Features
Growing up…
Two weeks ago today, I was in my Holy Village of Anyako to celebrate the life of my uncle, Leo Midodzi Demanya. He came directly after my mother and took me and my siblings under his wings after our Mother died while we were still in school. His passing was a blow to everyone in spite of the fact that he was 96.
Having grown up at Anyako, my uncle’s funeral brought to me a new vista of understanding and appreciating growing up there. It was a celebration never witnessed; attendance was massive in spite of COVID protocols. The lives that Uncle Leo impacted were huge, according to testimonies.
I have been to many funerals, festivities and other events, but none brought almost all my relatives, classmates and friends together the way my uncle’s funeral did. It brought me nostalgia I never felt before. I met my cousins with whom I played ampe and hide-and-seek back in the day on moonlit nights, disturbing the old folks with our screaming and extreme happiness.
My grandpa, Amevuvor Demanya, would shout at us to keep quiet, but we took that as part of the fun and continued enjoying being children. Occasionally, Grandpa would sneak behind us and spray us with a pail of water, which would keep us quiet for a moment or two and we got back to being naughty. Today, as I need more peace and quiet, it hurts me for what I contributed in putting the old man through.
I lived in an enclave called Afeyeme, which had an open space that served as our playground. Next to the Demanya family home was that of Jiagge, followed by Adjasoo, Aflakpui, Fugah, Adzika, Kumasa and then Segbefia in a circular shape. You can only imagine what it was like when children from all these homes congregated on the open space. It was a childhood like no other and we had no care in the world when we were at play. We were all not of the same age group though. After all, monkeys play according to size, no?
In my estimation, half of our number is dead and gone. I was the only boy who was excellent at ampe. And it was fun beating my female cousins except one. Naomi would beat anyone under the sun at ampe. I cannot remember if after sweating from all the jumping I had the presence of mind to take a bath. I guess falling into an exhausted sleep was the tonic I needed.
During weekends we would go fishing in the Keta Lagoon, the big boys doing a better job of it than us small ones. Swimming in the lagoon was one favourite pastime. Other times, we went to set traps for rats in the cemeteries a mile away or catch birds. Sundays saw us in church to avoid the cane on our backs next day at school.
When the Lagoon overflowed its banks in 1963/64, the southern third of our house was under water. On occasions I would wade in the water, catch some fish and grill them for lunch before setting off for school, especially around noon. This was because the local Catholic school was under water and they were made to run shifts with our school.
At the funeral, I met just a few of my classmates and we did a rollcall of our mates. Mathew Attipoe died as did Awotor Gawuga, Legbedze, Helegbe, Dzotefe, Gladys Avemee, Margo Agbedor, Felix Korkoryie and others. The thought of having lost these mates made me feel lonely and alone at the same time. My classmates are always a part of me. I regard them as family. To lose any is not a good feeling for me. If people meet in the other world, what would they be thinking or saying? “Segbefia and others are still back there, sweating under the sun and buying fuel at ten cedis a litre.”?
Prosper Kafui Senaya is very much alive as do Oscar Dovlo, siblings Emmanuel and Godson Nyatuame, Christian Asempa, Atsu Forfoe and a few others we could recollect. Agbashi Woanya could not remember I was her classmate.
Some of my mates have never returned to Anyako since we completed school and no one knows where they are. A few boys and girls joined us in Middle School from the island of Seva, southeast of Anyako. I remember Harry Fiawotso, Brandina Sosu, Setsoafia, Amegbor, Hukporti and Daniel Avorgbedor, now a professor of music.
The Seva folks were good at basket weaving and other craft. Avorgbedor was one brilliant chap who gave us Anyako boys like Asempa, Senaya and me hell in academic performance. He never had the voice for singing so it came as a surprise when he became a music professor. I would visit my Seva mates; their parents would order them to pluck coconut for me to drink. By the time lunch was ready, my stomach was already distended from coconut water.
It was immense pride to have your mates visit and parents were eager to play host. We had so much to eat and talk about, young as we were. And we tried to do our best in school so as not to disappoint our parents. Because I was the only boy among eleven girls in the Demanya home, the pressure was greater on me to prove my mettle. I must not be feminised. And I did not disappoint.
Everyone was everybody’s keeper. Any elderly person had the right to discipline any wayward kid and then report back to their parents or teachers. It was a way of ensuring that children grew up into responsible adults. Because of the history of the suffering of our people during their migration, very little room was allowed for deviant behaviour.
Growing up in Anyako was not only fun; it was a period of learning to live among equals, learning to live with adults, learning to be of service, learning the culture and tradition of our people; and above all, learning the language.
Writer’s email address:
akofa45@yahoo.com
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
Join our WhatsApp Channel now!
https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029VbBElzjInlqHhl1aTU27
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’
Join our WhatsApp Channel now!
https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029VbBElzjInlqHhl1aTU27
