Features
OF SCIENCE AND ‘AFRICAN ELECTRONICS’
Chemistry is one of the most rewarding sciences in the world, in the sense that it can yield visible and sometimes spectacular results from simple experiments.
For instance, when the colour blue changes to red or green after a chemical has been added to it, or when en explosion occurs under water after certain chemical agents have been brought together one is I pressed, whether one believes in science or not.
That being the case, how can a teacher of chemistry refuse to believe that vaccination works in humans and other animals? Is the concept of immunity from disease a hoax?
I ask because the late President of Tanzania, Mr John Magufuli, not only denied the existence of Covid-19 but at the same time (rather illogically) he prescribed the breathing of steam as well as other “traditional” methods, for curing the (non-existent) disease!
But – wonder of wonders – Magufuli, according to Wikipedia, “earned a bachelor of science in education degree, majoring in chemistry and mathematics as teaching subjects, from the University of Dar-es-Salaam in 1988. He also earned his masters, and doctorate degrees in chemistry from the University of Dar-es-Salaam in 1994 and 2009, respectively.”
After graduating, he became a secondary school teacher. The question is: was he tutoring his students in subjects he did not believe in? Or did he think tat there was a “dichotomy” of reality in the world – one which produced accurate results in scientific experiments and another reality in which the only laws that operated were those laid down by the God in whom he fervently believed as a Catholic?
For he was quoted as saying that Covid-19 was “a devil, [which] cannot survive in the body of Christ… It will burn instantly!” Was he, in saying this, denying the validity of the concept of science, mastery of which had earned him his degrees?
The contradictions that filled Mr Magufuli’s mind are, of course, vibrantly present in many other Africans. I became aware of this very early in my own life.
My mother’s sister was a life-long Methodist. She would come and wake us all up very early in the morning and drag us to “morning service” (anᴐpasɔre)!
Now, I loved the Fanti songs that the Methodists sang, with all those beautiful unwritten improvisations that the women singers invented to add to the actual hymns. But I resented being torn from my dreams at such an early hour! I had no choice, of course, but to tag along.
One year, however (when I was about five) my young mind was thrown into a whirl when I heard, to my astonishment, that despite her obvious devotion to God and Jesus, this aunt of mine had travelled all the way from Asiakwa to Nkwantanang (in the Kwahu District: first, by truck to Bosuso; next, by train to Nkawkaw; then up the dangerous hills to Mpraeso and finally, to Nkwantanang) to go and “eat kola-nuts” and become a cult member of the Tigare fetish!
She went to the fetish because she wanted to have a child and her prayers in the Methodist Church were apparently not producing the goods – despite all those early morning devotions.
I learnt in later life that many so-called Christians in fact try to “insure” themselves against evil times by also paying their respects to several deities passed to them by their elderly family members, who believed in several deities at the same time.
There was, for instance, an old woman who was the priestess of a sacred River in our town called Twafoɔ. This old lady got presented with a lot of fowls from people who wanted to thank the River for all sorts of favours they had obtained from it.
Indeed, when the Second World War ended in 1945 and the men from our town who had gone to fight in Burma came back, one of them brought an amazing story about the River. He told our townspeople that the army truck he was driving had one day been hit by a bomb and blown into a deep valley. It caught fire after he’d been thrown out of it. He lay in a field unconscious.
But as the fire came nearer and nearer to him, he heard faintly, “from very far away”, a bush-cat calling him by name: “Kwaku Petro! Kwaku Petro! Get up!”
The cat wouldn’t stop calling his name until its cries got nearer and nearer to him. Finally, the cat’s cries became so loud that he woke up. He was able to drag himself away just as the whole truck blew up with a huge bang!
The noise brought some ambulance men to the site, and they laid him on a stretcher and carried him to hospital. “See these scars on my hands!” he showed the townspeople.
“It was River Twafoɔ who came and saved my life!” Kwaku Petro explained. He bought a sheep and slaughtered it, draining the sheep’s blood into the River’s water until the water was drenched red. He also poured libation into the water with a bottle of Schnapps.
How did he know it was the River that had saved his life? Silly question. How often do bush-cats talk and call someone by the name?
But by far the most amusing story in this country about juju – or “African electronics” as some smart-alec friends of mine call it – occurred during the days of the Supreme Military Council (SMC) in the early 1970s. A chap was caught and put on trial for attempting to overthrow the government of the SMC by recruiting the Army Commander of the regime to carry out a coup.
The chap apparently resided in Nigeria, where he had made a lot of money by dealing in crude oil. When he had convinced himself that indeed the Army Commander would like to succeed his head of state as “Number One”, he brought the Army Commander a huge sum of money and said the Commander should take it to a particular jujuman in Northern Ghana, so that the jujuman would “fortify him” and make him impervious to fear., during the coup operation.
But the coup-inciter had somehow not been able to fortify his own self, and so, was picked up on the instructions of the Army Commander during their final tête-à-tête!
At his trial, the then Attorney-General, a very humorous lawyer called E N Moore, made great play upon the superstitious elements in the coup plot. People laughed a lot when they were asked by their friends, upon undertaking some mission or other, “Have you taken the trouble to get fortified yet”?
In the midst of the trial, I attended a cocktail party given by the Government at the Castle, Osu. Whilst going round greeting people, I came across Mr E N Moore.
“Cameron, how have you been?” he queried.
Quick as a flash, I replied: “Unfortified, but still going strong!”
Mr Moore exploded into such loud laughter that people everywhere turned round to look at the two of us. I very swiftly slipped out of his company, leaving him to explain why he had laughed so loudly.
BY CAMERON DUODU
Attention-Deficit or Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) is often mistaken for laziness or indiscipline. In consulting rooms across Accra and in reports from school teachers, the pattern repeats: children who are bright but forgetful, parents who feel helpless, teachers who see incompleteness.
Research is clear-Barkley (2015) and others describe ADHD as a difference in the brain’s regulation of alertness, impulse and working memory, not a lack of effort.
The family’s role begins with structure. Regular sleep, predictable meal and homework times, and a simple visual list (uniform → books → water → corridor) provide the external scaffolding of these children need. Praise what is completed—“You opened the book and wrote the first sentence”-instead of rebuking what is missing.
Schools can help by seating the child front-row and centre, giving short written plus verbal instructions, allowing brief movement breaks, using quiet nonverbal cues and, where possible, grading effort and method as well as neatness. These adjustments reduce conflict and raise submission rates without lowering standards.
Couples and caregivers should share roles: one grounds, one pivots, and both protect rest. Shame-“bad parenting, bad child”-needs replacing with fact: different wiring, needs scaffolding.
Outcomes improve not by promises of perfection but by daily routines, clear limits and warmed connection. One homework slot kept, one instruction chunked, one calm repair after blurting-these small wins shift the family climate and let the child be seen beyond the label.
Resource
• CPAC (award-winning Mental Health and Counselling Facility): 0559850604 / 0551428486
Source: REV. COUNSELLOR PRINCE OFFEI’s insights on special needs support, relationships, and mental health in Ghana. He is a leading mental health professional, lecturer, ADR Expert/Arbitrator, renowned author, and marriage counsellor at COUNSELLOR PRINCE & ASSOCIATES CONSULT (CPAC COUNSELLOR TRAINING INSTITUTE) – 0551428486 /0559850604.
WEBSITES:
https://princeoffei22.wixsite.com/author
https://princeoffei22.wixsite.com/website
After two weeks of hectic activity up north, I drove to the Tamale airport, parked the car at the Civil Aviation car park as usual, paid the usual parking fee and boarded the plane for Accra.
Over the last two weeks, I had shuffled between three sites where work was close to completion.
One was a seed warehouse, where farmers would come and pick up good quality maize, sorghum and other planting material.
The other was a health facility for new mothers, where they were given basic training on good nutrition and small scale business.
And the third was a set of big boreholes for three farming communities.
The projects usually ran on schedule, but a good deal of time was spent building rapport with the local people, to ensure that they would be well patronised and maintained.
It was great to be working in a situation where one’s work was well appreciated. But it certainly involved a lot of work, and proactivity. And I made sure that I recorded updates online before going to bed in the evening.
When the plane took off, my mind shifted to issues in Accra, the big city. The young guys at my office had done some good work. They had secured five or six houses on a row in a good part of the city, and were close to securing the last.
When we got this property, unusually, Abena greeted them casually, and appeared to be comfortable in the guy’s company.
I was quite disappointed to hear that, because until the last few weeks, it seemed as if Abena and I were heading in a good direction. Apart from the affection I had for her, I liked her family. I decided to take it easy, and allow things to fall in whatever direction.
Normally I would take a taxi to her house from the airport, and pick her up to my place. This time I went to my sisters’ joint, where they sat by me while I enjoyed a drink and a good meal.
“So Little Brother,” Sister Beesiwa said, “what is it we are hearing about our wife-to-be?”
“When did you conclude that she was your wife-to-be? And what have you heard? I’ve only heard a couple of whispers. Ebo and Nana Kwame called to say that they have seen her in the company of—”
“Well said Little Brother,” Sister Baaba said. “By the way, Nana Kwame called an hour ago to ask if you had arrived because he could not reach you. Someone had told him that Jennifer had boasted to someone that she had connected Abena to a wealthy guy who would take care of her.”
I was beginning to understand. For some time, Abena had been asking me what work I was doing up north, and after I had explained it to her, she kept asking. So I think Jennifer fed her with false stories about me in order to get her to move to the Ampadu guy. Jennifer must have been well compensated for her efforts.
“In that case,” Sister Beesiwa said, “you should be glad that Abena is out of your way. She is easily swayed. Anyone who would make a relationship decision based on a friend’s instigation lacks good sense. I hope the guy is as wealthy as they say?”
“Who gets wealthy running a supermarket chain in Ghana?” Sister Baaba said. “Our supermarkets sell mostly imported products. Look at the foreign exchange rate. And remember that Ghanaians buy second-hand shoes and clothes. Supermarkets are not good business here. Perhaps they are showing off that they are wealthy, but in reality they are not doing so well.”
“Amen to that,” I said. “I’m beginning to understand. For some time, Abena had been asking me what work I was doing up north, and after I had explained it to her, she kept asking. So I think Jennifer fed her with false stories about me in order to get her to move to the Ampadu guy. Jennifer must have been well compensated for her efforts.”
She said that David Forson was only an agricultural extension worker in the north who did not have the resources to take care of a beautiful girl like her. And apart from being wealthy, the guy comes from an influential family, so Abena had done much better leaving a miserable civil servant like you for him.
“Amen to that,” I said. “I’m beginning to understand. For some time, Abena had been asking me what work I was doing up north, and after I had explained it to her, she kept asking. We would be able to sell all five houses to one big corporate customer, and we had already spoken to a property dealer who was trying to find a buyer in order to get a good commission.
That was going to be my biggest break. I had asked the boys to look for a large tract of land on the outskirts of the city where we could develop our own set of buildings, blocks of storey houses and upscale apartments. Things were going according to plan, and I was quietly excited. However, things were not going so well regarding my relationship with Abena.
My buddies Ebo and Nana Kwame had called to say that they met Abena and her friend Jennifer enjoying lunch with a guy, and Ebo believed that Jennifer was ‘promoting’ an affair between Jennifer and the guy. They were of the view that the promotion seemed to be going in the guy’s favour, because only an agricultural extension worker in the north who did not have the resources to take care of a beautiful girl like her.
And apart from being wealthy, the guy comes from an influential family, so Abena had done much better leaving a miserable civil servant like you for him.
“As I’ve already said, I will stop by her place, but I will mind my own business from now. Hey, let’s talk family. How are our parents? And my brothers-in-law? And my nephews and nieces? Why don’t we meet on Sunday? I’m going to drop my bags at my place, and go to see Mama and Dad.”
