bus, and moved forward. But he held me.
“Please, don’t go away. I need your help. There’s something we need to discuss. Please.”
“She defrauded me. She asked me for some money when I dropped her yesterday. I took out my cheque book to sign out one thousand cedis, but she suggested that I simply sign it so that she filled in the details later. A short while ago I saw a message on my phone that twenty thousand cedis had been withdrawn by the girl.”
“Martin, I told you that the girl is a prostitute. She was waiting for the right moment to strike. Listen, I can’t handle this alone. We can’t make too much noise about it, but it is certainly a criminal case. Let’s talk to your mum. She will scold you, but she’s your mother.”
“Have you had the chance to speak with him?”
“No. His mother insisted that we make a report to the police. We came back some fifteen minutes ago. He just left for the office. He sounds really apologetic, but I won’t assume anything now. By the way, how did lunch go?”
“Very well. He dropped me at home. He’s picking me up at six.”
“You and the Borla Man are doing rather well, aren’t you?”
“Yes. The only problem I had was you. He has a soft spot for you, but now that you and Martin are sorting things out, I’m going all out.”
Martin came home at five forty-five. He hugged me and asked whether supper was ready.
“The stew is ready,” I replied. “I was about to boil some yam.”
By Ekow de Heer
Features
Press freedom & the bearded goat

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.

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.
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.
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.
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.
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.”
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.
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.
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.
This article was first publish on Saturday, May, 20, 1995
Features
Mindset change: The Greater Works factor- Part 2
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.
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.
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.
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



