Features
Marriage palaver -Part 1
Marriage is still a scared institution
These days, to marry in a decent acceptable way to both God and man is a well-nigh impossible feat, unless you go in for a bank loan which you can repay only after auctioning your father’s cocoa farm.
It is for this reason that young men in Sikaman are scared of marriage unless it could be contracted free of charge, which is unheard-of. In spite of this, young men continue to breed children, because the biological process of reproduction must continue with or without bank loans.
The growing incidence of producing children out of wedlock is rather alarming. However, nothing can be done to help the situation because one cannot expect a man of about 35 who is unemployed to wait till manna falls from heaven before getting married, to begin procreation. In similar manner, it would be unfair to expect a woman to grow bald before getting a first- born.
In any case, however, marriage is still regarded as a sacred institution. And to make it feasible for young men to marry in order to preserve the sanctity of this institution, many communities are waiving the high bride wealth associated with their marriage.
Many fathers-in-law are condescending enough to accept anything reasonable to get their ageing daughters off their neck.
But some in-laws think differently. They believe that before a maiden leaves her paternal home to co-habit with a man, she must have been wedded in pomp and ostentation so that observers would become aware of her ‘social standing whether she is a beauty queen, or has the kind of face that is akin to a sad vulture.
Quite paradoxically, such expensive marriages do not last. Immediately the honeymoon is consummated, husband and wife are seen clutching at each other’s throat because of a trivial misunderstanding that could be solved peacefully in bed.
Before my good friend, Kofi Kokotako, became a married man, he was an eligible bachelor in his own class. The parents of his girlfriend wanted an expensive wedding which he could not afford and therefore decided to do away with the girl altogether.
Kokotako was an insurance executive then. One day, sported in a three-piece suit that fitted perfectly, he carved his way through the city crowd into a bank holding his briefcase tightly.
It was about 1:55 pm when he got to the bank and he smiled rather broadly to whoever will welcome it. Many admired his suit and moccasin shoes and long black tie to match. He was the perfect gentleman coming to withdraw money for the week-end.
Standing to allow for a little reflection, Kokotako remembered that his cheque-book was stuck deep in an obscure compartment of his beautiful briefcase. He had made a mistake, he thought. He should have removed that damn cheque-book long ago and put it into his breast-pocket. To open the briefcase now in the full glare of fellow citizens of Sikaman would amount to revealing his marital status without being asked to.
Kofi Kokotako, however, managed to open the briefcase after placing it lightly on his left thigh as he half-stooped not to reveal the contents; he opened it slightly and poked his fingers into the upper compartment intent on retrieving that hell of a cheque book.
He was furious at it, and in this fit of anger, coupled with a little awkwardness, the entire briefcase lost balance and over-turned. Lo and behold, disaster had struck Kokotako.
Customers of the bank and officials immediately gathered around to see with their very eyes the terrible sight that lay at their feet. Scattered far and wide were palm-nuts (about one olonka in quantity), plantain, some cassava, pepper, tomato, onion and fish. The rest were maggi-cube, garden eggs and four large crabs that sought instance refuge from their predicament. The crabs now sped in different directions to seek political asylum in the nearest territory. They had nearly gone out of breath in the tight briefcase. In fact, Kokotako had wanted to prepare some palm- nut soup that would last him for some three days.
Now, as he held onto the empty briefcase in consternation and quite oblivious of what to do next, a smart lady helped to pack back the contraband while the crowd burst into some good laughter. The day was hot and this nice incident, provoked more than a good amount of mirth and helped cool down their bodies.
As the fast lady chased one of the crabs, hell broke loose again. The crab raced with all its might, determined to avoid Kokotako’s soup-pot. Presently, it sought momentary peace under a seat in the open space of the bank, but the lady was also determined to extract it.
It was now time for some hide and seek, as spectators cheered and closely followed this lady-versus- crab contest. A sort of who-is-who. Not too long thereafter, the experienced lady captured the crab and returned it. However, before she got to the briefcase in triumph, the stubborn crab twisted slightly, and with an adjusted left claw held onto the middle finger of the lady in a wild attempt to snap it off, and damn the consequences.
The lady yelled maniacally before flinging of the wicked creature. A new dimension of the melodrama became underway and this was greeted with loud laughter from shocked spectators.
As the crab got thrown, it landed into a group of spectators who did not know it was coming their way. A stampede began almost immediately as all scattered in fear of the giant crab which had extra-large claws. Kokotako had done a good selection for the largest crab for his palm nut soup.
Kofi Kokotako was now confused. He closed his briefcase in disappointment, and with a face like a rainy-day left the bank premises cursing and threatening to close his account with the bank.
Whether the dangerous crab was eventually disarmed and carried away to custody, or whether it became a terrorist and took the bank officials hostage while brandishing a powerful left claw, or whether it was granted political asylum with stipend, I do not know. What I know is that, before my friend Kotoko was married, he was a bachelor who did not enjoy eating in a chop-bar.
He enjoyed preparing his own food, and had gone to the market straight from the office that day with a rubber bag. Later, he had packed the items and the crab into his briefcase before making it to the bank to withdraw some cash. It was there that the unexpected happened to his bitter disappointment.
Bachelorship had done my friend the greatest injustice. After that incident, he decided that if he did not take steps to get married immediately, worse things would happen to him.
God save Kokotako of Sikaman
This article was first published On Saturday May 25, 1990
Walk into any supermarket in Accra, Kumasi, or Tamale today, and you will see the modern Ghanaian diet packaged as ‘progress.’ You will see breakfast cereals with cartoon mascots, fruit drinks that are mostly sugar and colour, and snacks promising energy and happiness in bright fonts.
Even products loaded with salt and unhealthy fats often wear a health halo labeled as fortified or natural, while the real nutritional risk is hidden in tiny print on the back. This is not just a consumer inconvenience; it is a public health blind spot. Ghana is living through a silent surge of non-communicable diseases (NCDs) like hypertension, diabetes, and stroke.
These conditions quietly drain household income and steal productive years. According to the Ghana Health Service (GHS) and World Health Organisation (WHO) estimates, NCDs are now responsible for nearly 45 per cent of all deaths in Ghana.
We cannot build a healthy nation on a food environment designed to confuse people at the point of purchase. Ghana must mandate simple front-of-pack warning labels (FOPWL) on high-sugar, high-salt, and high-fat packaged foods because consumers deserve truth at a glance, and industry must be pushed to reformulate.
Why Back-of-Pack Labels Are Not Enough
In theory, consumers can read nutrition panels. In reality, most Ghanaians shop under pressure, limited time, rising prices, and children tugging at their sleeves. The back label is a relic that requires a high cognitive load to interpret—essentially, the seller knows what is inside, but the buyer cannot easily tell.
This ‘information asymmetry’ is not fair. It is not consumer choice when the information needed to choose well is deliberately difficult to find.
Simple warning labels like the black octagons used in the Chilean Model act as a ‘stop-and-think’ nudge. They do not ban products but they simply tell the truth so people can decide.
Reshaping Our Food Environment
A generation ago, Ghana’s meals were mostly home-prepared, like kenkey and banku with soups and stews. Today, ultra-processed foods have become the norm, especially in urban areas. Children are growing up with sugary drinks and salty snacks as everyday items, not occasional treats.
If Ghana is serious about prevention, we must act where decisions are made—thus, the shelf. Warning labels protect parents from sugar traps and pressure the market to improve. When warning labels are mandatory, manufacturers start to compete to make healthier recipes to avoid the stigma of the label.
Addressing the Pushback
Industry will argue that labels create fear or that education alone is enough. However, health education is slow; labels work immediately. While the informal street food sector is a challenge, regulating pre-packaged goods is the practical starting point because the supply chain is traceable. We cannot wait until the whole system is perfect; we must start where action is feasible.
A 2026 Implementation Roadmap for Ghana
To move from talk to action, Ghana needs this 5-step plan:
- Issue mandatory regulation: The Ministry of Health, Food and Drug Authority (FDA), and Ghana Standards Authority (GSA) must define the label format and nutrient thresholds for all pre-packaged foods.
- Simple, bold symbols: Use plain language and clear symbols, such as “HIGH IN SUGAR,” designed for busy families, not experts.
- Transparent thresholds: Adopt technically defensible standards adapted to the Ghanaian diet.
- Transition and enforce: Provide a 12–18 month period for manufacturers to reformulate, followed by firm enforcement at ports and retail centers.
- National literacy campaign: The Ghana Health Service must pair labels with public messages explaining why high salt or sugar increases disease risk.
Conclusion: Truth Is Not a Luxury
Prevention is cheaper than treatment. A warning label costs little compared to the price of dialysis, stroke rehabilitation, or lifelong diabetes complications. A black octagon on a box of biscuits is more than a label; it is a shield for the health of all Ghanaians. It is time to put the truth where we can see it, right on the front.
By Abigail Amoah Sarfo
Join our WhatsApp Channel now!
https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029VbBElzjInlqHhl1aTU27
Natives of the Kenkey Kingdom were mad with joy. They were still recovering from the hangover of the kingdom’s loss of the African Cup when their spirits were rekindled. Their great warrior, Zoom Zoom, stormed Melbourne and made sure that every Australian refused food. And that was after he had drawn contour lines on the face of their idol, Jeff Fenech.
Not only did the terrible warrior transform Old Boy Jeff’s face into a contour map useful for geography lessons, but he also accomplished the feat of retaining the much-envied super-kenkeyweight title against all odds. The warrior had not been eating hot kenkey for nothing.
The Fight Against Fenech
When Jeff Fenech bit the dust in the eighth round, I was tempted to consider if Adanko Deka could not have faced him in any twelve-rounder, title or non-title bout. Adanko has improved tremendously, and soon he would be facing Pernell Whitaker.
Sincerely, I was pessimistic about Azumah’s man, who the last time took him through twelve grueling rounds of rough boxing. I expressed my fears to my colleague Christian Abbew, alias Gbonyo, who surprisingly had total confidence that the Australian brawler would fall, predictably in Round Five.
Gbonyo gave reasons for his contention, all of which I counteracted using the age factor. Fact is, I didn’t know that contrary to the laws of nature, Azumah was all the time growing younger.
When Fenech fell briefly in round one, I asked my brother whether it was the same Fenech that fought Azumah in Las Vegas. Sure, it was the same Fenech, all out to beat Azumah before his countrymen.
But the African Professor had no intention of making the Australian a hero. As he spun round the desperate Aussie, dancing and stinging out his jabs, it was not too long before I realized that the end was near.
The Eighth Round Showdown
Two minutes into the eighth round, the African ring-master proved to the whole world that he was a true son of Bukom. He himself was cornered, but like the tough nut he is, he managed to break free before overwhelming the panting Australian with several blows that made him crash headlong.
Moments after, the referee, expressing fatherly sympathy, stopped the fight to prevent an obituary. After the ordeal, Fenech’s fairly handsome face was full of newly constructed hills, valleys, ox-bow lakes—whatever. I noticed that his nose was very tired and had a miniature volcano sitting restlessly on it. Obviously, Jeff’s wife will have to nurse that nose back to its normal shape—but I’d advise her not to use iodine, otherwise her dear husband will wail like a banshee.
Reflections on Boxing
Because Mohammed Ali was the kind of boxer kids liked, many school-going kids often entertained the wish of becoming like him. I remember one day when I told my father I wanted to become a boxer, and he advised me to first complete my education to the highest level. Then, if I decided to become a boxer and was knocked out a couple of times, I’d fall back on my degrees and make a living.
Boxing used to be interesting when bouts were fought more with the mouth and tongue than with gloves. You had to brag well, psychologically belittling your opponent before beating him up physically. Mohammed Ali became a very successful pugilist because he also managed to become a poet. He often blew his horn across America, calling himself the “pretty boxer” and opponents like Joe Frazier “the gorilla.”
Ali made a living fighting hard fists like Joe Frazier, Ken Norton, Jerry Quarry, George Foreman, Leon Spinks, and Trevor Berbick. Twice he came back from retirement to fight just for money. It was Larry Holmes who finally pensioned him, and since then the great Ali has never been himself.
The Path Ahead for Azumah
When Azumah nailed Jeff Fenech on the cross and barked almost immediately that he was after the head of Pernell Whitaker, I was happy but concerned. I would have been happier if he had announced his resignation there and then—he would have been more of a hero. Beating Fenech in Australia is more newsworthy than facing Whitaker in the States.
With Whitaker, it might be a little difficult. The “Sweet Pea” is agile, has a crooked body like a snake with diarrhea, and stands awkwardly as a southpaw. He is known for having the fastest pair of fists and the rare ability to dodge punches no matter how close they may be.
Much as I do not doubt that Azumah can take his title, I also don’t want him to retire beaten. I want him to retire as a hero and live a fuller, healthy life.
As Azumah himself said after dishing Fenech, he is now a professor and has something to show for it. Like a true professor, I think it is time he resigned and took up training young talents who could draw inspiration from him and become like him in the future.
Closing Thoughts
I must say that although ageing boxers like Larry Holmes and George Foreman are making a name for themselves, boxing is not like the Civil Service, where you can even change your age and retire at 74. Zoom Zoom has delighted the hearts of the natives, and Sikaman will forever hold him in high esteem—but only when he retires as a hero.
This article was first published on Saturday, March 7, 1992.
