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Borla man —Part One
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.
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’.
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.
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.
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.
‘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’.
By Ekow de Heer
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I have often been saddened by the condition of Sikaman musicians. Of course, some are not musicians. They are jokers who think anybody who can sing a hymn is a musician. And why wouldn’t they think so when people think that every man wearing a rasta hair is a reggae musician?
Well, these days, almost everybody is dreaming of becoming a musician, even some ministers and parliamentarians. And it is never too late for them to begin learning the solfas and composing songs like “If You Do Good You Do For Yourself,” after all, life begins at 60 these days. If you die three years later, that’s your luck.
For the jobless, becoming a musical star is an everyday dream. They think when you are a music maker, you automatically break alliance with poverty. They are often mistaken.
I know people who claim they are musicians but are always fasting not because they are devout moslems or are on a hunger strike, but because even one square meal a day is a perpetual wahala. And the only drink they can afford is the poor man’s holy whisky which has a thousand names including ‘Nyame Bekyere’.
Even most of the popular musicians we see in town claiming they are foreign-based stars are more of hustlers than musicians. When they tell you they are going on tour abroad, it is a careful way of saying they are going overseas to scrub the whiteman’s toilet or pick tomato or apples to save their neck from musical poverty.
When they are back to Sikaman, they appear quite flamboyant with chains hanging all over them. They change the few dollars they have scraped, spread it around and promptly get broke. Then they can organise another ‘tour’. In between tours, they struggle to release an album and that levels them up a bit on the financial balance.
It all points to the fact that the life of the average musician isn’t quite organised. He has no calendar, no programme and no concentration on the job. He has to wash plates, become a waiter, janitor and toilet scrubber while finding time to make music. No musician succeeds in life that way.
One musician I’ll always respect, who thinks deeper than the ordinary Sikaman musicians is Carlos Sakyi. He is not like the Kokoase guitar musicians who see the world just in terms of bitters, a willing girlfriend, constant supply of kokonte and jot.
Carlos, often loved for his percussive overtones in gospel music, and once a gospel-rock star, has studied the life of Sikaman musicians and has evolved a blue-print for a great improvement in their lives work, finances and comfort.
In short, he has simulated a Motown-style environment for musicians and his formula is working with accuracy with the five musicians he has started with. The blue-print is what has brought MEGASTAR into being. It was launched on September 15, 1995 at the National Theatre.
When it got launched, many probably thought Carlos was “too know or was dreaming more than he should and won’t think about himself. Anyhow, the MEGASTAR is now an institution musicians can look up to, a big phenomenon with lots of promise for struggling musicians.
Music business in the developed world is not the way we regard it cheaply here. A musician is never distracted by how his finances go; his contracts are entered, his engagements made, his interviews arranged, his personal security guaranteed.
Music is his business and that is where his mind is and his attention focuses. Other aspects of his life are programmed for him by his managers. They hire who has to light his cigarettes, massage him, drive his car and the one who will say “Good Luck” when he sneezes.
A bodyguard whose face is exactly like that of the devil is hired to scare off muggers, psychopaths and criminals in general. Sometimes his girls are organised for him.
So the only thing the musician does apart from sleeping and snoring is to concentrate on making music, and true to it, no one can succeed in any venture when he is distracted.
This is how the Michael Jacksons, Lionel Richies, Dolly Patons and Whitney Houstons have made it with dollars packed and over-flowing. They aren’t any better than Sikaman musicians. The only difference is that they know how to organise their lives.
I managed to corner Carlos Sakyi and asked him to tell me how MEGASTAR was doing. He is the Managing Director of Megastar Limited, a music company that has a board of directors and a chairman. Carlos Sakyi shares the proprietorship with a partner. Carlos himself was one great musician who played for a band that beat Eddy Grant on the charts.
“Megastar is in fact a concept born out of the idea that the future security of the Ghanaian musician which has always been in jeopardy can now be guaranteed. Artistes spend too much of their time doing things on their own, chasing money and not concentrating on music. So their full potential is never realised. Some are in fact producing at quarter-rate. That is why they aren’t making much headway,” he told me.
“Megastar is now giving them the chance of the lives. We handle the interviews of Megastar artiste, their press releases, costume, engagements and everything they hitherto used to do themselves. We get them exposed on M-Net and we have contacted BB to get on their programmes. We handle their finances pay them salaries and bonuses, so they only have to concentrate on music
“Most importantly,” he continued, “we do not make all the decisions. Management always meet with the musicians to take the decisions that affect them.”
But who are the Megastar musicians? One is the great Amakye Dede, a star from birth delivered onto the earth with music on his lips; he is the man who feeds hungry ears with musical salad and harmonic sausages. He is the recipient of many national awards.
Next is Naana Frimpong, a latter-day Carlos-groomed songbird with the voice of an angel. She sings to kill. Her beauty has charmed her audience and they stare and stare at her.
The sensational and fantalising Tagoe Sisters are the next. The twin music machine is one that has produced the cream, arguably the very best, of gospel music all these years. I hear they are inseparable; not even their better-halves can keep them apart. Are they Siamese? They dance, and when on stage, they move the crowd.
Then comes Reverend Yawson who is a known songwriter. He is imbued with the Holy Spirit, speaks in tongues and of course sings in tongues. He is God’s representative on the group.
What about my good friend and super-heavyweight, Jewel Ackah? He is a star figure. His appearance is awe-inspiring, his voice golden. A great delight to be-hold when at his best in stage-craftsmanship, he has beaten his contemporaries to it both on land and on sea.
They are the pioneers of the Motown idea. They are all releasing new albums this year. Let’s see how it all goes.
In recent years, the term “female rage” has gained significant traction, symbolising a collective shift in how women’s emotions are perceived and addressed.
This phenomenon is not merely a fleeting trend but a profound movement rooted in centuries of systemic injustices, personal betrayals, and societal expectations.
As women increasingly reclaim their anger, it is imperative to understand the multifaceted nature of female rage, its causes, and its implications for individuals and society at large.
The historical context of female anger
Historically, women’s emotions have been subject to dismissal, ridicule, and pathologisation. The term “hysteria,” originating from the Greek word for uterus, was used to describe women’s emotional states as irrational and uncontrollable.
This legacy of silencing and shaming has contributed to a culture where women’s anger is often suppressed or stigmatised.
However, with the rise of feminist movements, women are challenging these narratives, asserting their right to express anger and demand change.
The anatomy of female rage
Female rage is not a monolith; it is a complex and multifaceted emotion driven by various factors, including:
1. Societal expectations: The pressure to conform to traditional roles of passivity, politeness, and emotional labour.
2. Gender inequality and pay gaps: Frustration stemming from systemic discrimination in the workplace and beyond.
3. Sexual harassment and abuse: Trauma and anger resulting from pervasive violence and objectification.
4. Emotional labour and burnout: The unsustainable burden of managing emotions and responsibilities in personal and professional spheres.
5. Hormonal fluctuations: The impact of hormonal changes on emotional states, often overlooked or dismissed.
The power of anger: Reclaiming female rage
Far from being a destructive force, female rage can be a catalyst for change. When acknowledged and channelled constructively, anger can drive advocacy, policy reform, and resistance against inequality.
The #MeToo movement, women’s marches, and increased representation in politics are testaments to the power of collective female anger.
Addressing the Stigma: Towards a more inclusive dialogue
To fully harness the potential of female rage, society must address the stigma surrounding women’s anger. This involves:
1. Validation and recognition: Acknowledging women’s emotions as legitimate and worthy of attention.
2. Creating safe spaces: Providing platforms for women to express anger without fear of backlash.
3. Education and awareness: Challenging stereotypes and promoting understanding of women’s experiences.
4. Support systems: Offering resources and support for women dealing with trauma and systemic injustices.
Conclusion
The age of female rage is a moment of profound transformation, where women’s anger is no longer silenced but celebrated as a force for justice.
By understanding the roots of female rage and addressing the societal structures that fuel it, we can move towards a more equitable and compassionate world.
The journey is complex, but the destination-a society where women’s emotions are respected and their voices are heard is worth the struggle.
References:
[1] Chemudupati, P. (2022). _The Rage of Women: A Historical Perspective_.
[2] Traister, R. (2018). _Good and Mad:
By Robert Ekow Grimond-Thompson
