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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
THE typical itinerant salesman in Sikaman is a herbalist. He is normally a slim macho with the capacity to perambulate the expanse of area covering the triangle of Accra-Tema-Ashiaman. In short, he can walk a total of 60 miles a day, marketing a product that cures every disease, including poverty. 
The door-to-door herbal pharmacist advertises his product by word of mouth. He has nothing to do with the Food and Drugs Board (FDB). After all, his concoctions do not feature on FM stations.
Those herbalists who cannot walk to propagate the herbal gospel, liaise with drivers of mass transportation and their mates. They are, therefore, given the chance to sell their products on Benz buses that ply the routes.
Normally, the herbalist starts his sales message with a prayer and Bible study. He asks the passengers to bow down their heads in supplication to God the father, the son, the Holy Spirit.
When a herbalist asks the passengers to close their eyes and bow their heads, Moslems on board naturally feel offended. They feel that the herbalist has no right to assume that every passenger is a Christian. They think such an assumption is an affront to Islam.
So a Moslem on board will raise the hand for a point of order. He’ll remind the herbalist that it would be in his own interest to mind his language.
“Be careful the way you address people in a public place. Not every person here is a Christian,” he’d state assertively.
Of course, the herbalist will promptly ignore him, but would all the same “watch” his tongue. Who knows whether or not the Moslem brother is inspired by Quoranic zeal to defend the tenets of Islam to the hilt?
When he starts saying, “Wallahi!” and “Inshallah!” it could be the beginning of proclaiming Islam as supreme, a point which must be driven home with talibanic precision.
So the herbalist must tread carefully lest he steps on fire.
The herbalist could even add a measure of mirth to it all, by announcing that Christians on board today have very interesting company on the journey, but that should not detract from the business of the day.
The Moslem brother will weigh the words carefully and offer a wry smile.
He must be careful the occasion does not degenerate into the use of semantics and proverbial oration to deride his conviction that public utterances must be mindful of religious sensibilities. He has made his point very clear and expects that it is taken in good faith in the interest of a peaceful journey.
The herbalist will now open the New Testament and preach salvation, stating clearly that salvation can come only through Jesus Christ and NOBODY else.
The Moslem brother will now start twitching his moustache. The visible and almost revolutionary reflexes of his upper lip can be an indication that sentiments have begun superseding reason, and the outcome could well be tragic now shift uneasily in his seat.
The time has come for him to also express his right to the religion of his fore-bears. He’ll put his hand into his pocket and rise to his feet. The time has indeed come!
This article was first published on Saturday, September 9, 2006
When the cause of a particular problem like sickness, disease, sudden illness, a social issue etc. are not known, it stands to reason that resolving it becomes a huge challenge.
Citizens would understand the government when public announcements are made to the effect that government is trying to find a solution to the issue, even though it is taking a while for it to be resolved because citizens are rational beings.
On the other hand, if the solution to a particular issue is known to everybody but the government for whatever reason, is dragging its feet in resolving it, citizens become frustrated and begin to lose trust in their leaders.
One such issue is the heavy traffic along a section of the Kasoa – Odokor road. A short stretch of bad road between the traffic light at the Weija Government Hospital and the entrance to the entrance of the overhead that leads to the N1, is the cause of the problem but nothing is being done about it, day after day, week after week, month after month. Thus is clearly unacceptable.
Another issue that requires urgent attention is the lack of pavements along a lot of streets in parts of the various Municipal Assemblies. Exercise is a prerequisite for long life and healthy living and for those of us who it has become a way of life, this issue of people putting up structures right to the edge of the drains beside the roads, are making life difficult for us.
We are compelled to walk along the roads, putting our lives at serious risk. Pedestrians should never be compelled to compete with vehicles on our streets and roads. Roads and streets are made for vehicles and pavements are made for pedestrians. That is the norm. Any attempt to normalise a situation where pedestrians are mingling with vehicles is insanity.
It is the road regulations that makes it so and therefore district or municipal assemblies are to take responsibility and ensure that spaces for pavements are not encroached upon. Citizens have rights that must be protected by their leaders and making pavements available to pedestrians, is one of them.
When we hear of teachers having sex with students, it appears it is something recent. It is not a new phenomenon. It has been there since Adam. Perhaps this issue is getting much attention due to the proliferation of social media. It was an open secret in times past when Teachers were in relationships with female students and some married them immediately after completion of school.
Some teachers were also known to be having unholy interactions with female pupils but due to the times that these acts occurred, human rights issues and the awareness around it, allowed such unscrupulous teachers to get away with their crimes.
Now we are in a different era and so a Headmaster is now in hot waters. He is alleged to have raped about 19 female students and as usual, some officials tried to cover it up and are also in hot waters and their actions or inactions in the matter are under investigation.
Why the man has been allowed to roam freely without being arrested is simply mind boggling. It appears that the law applies differently, depending on who you are. This issue came to public attention sometime in August this year, yet the police had not arrested or invited this man for question regarding the rape allegation.
It has come out that he is a Constituency Secretary of the ruling party and the question in the public domain is that, is it because he is a political figure that is why he is still walking around without questioning? I believe in the rule of law so let us hold our breadth and let the proper thing be done.
The police must however be seen to be active in this matter. God bless.
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