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Marriage palaver -Part 1
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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
GHANA’S Parliament is a peaceful one. The arguments on the floor of the House can be fierce, but the House doesn’t catch fire. Ghana’s democracy has passed the acid-test of constitutional pluralism, and her legislature is a model of democratic beauty others are learning from.
Sometimes it is edifying following proceedings in Parliament and you are likely to catch the voice of Honourable Alban Bagbin in full flight. He doesn’t talk much. His English vocabulary does the talking.
Last week, I heard another MP talking on bad dressing, and I must congratulate him on his brilliant exhibition of vocabulary, delivered in Westminster tradition.
Such explosive delivery titillates the floor of the House and brings joy to members and Mr Speaker.
In the parliament of some countries, there is no need for such niceties. The floor of the House is regarded as a battle ground. Others, including lady members, see it as a boxing ring, where the spoken word is often jettisoned and supplanted with punches and upper-cuts.
PART-TIME
So the average parliamentarian trains part-time as a boxer, in case boxing skills will be needed in the House to iron out knotty points.
The ladies’ pedicure and manicure are carefully designed to fulfil a dual purpose. One is to showcase trendiness and the other is to scratch the faces of opponents in the House whether they are ladies or gentlemen.
Sometimes, the Speaker has to keep shouting and banging for well over 15 minutes as a recalcitrant MP dashes across and grabs the tie of another MP, thus precipitating a free-for-all brawl. Some MPs return home with a half nose, a missing left ear and a double forehead.
None of the offending parties is sanctioned because brawling in parliament is seen as a democratic process, since some MPs are so stubborn that only a sidekick to the ribs can mellow them. Meanwhile, a free-for-all is good exercise for the MPs, some of whom have grown too fat due to over-feeding.
Fortunately, the parliament of Sikaman has a civil democratic culture and debates get fierce but punches are not unleashed. For comic relief however, MPs do some break dancing once in a while.
When ROPAB was passed into law, some MPs caused a stir by bursting into song and dance. Mr. Speaker was be wildered, but obviously pleased that his announcement of the passage of the bill had brought joy to the House.
Others were not happy, though. The bill and the debates had caused them enough distress. As for the passage, it was like cutting their throats. They groaned in their hearts. No punches, no karate. That is democracy in its maturing stage. It is tempered with reason and civility. One day, it will be their turn to laugh and dance.
Now, the MP who spoke on bad dressing did a good job by all standards and added value to his delivery by going highfalutin. He wanted a law to be enacted against bad dressing, because it was not good for society.
What constitutes bad dressing? That is a very difficult question. Judging what is good or bad as far as dressing is concerned will obviously depend on the setting or context.
For example, going virtually naked on a holiday beach is considered good dressing. But when a man and his wife storm a church room in their birth-time suits (naked) the pastor and his deacons will surely take cover. It means a sartorial revolution has precipitated and only the Holy Spirit can hold tempers at bay.
STYLISH
In the streets of Sikaman, a lady with a very short skirt is admired by some as trendy and stylish. Others would think she is indecent and a bad influence. But the question that arises ultimately is this: Don’t people have the right to wear what they want to wear, so long as the unseemly parts of their bodies are not laid bare?
Certainly, nobody will go totally naked in the streets, unless the person is either in-sane or is a Black Stars supporter painted in the national colours. Even then, he’d be in what is called ‘pioto,’ with his ‘instrument’ well-positioned. That is called proper dressing.
So in the streets, this kind of dressing will be considered good or bad depending on the setting and the extent of exposure of the private parts (breasts, thighs, lower back, buttocks, etc).
Personally, I feel the churches should be very scrupulous about the dressing of those who go in to worship. The ushers should be tasked with ushering away badly-dressed worshippers. Incidentally, they are the worshippers who like the front pews, and the pastor is so distracted he can’t preach any meaningful sermon.
However, a law on dressing is something I won’t advocate, for the simple reason that, first, there is no clear definition of what is bad dressing and second, society must be left to evolve its own dress culture so that fashion and creativity in fashion design will not be stifle Any law to regulate dressing will kill such creativity.
This article was first published on Saturday July, 2006
Most people think stress is just in your head. When you feel overwhelmed, overworked, or emotionally drained, you might think you just need a good night’s sleep or a quick mental break.
However, science and biology show us something entirely different. Chronic, long-term stress is not just an emotion—it is a full-body physical condition. When you live in a constant state of survival mode, pushing past your limits without real rest, your body pays a very heavy physical price.
Here is a clear, step-by-step look at how ongoing stress physically breaks down the human body, explained simply.
Step 1: The endless flood of stress chemicals
What happens normally: When you face a sudden emergency, your body releases stress hormones like adrenaline and cortisol. They give you a quick burst of energy, speed up your heart, and help you react fast. This is a great survival tool for short bursts.
How stress breaks you down: If you never truly relax, your body never turns off that alarm. Your bloodstream stays flooded with cortisol and adrenaline day after day. Over time, having these chemicals constantly sloshing around acts like a slow poison. It damages your blood vessels, raises your blood pressure, messes with your metabolism, and even wears down your DNA, making you age faster.
Step 2: The silent internal fire (Chronic Inflammation)
What happens normally: When your brain senses danger or stress, it assumes you might get hurt, so it tells your immune system to cause inflammation (swelling and heat) to fight off germs and heal injuries.
How stress breaks you down: When stress lasts for months or years, your immune system gets confused and leaves that “fire” burning permanently. Instead of healing an injury, this silent internal inflammation starts attacking your healthy cells, joints, and organs. Over time, it paves the way for serious health issues, heart trouble, and total body fatigue.
Step 3: Turning your muscles into armor (Fascial Hardening)
What happens normally: Your body is wrapped in a web of strong connective tissue called fascia that holds your muscles, bones, and organs together. When you face pressure or trauma, that tissue automatically tightens up to protect you like a suit of armor.
How stress breaks you down: If you stay tense for years, that tissue never softens back up. It freezes in place, creating tight, painful physical knots (often called emotional lesions). Blood and oxygen can’t flow easily through those locked-up areas, leaving you stiff, aching, and physically unable to truly let go of tension.
Step 4: Burning out your body’s engine (Nervous System Overdrive)
What happens normally: Your nervous system has two main gears:
The Gas Pedal (fight-or-flight mode for dealing with emergencies).
The Brake Pedal (rest-and-digest mode for healing and repairing your body).
How stress breaks you down: Chronic stress forces your foot down hard on the gas pedal 24/7. Your heart beats faster than it should, your digestion shuts down, and your body is denied the deep rest it needs to repair itself. Eventually, your heart and nervous system run completely out of fuel from sheer exhaustion.
Reclaiming your health and sovereignty
Chronic stress wears you down slowly by keeping your body chemically toxic, inflamed, and locked-up in physical armour, and running on empty.
By understanding that stress is a physical breakdown rather than just a bad mood, you can stop glorifying endless endurance. It allows you to recognise when your body is screaming for a reset, helping you shift away from burnout and back toward true physical calm, balance, and sovereignty.
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