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My barber and the Easter palaver
It is not easy looking for your barber if your hair has overgrown and you look like a bushman. It is even more serious if your moustache has crossed carpet and is seen entering into your nostrils, some straying into your left ear.
The problem is that some of us do not like changing barbers. My barber, for instance, is a very short akupa who often has to stand on his toes to reach the top of my head. But I maintained him because he understands the international shape of my head and gives me the right cut. Moreover, he has promised never to cut my ears.
Although, he has been cutting my hair for the last five years, I still do not know his name. I’ve never asked and he has never told me. It is a business relationship, not a family affair. He comes at certain specified dates, does his job, gets paid and vanishes.
When he was supposed to cut my hair two weeks ago, I waited in vain. Last weekend he didn’t show up either. Was the guy on strike? If he wanted more pay, he could come for a discussion, although I have been paying him better than his colleagues were getting per cut. I could even offer height allowance if he asked for it.
I was quite uncomfortable with the over-growing hair which everyone was reminding me of, so I undertook a search for the missing barber. The possibility was that other barbers would know his house and direct me accordingly. So from barber shop to barber shop I went asking if they had seen the shortest barber in town. No one seemed to know him.
I decided I couldn’t go another week without a cut, so I reluctantly went into the last shop and asked the barber there to do the job. He studied my head, nodded and asked me to sit on a stool outside and wait. He was finishing another person’s hair and then he’d jump on mine.
Soon, he called me in, and I told him I dislike nonsense.
He was stunned. “Massa, have I offended you?” he enquired worriedly. I said no. Then what was the matter? He begged me to explain.
“I don’t like the kind of haircut that would scare my boss,” I said. He laughed. I continued, “I don’t want my boss to see me and start running away; he should give me promotion.” The barber laughed and promised me a fashionable cut.
“I don’t want a fashionable cut. I want it simple according to the shape of my head.”
“Don’t you like Jojo Special? Your girlfriend will dig you. She’ll believe!”
“Just do as I say.”
I was pretty sure the guy was going to mess me up like I had done to some two or three. The Law of Karma. In Legon I told my room-mate, Akotey Anaara, that I was the best barber the breadth of the country. He brought his head platter and I gave him a wonderful design.
The next morning when he went for lectures, everyone including the lecturer asked him whether he was sick. Actually, the cut I gave him made him look like one of those dull-looking mental patients who often escape from the Psychiatric Hospital and were seen directing traffic or getting into some.
Akortey Anaara had to find another guy to shave the damn hair off his skull and it was even worse. He looked like an obrafor (human head-cutter). His girlfriend didn’t recognise him.
Well, when the barber was cutting my hair, I realised that many people were lining up to have theirs cut today too. When I asked him why his customers were so many today, he said they were preparing for Easter and needed ‘wild’ hairdos to impress the girls in the village. It was then that I knew preparations for the Easter were well underway.
In fact, when Easter is approaching and it is amusing to see the seriousness people attach to the celebration, especially when they are travelling from the city to the villages and cottages. The idea is that you must impress rural girls.
Actually some people start saving for well over six months so that preparations for the occasions are not beset with financial bad-weather, monetary El-Nino or back pocket load-shedding.
For the young man, preparations border on having a stylish haircut, a second-hand but colourful camboo, jeans, third-hand pairs of socks, bottle of Kasapreko Gin, singlet, fashionable shirts and some trousers and shorts. The idea is to go and show to the folks that he is not a hopeless person in the city, but a prospering gentleman who must, therefore, be admired and loved by the girls.
Some money is set aside for ‘show,’ that is buying drinks for friends and for inducing young girls for seduction on Easter Sunday under the cover of darkness. Whatever monies that remain is just enough for transportation back to the city. Such monies are never touched because if you do, you’ll remain in the village or be forced to walk back to the city.
It is the preparation made by the women-folk that is even more interesting. The kaba and slit must be of ultra-modern and custom design so that the wearer can look like a vulture which is about to take off. Then the hairdo, the lip-sticks, the full-shoes, whatever. If the typical celebrant is not careful, she would finally look like a crow.
She would be seen in various colours on Easter Sunday during church service, and it is always a sight like to remember.
Some of the areas where Easter is best celebrated are Peki, Kwahu (Okwahu United, Obo Kwahu and all), Tapa Abotoase, some parts of Ashanti and Brong and some cottages in Central, Eastern and Western Regions. You’ll be surprise they never forget the death and resurrection of Jesus Christ.
With every Easter though, it is the Palm Sunday which matters to some people. The triumphant entry into Jerusalem is of more significance to them than his death and resurrection, because of the ‘palm element.’
Palm Sunday must indeed be marked with the copious drinking of palmwine and if necessary, the eating of fufu and palmnut soup, a ritual they claim is endorsed by the Holy Spirit.
This article was first published on Saturday, April 9, 1999
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
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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.
