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I have a question
There used to be a time when one lost an item in a taxi, it would be taken to the nearest police station to be kept for the owner to come for it. There used to be a time that people did not lock their doors when going to sleep.
There used to be a time when it was unthinkable to expect that armed robbers would attack travellers on our highways. There used to be a time when people did not find it strange to leave their items with the person sitting by them on a bus to look after them while they buy something at the market close to the lorry station. They knew that the stranger on the bus would look after the items well for them until they returned. I ,therefore, have a question as to why this is not so in our time?
Our grandparents told us of how it was unthinkable for people to steal foodstuffs from other people’s farms. There was something called “Tegare” a spirit which they used to worship and had fetishes through whom the spirit manifested itself and which revealed things and punished offenders, usually with instant death.
This kept people in line and prevented them from going wayward and conducting themselves in an ungodly manner like stealing, sleeping with their neighbours wives, cheating on their spouses etc.
Then comes the religion of the Whiteman, (who in my view is a confused person since the colour of his skin is more pink than white) who says There is a God who will punish evil doers at a later date when His son, Jesus Christ, would sit in Judgement.
The religion preached forgiveness and that we should turn the right cheek for another slap after the left one has been slapped. Is the current situation good for us as a people when stealing has become rampant and the chances of ever finding your item left in a taxi is zero on the average? I have a question:
The man who claims he knows God more than the African, starts the slave trade by enslaving a fellow human and trading people off like goods. Of course you cannot put the entire blame on the European because our own Kings and Chiefs were complicit in this inhuman and despicable enterprise.
But I have a question: Which of the two groups of people should demonstrate a godly character? The Africans who according to the Europeans were idol worshippers or the Europeans who worshiped the true God?
The selfish greed that characterised the behaviour of the African leaders in those days that influenced their decision to promote the evil agenda of the Europeans is still in display in most African countries. Otherwise why should a country like DR Congo with such a huge variety of resources both natural and human wallow in poverty?
I have a question: I really do. Are the history books lying to us that civilisation started in Africa, in Egypt to be precise? So what happened that we have suddenly become a continent of dependent people that do not seem to have a solution to our challenges? Did our leaders’ minds decide to go on holiday?
When the Caucasians decided to help one another so they can establish a united front to achieve prosperity for themselves, our leaders were more interested in going it alone. Look at how long it has taken us to create a common currency for the ECOWAS region. The less we talk about the AU project the better such that it took a country from another continent to build our headquarters of our African Union for us, how shameful.
When Nkrumah had this wonderful idea of African Unity, some selfish leaders felt that it was a threat to their egotistic parochial interest and for that matter teamed up with those in the Western world who dreaded the very idea of losing cheap raw materials to feed their industry.
Is something wrong with us? Why can’t we make the right choices? Why can’t we have empathy for our own brothers and sisters? Most of our leaders engage in corrupt practices, steal government resources meant for developmental projects and take them to the banks of the very advanced nations which loaned us the money in the first place.
They use the money to generate more wealth and keep on loaning money to us at rates that ensure that we are kept in perpetual poverty. They then come with all sorts of prescription as to how we can get out of our economic challenges. We implement them yet we never seem to get out of our challenges and it becomes a vicious cycle, year after year.
Do you recall a certain, Mobutu of then Zaire now DR Congo, Idi Amin of Uganda, Siad Barre of Somalia, Sanni Abacha of Nigeria, Gadhafi of Libya, and Mugabe of Zimbabwe? These were people who repressed their people and ruled like their various countries belonged to them.
We must not forget a certain J.J. Rawlings of Ghana who later metamorphosed into a democrat. When everyone was criticising Sanni Abacha, J.J. Rawlings was praising him. Years later, J. J. Rawlings confessed that he took 2.5 million dollars from Abacha, although the man who handed over the money to Rawlings claimed it was five million dollars. Now we have Museveni of Uganda, Al Sisi of Egypt, Conde of Guinea, and Ouatara of Cote D’Ivoire using all manner of tricks to stay in power.
People go and bring in foreigners to destroy our land through illegal mining and they get away with it. Things that would not be allowed to happen in their countries, we allow them to do here. Our water bodies are now polluted. Our arable land is being destroyed and is shrinking in size, year after year.
Until I see real leadership being demonstrated, where corruption is made a very expensive and dangerous activity, where there is a willingness to enforce the law no matter the status of the person or persons involved, where I see parliamentarians behaving as honourable people, until I see people in leadership positions putting the nation first, I will still have a question:
By Laud Kissi-Mensah
The writer is a social commentator
GREETINGS from Korkorti and from Kofi Owuo, alias Death-By-Poverty. When this column took a short break, the two friends summoned me. They wanted to know whether the column had gone on pension or was just on strike. I explained that the column was not on retirement and neither was it on a hunger strike. Rather, the column was of the habit of falling into coma for four weeks or thereabout every year.
Kwame Korkorti and Kofi Owuo (who is addicted to poverty and has sworn not to prosper) are two of my former classmates I cherish so much. And it was great fun to be a Nino in those days. In fact, on the first day on campus, Korkorti was bold enough to bully his own mates who tragically mistook him for a senior.
In fact, when the first-years arrived, Korkorti was one of them but quickly pretended he was in Form 2. So he began pulling the noses of his mates and brushing their faces when the real seniors were not quite in sight. It was when classes began that his victims realised the so-called nose-pulling senior was in fact their own classmate.
So Korkorti got famous for that gimmick. But his English was poor.
The English master was a tall, bombastic young man who claimed he was a former soccer star. In fact, he swore he had a magical left foot that was comparable to that of the legendary Pele. And his grandiloquence par excellence clearly distinguished him from other members of staff.
He did not quite like Korkorti because although the boy was stubborn and his head did not have a nice shape, the girls adored him. Moreover he never did his English Language assignments.
Stand up, you tall fool, the English master often ordered. Korkorti wouldn’t stand up but would just smile broadly.
“I say stand up” the teacher would bark now like a dog suffering from rabies “Get up and let me measure your stupidity.”
Korkorti would stand up this time round and yawn.
Certainly, lunchtime has been long in coming and a good yawn often relieved the young student’s stomach of gastronomic stress.
Invariably, the English guru did not like it when Korkorti yawned. For one thing, the boy opened his mouth too widely. For another, he yawned a bit too audibly and that caused laughter among his mates.
Certainly, the master must have figured out that the boy’s height was proportional to his stupidity. But there were no school rules against yawning
Merari Alomele’s
• A female student walking away from some male students
or wide mouth. In fact, there was freedom of yawning and snoring and Korkorti exercised both freedoms judiciously and democratically.
“Do you know when you yawn you look like a hungry crocodile,” the master once asked him.
“Yes sir, I am aware sir,” Korkorti confirmed and yawned again. This time he nearly swallowed the whole class. There was an uproar and the whole class reverberated in good laughter.
The English master shook his head and then nodded it like an agama lizard. This Korkorti boy was a real character, a phenomenon, a one-man thousand. Meanwhile lessons had to continue.
It was in those days when school was exciting and we often gathered and talked about girls. I had often dreamt of having a girl from Holy Child School because I had heard very saintly and curious things about them, I had learnt from a guy from Saint Augustine’s College that Holy Child girls were of a special breed, in fact a hybrid between the cultured home-bred variety and those of inner holiness. They were born of the Holy Spirit. The only thing was that they didn’t suffer under Pontius Pilate.
In short, they were angels in human form, spoke in a special way, walked with a unique and danced with heavenly steps. They were taught by Holy Nuns and so were quite different from us who had no hope of making any spirito-culturo-scholastic progress.
I confessed to Korkorti that I wanted a girl from Holy Child, not for immoral purposes but to partake of their saintly ways so that when it was time for going to heaven, Kwame Alomele could also be considered.
During vacations we met girls from Mawuli, Ola, Accra Girls, St. Roses, Wesley Girls but none from Holy Child. Then one day, Kwame Korkorti whispered into my ear that a Holy Child babe was in town and that he was sure my dreams had come true.
Korkorti organised it and we positioned at a spot, knowing the girl would traverse en route to the library or the market. After a boring period of waiting, Korkorti suddenly espied the child coming. I looked at her face and saw of an angel. What! This was the kind I always wanted. God bless my soul! This was really my chance and Korkorti had prophesied it.
“Hello Sister,” Korkorti called her when about to leave us.
The girl slowed down and looked at us. My heartbeat increased in tempo. What really was I going to tell this angel? Wouldn’t she think Korkorti was Satan and me a common red-eyed demon? I gathered courage.
“What do you want?” she asked in a sweet voice. My heart melted instantly. Spotless beauty with voice that did something to me. Good gracious!
“Eh-h, my friend says he likes you,” Korkorti to her bluntly.
At that very moment I felt as if a sledge-hammer had hit my chest with the force of a dynamite. What a blunder! What a shock! I felt dizzy instantly. My bosom friend had balked the whole agenda. Before I could recover from the shock, the girl had walked away. From that day. I never met another holy child.
In January, this year, I miraculously received a letter from an 18-year old Holy Child student who said she was my fan.
It was a nicely written letter and I enjoyed reading it. I then relived the Korkorti incident and laughed aloud to myself.
So when Korkorti and Kofi Owuo summoned me, I reminded them of the day my heart melted at the sight of the angel; that angel which disappeared before my eyes and made me go back home not crying and yet not laughing.
Proofread
Searching for the Holy Child
GREETINGS from Korkorti and from Kofi Owuo, alias Death-By-Poverty. When this column took a short break, the two friends summoned me. They wanted to know whether the column had gone on pension or was just on strike.
I explained that the column was not on retirement and neither was it on a hunger strike. Rather, the column was of the habit of falling into coma for four weeks or thereabout every year.
Kwame Korkorti and Kofi Owuo (who is addicted to poverty and has sworn not to prosper) are two of my former classmates I cherish so much. And it was great fun to be a Nino in those days. In fact, on the first day on campus, Korkorti was bold enough to bully his own mates who tragically mistook him for a senior.
In fact, when the first-years arrived, Korkorti was one of them but quickly pretended he was in Form 2. So he began pulling the noses of his mates and brushing their faces when the real seniors were not quite in sight. It was when classes began that his victims realised the so-called nose-pulling senior was in fact their own classmate
So Korkorti got famous for that gimmick. But his English was poor.
The English master was a tall, bombastic young man who claimed he was a former soccer star. In fact, he swore he had a magical left foot that was comparable to that of the legendary Pele. And his grandiloquence par excellence clearly distinguished him from other members of staff.
He did not quite like Korkorti because although the boy was stubborn and his head did not have a nice shape, the girls adored him. Moreover he never did his English Language assignments.
Stand up, you tall fool, the English master often ordered. Korkorti wouldn’t stand up but would just smile broadly.
“I say stand up” the teacher would bark now like a dog suffering from rabies “Get up and let me measure your stupidity.”
Korkorti would stand up this time round and yawn.
Certainly, lunchtime has been long in coming and a good yawn often relieved the young student’s stomach of gastronomic stress.
Invariably, the English guru did not like it when Korkorti yawned. For one thing, the boy opened his mouth too widely. For another, he yawned a bit too audibly and that caused laughter among his mates.
Certainly, the master must have figured out that the boy’s height was proportional to his stupidity. But there were no school rules against yawning or wide mouth. In fact, there was freedom of yawning and snoring and Korkorti exercised both freedoms judiciously and democratically.
“Do you know when you yawn you look like a hungry crocodile,” the master once asked him.
“Yes sir, I am aware sir,” Korkorti confirmed and yawned again. This time he nearly swallowed the whole class. There was an uproar and the whole class reverberated in good laughter.
The English master shook his head and then nodded it like an agama lizard. This Korkorti boy was a real character, a phenomenon, a one-man-thousand. Meanwhile lessons had to continue.
It was in those days when school was exciting and we often gathered and talked about girls. I had often dreamt of having a girl from Holy Child School because I had heard very saintly and curious things about them,
I had learnt from a guy from Saint Augustine’s College that Holy Child girls were of a special breed, in fact a hybrid between the cultured home-bred variety and those of inner holiness. They were born of the Holy Spirit. The only thing was that they didn’t suffer under Pontius Pilate.
In short, they were angels in human form, spoke in a special way, walked with a unique and danced with heavenly steps. They were taught by Holy Nuns and so were quite different from us who had no hope of making any spirito-culturo-scholastic progress.
I confessed to Korkorti that I wanted a girl from Holy Child, not for immoral purposes but to partake of their saintly ways so that when it was time for going to heaven, Kwame Alomele could also be considered.
During vacations we met girls from Mawuli, Ola, Accra Girls, St. Roses, Wesley Girls but none from Holy Child. Then one day, Kwame Korkorti whispered into my ear that a Holy Child babe was in town and that he was sure my dreams had come true.
Korkorti organised it and we positioned at a spot, knowing the girl would traverse en route to the library or the market. After a boring period of waiting, Korkorti suddenly espied the child coming. I looked at her face and saw of an angel. What! This was the kind I always wanted. God bless my soul! This was really my chance and Korkorti had prophesied it.
“Hello Sister,” Korkorti called her when about to leave us.
The girl slowed down and looked at us. My heartbeat increased in tempo. What really was I going to tell this angel? Wouldn’t she think Korkorti was Satan and me a common red-eyed demon? I gathered courage.
“What do you want?” she asked in a sweet voice. My heart melted instantly. Spotless beauty with voice that did something to me. Good gracious!
“Eh-h, my friend says he likes you,” Korkorti to her bluntly.
At that very moment I felt as if a sledge-hammer had hit my chest with the force of a dynamite. What a blunder! What a shock! I felt dizzy instantly. My bosom friend had balked the whole agenda. Before I could recover from the shock, the girl had walked away. From that day. I never met another holy child.
In January, this year, I miraculously received a letter from an 18-year old Holy Child student who said she was my fan. It was a nicely written letter and I enjoyed reading it. I then relived the Korkorti incident and laughed aloud to myself.
So when Korkorti and Kofi Owuo summoned me, I reminded them of the day my heart melted at the sight of the angel; that angel which disappeared before my eyes and made me go back home not crying and yet not laughing.
This article was first published on Saturday, March 18, 1996
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Androgenetic alopecia, commonly known as male/female pattern baldness, is a prevalent condition characterised by progressive hair thinning and loss. It affects millions worldwide, with significant impacts on self-esteem and quality of life.
Pathophysiology
Androgenetic alopecia involves a complex interplay of genetic, hormonal, and environmental factors. Dihydrotestosterone (DHT), a potent androgen, plays a key role in the condition’s pathogenesis. DHT binds to androgen receptors in hair follicles, leading to:
1. Hair Miniaturisation: Gradual reduction in hair follicle size
2. Follicular Shrinkage: Progressive shrinkage of hair follicles
3. Hair Cycle Disruption: Alteration of the anagen (growth) phase
Clinical Presentation
Men: Hair loss typically begins at the temples and vertex, progressing to a characteristic “M” shape
Women: Diffuse thinning over the crown, with preservation of the frontal hairline
Risk Factors
1. Genetics: Family history is a significant predictor
2. Hormonal Imbalance: Androgen excess or sensitivity
3. Age: Increasing prevalence with age
Treatment Options
1. Minoxidil: Topical application stimulates hair growth
2. Finasteride: Oral medication inhibiting DHT production
3. Low-Level Laser Therapy: Promotes hair growth through photobiomodulation
4. Hair Transplantation: Surgical relocation of hair follicles
Prevention and Management
1. Early Intervention: Timely treatment can slow progression
2. Lifestyle Modifications: Balanced diet, stress management, and gentle hair care
3. Regular Monitoring: Follow-up with a dermatologist or trichologist
Androgenetic alopecia is a manageable condition with available treatments. Early intervention, personalised approaches, and ongoing care can help individuals maintain hair health and confidence.
Consult a dermatologist or trichologist for tailored advice and treatment.
By Robert Ekow Grimmond-Thompson
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