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
THE journalist is a hunter. He goes after human rats and grasscutters personified, matters about whom he can salt and spice and present as news. The fatter and juicier the catch, the better, because sensation is essentially our cup of tea.
Our job is to sell news and sell it in grand style.
Because the journalist is a hunter and is created with a special kind of nose for sniffing out news, he is usually not welcome in many places. He is seen as someone who has been born to make people uncomfortable.
The problem is that some people don’t want things written about them even if it is promotional and favourable. When it entails publishing their pictures alongside the story, they are doubly scared.
“Please, don’t use my picture. People will think I’ve got money and come for loan,” someone told me.
Anyhow, journalists are seen as intruders, undesirables, born with plenty of okro in the mouth; maybe some also in the nose. Some of my friends are no longer too close because they fear I’d give them full coverage in the Sikaman Palava column. Ha ha ha! What a funny world!
Well, people like my Uncle, Sir Kofi Jogolo, my former classmate and born-mathematician, Kwame Korkorti, and ex-football star cum human-salamander Kofi Kokotako don’t mind featuring in the hilarious inches of this column. Kofi Owuo alias Death By Poverty is one personality who has to be mentioned in this palaver.
These are people who are going to live long, primarily because they see the world as one big ball of fun. When Kwame Korkorti was told that his dear mother was dead at home, he smiled and asked the bearer of the message whether his mother had cooked the afternoon meal before claiming she was dead. Until her death, Korkorti ate his lunch at his mother’s end.
When my Uncle Kofi Jogolo was picked and lost 1,500 dollars and a good amount of Sikaman currency, he didn’t lament the loss. Instead he was amused. In fact, he was almost glad about it, because he grinned from ear to ear, stroked his delicate moustache and congratulated the thief, adding that “He is smarter than I am.” Yeah, Jogolo is the man who employs a Swedish barber to trim his moustache.
And when Kofi Kokotako was unemployed and was nearly hit by an articulated truck, he called the driver a fool. “The idiot should have killed me,” he said to me. “Didn’t he know I was unemployed and suffering?”
Today, Kokotako is employed as a Reverend and is not doing badly at all. Thanks to the regular silver collection.
And what about Kofi Owuo, the celebrated poor man. His wife left him not because he was poor, but because he swore in front of her that he would never prosper.
The following dawn the wife packed bag and baggage and went back to her parents and told them all about her husband’s alliance with poverty. Her parents were bewildered and called the alliance unholy. They had no option than to send back Owuo’s drinks to end the marriage.
Kofi Owuo alias Death By Poverty did not contest the issue. He was more engrossed thinking about how to become poorer than to contest what he called a frivolous matter. The wife could go to hell, he said. These are people longevity smiles upon. Nothing worries them.
Getting back to talking about journalists. I’d say that anywhere there is journalism, the issue of press freedom is not too far away. Is the press free? That’s one question foreigners want answer to when they are on visit.
Well, journalists celebrate a yearly WORLD PRESS FREEDOM DAY to drum home the idea of press freedom as a very important thing in the practice of journalism.
This year’s was celebrated almost a fortnight ago but people didn’t see much of us because we are normally not good celebrants. We should have mounted a float to roam the entire capital, dancing asaboni to brass band music just like PTC did recently.
Although journalists are known to be very good dancers because they walk very much, on that day, they were all busy writing. It was the Minister of Information, Mr Kofi Totobi Quakyi who saved the day by addressing a forum organised to mark the day.
He is a man I’ve always admired since his radical university days. He spoke much on press freedom, cautioning the press not to abuse the freedom granted by the Fourth Republican constitution, but to use it for the progress of society.
Well, press freedom has been defined by many journalists as the freedom to ‘write nonsense’. This definition is not quite accurate. I asked one staff reporter to define press freedom. It took him fifteen minutes to put up something.
“Press freedom is the freedom that is enjoyed by the press that enables journalists to publish or broadcast any kind of material so long as it is absolutely true, is not libelous and slanderous, and is not against the national interest.”
I gave him eight out of 10, a straight A. I guess every journalist is old enough to know that certain things he or she writes is for or against the national interest. We certainly must guard against writing against the national interest; that is very important.
There is also the question of criticising government. The government can be criticized, so long as the criticisms are genuine and the President and his ministers are not insulted and called names. Let us criticize, but let us do it decently so that the journalistic profession can be revered, and its nobility acknowledged. We are not war mongers, are we?
One area in which journalists are not spoken well of is the complaint that they misquote people. Journalists sometimes misquote people, but in four out of five complaints it turns out that nobody is misquoted after all.
When we interview people they say things unreservedly and we publish unreservedly. When the publication is out and their friends or superiors read it and accuse them of having said too much to the press, then they start claiming they were misquoted.
We have encountered these ‘misquotation palaver’ every now and then and reporters are usually accused of this transgression. However, when they bring out their note-books or recorders, it is realised that they wrote nothing out of the way. “Book no lie”.
My advice to people who deal with the press is that if they do not want anything written, they shouldn’t say it. What they want to say is OFF-RECORD, then of course, there is no reason to say it. When you say it, you’re taking a risk. In that instance, you can’t also claim to have been misquoted or words put into your mouth.
And it isn’t every journalist who would be circumspect in matters that are supposed to be off-record, because journalists often want to be as sensational as possible to make their stories saleable. So say just what you want to see published and you won’t later regret it and claim you were misquoted.
Well, I’m not holding brief for journalists, because a few of us are notorious for colouring our reports sometimes sand-papering the words so much that they look very bright in front of readers.
As I once said, when the police tells one such notorious pressman that the thief stole a brown goat, the pressman would want to know whether the goat was bearded. Of course, the police would say ‘Yes’.
However, in the press report, it appears, “A gang of notorious goat-thieves were apprehended in the early hours of yesterday. In the car in which they were riding was a brownish-red goat having a long beard. Upon further examination, it was realised that the goat also had a greyish moustache.”
When the story appears, the police are naturally disturbed. A single thief turns out to be a gang of thieves. The goat also becomes a chameleon and changes colour to brownish-red. And a moustacheless goat overnight wears a greyish moustache whether you like it or not. Luckily the journalist does not add that the moustache was trimmed by a Swedish barber.
Yes, we have a few of such mischief-creating, chronically notorious journalists. But they are one in a hundred. In any case, we make the world. And we shall always do our best to make it a happy place to live in.
This article was first publish on Saturday, May, 20, 1995
When I hear of people who are of the opinion that they cannot make it in life unless they travel abroad, l become sad.
Whenever I see on TV, news of people, that is migrants who have drowned in the Mediterranean Sea, while attempting to cross to Europe, l become filled with sadness and then anger.
The underlying factor is desperation born out of loss of hope, in life. When an individual tends to believe that his only hope of making it in life is to travel abroad, the risk of dying at sea, does not deter him or her.
The role of some pastors on shaping the mindset of people, especially the youth, leaves much to be desired. You hear them declaring on various media platforms how they can pray for you to get a visa to travel abroad, instead of encouraging them to find something to do to improve their lives as the Bible teaches that God will bless the work of their hands.
The GREATER WORKS CONFERENCE is geared towards renewing the minds of people with a specific focus on people of African descent to rid themselves of the negative perception of lack of capacity to excel in life.
Pastor Mensa Otabil believes that every human being, no matter the skin colour, was created in the exact image of God and therefore has the capacity to do exploits.
The whiteman was not created in the image of God while the Blackman was created in the image of something other than God. The Black person therefore can achieve whatever the whiteman can achieve.
The development in terms of industrialisation that is lacking which has generated unemployment for the youth, is due to lack of effective leadership. The lack of moral integrity in society, is what is causing the lack of job opportunities, which is as a result of corrupt acts which drive away private investment.
A culture of inferiority complex exists which needs to be dealt with, so the African can develop the self worth necessary for personal development which can then result in capacity deployment to avhieve personal goals.
Success in life begins with the individual’s recognition that he or she is capable of achieving the dreams he or she has conceived in his or her mind. The Bible teaches that the fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom, and the knowledge of the holy is understanding according to Proverbs 9:10.
Christianity was the driving force behind the development of Europe because no society can sustain development without high moral values. GREATER WORKS therefore is a deliberate project to shape the minds of people, especially the youth, who will become the leaders of our future, to prioritise morality in their daily lives.
This is the only way to see a massive transformation in every aspect of our lives as Ghanaians and Africans in Ghana and the rest of the continent.
Since the inception of the GREATOR WORKS CONFERENCE, it has made a lot of impact in the lives of many people from the youth up to the senior citizens level. I recall the testimony of a church member who was motivated and pursued higher education and became one of the youngest Chartered Accountants in this country. Year after year, the impact of the conference has been enormous and lives in Ghana and across the continent, are being transformed.
Black people have started regaining their self confidence and the youth have started getting into areas that previously were considered out of bounds. At a personal level, certain ideas that some years ago, l would have not dreamt about suddenly has become realistic dreams.
The Christian lifestyle has impacted on my children and those close to me. Mindset change starts with one individual, then another and then gradually it spreads like a viral infection until a critical mass is attained and them a massive impact. There is hope for the future.
By Laud Kissi-Mensah
