Features
Political Valentine
LATELY it has become pretty difficult to distinguish between a Valentine fan and a Asante Kotoko supporter. The red colour is the veritable point of confusion.
Sometimes you are lucky to meet a Valentine celebrant who is also a Kotoko supporter. You can be sure that such a character will wear a red dress, red hat, red shoes and sport a red moustache. Certainly he is not a lunatic. The guy knows what he is about.
The problem with Valentine in Sikaman is that it has defied all manner of definitions. Even some people think it is a yam festival. So they procure palm oil to go with it. And why not? Isn’t palm oil red?
Others think it is a day of love, where love, properly but misguidedly defined, means sex. So they go from one drug store to another buying all sorts of condoms including Rough Rider and ‘Wo Ye Mecho’. Some go booking hotel rooms a day or two earlier. On February 14, those rooms will be turned into surgical units for the dissection of Valentine fools, those who mistake the occasion for fornication and adultery.
This year, the celebration of Valentine is taking a political turn. People say they will be demonstrating against something called Representation of People’s Amendment Bill (ROPAB). You can be sure that the demonstrators will be in pure red all over.
The funny thing about this bill is that it is the darling idea of one political party and snake venom for another. It all has to do with Ghanaians abroad, whether they are domiciled in Libya or Morocco or languishing in Iceland or Greenland.
If passed, this bill will enable them all to vote in general elections. The New Patriotic Party (NPP) government wants it passed while the National Democratic Congress (NDC) and Convention People’s Party (CPP) do not. They claim it could spark an inferno, a conflagration (many apologies to Arnold Quainoo).
These days, we are not hearing many Big English that are political in form and content. In the days of Jerry Rawlings, the English Language was much vibrant, spoke with revolutionary zeal, sometimes with military enthusiasm.
And when the famous historian and ex-presidential aspirant, Professor Adu Boahen, delivered his famous “Men on Horse Back” lecture, General Arnold Quainoo quickly delivered a rejoinder on the spot, promising an ‘inferno and conflagration’ if anybody wanted to change the status quo. He spoke in a voice of thunder, which some nearly mistook for an earthquake. Today, democracy has watered down the use of political bombast and militant grandiloquence to convey thought and intention.
Now ROPAB has taken centre stage and time and energy are expended on debating the pros and cons. The opposition parties, mainly NDC and CPP, think the law may cause confusion if it is implemented. NPP, on the other hand, think it is a romantic bill that will be even more romantic if passed and implemented. What is more Valentinic than making your brothers and sisters abroad voting alongside those at home to elect the country’s leadership, especially when the constitution endorses it?
Now, the NDC is saying over and over again that they do not object to the passage of the bill, but why pass a bill whose implementation could be problematic? They claim that disputes could arise in foreign lands over the authenticity of ballots, which could bring the outcome of elections into doubt.
Well, political jargons, theories and theorems have been invented to properly argue the knotty points, and people have already developed hypertension over this bill. Some have suggested a referendum; others have insinuated the use of lots (as in the Bible) to determine the issue.
In the midst of these, a new political party is alleged to have been formed. Very interesting developments lately. The ‘Daily Guide’ says it is Democratic Freedom Party (DFP).
Well, forming political parties is in the interest of democracy. Views in any democratic dispensation must necessarily be divergent to deepen the concept of democracy. It is exactly like in religion. The more churches split, the more Christianity is likely to spread further afield. So the split in churches must be welcomed rather than condemned, because no one church can save all mankind. The message of God must be propagated by binary fission and not by mere evangelistic diffusion.
So it is coming to pass that rumours of a third force are coming to some reality. But in all these, what amount of time and energy is expended in discussing on radio the basic needs of Ghanaians—food, clothing, and shelter? About only 10 per cent is spent on these. The rest is politics, politics, and politics. Is that the way forward?
This article was first published on
Saturday February 11, 2006
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Even though Martin and his family were well known to my parents, the issue of my marriage to him generated great controversy at home. Mama thought he was nice and respectful, and since his parents were hardworking and of good report, he would be a good husband for me.
But Dada said nothing in his demeanour convinced him. Martin had to wait for over four months for their decision.
On my part, I was indifferent. All my friends and relatives thought he was a nice, respectable guy. And since he was a graduate with a good job at the Excel Health Insurance Company, they felt he would take good care of me.
I thought they made some sense. I quite liked him. He was always nicely dressed, and had the aura of a responsible person who had a great career future. But I didn’t feel the kind of love or even affection I thought I should feel for a prospective husband.
And the other problem was that even though everyone thought I was intelligent, I had been unable to pass WASSCE after three determined attempts. I badly wanted to get a degree.
But everyone encouraged me to go ahead. Love, they said, often developed over time. And as for getting a degree, there were so many paths. One could even write a matured students’ exam and enter the university.
And since Martin himself was a graduate, it was almost certain that he would assist me, since I would then be in a position to support him, at least financially.
Eventually, my parents came to some form of agreement. Dada would accept ‘drinks’ from Martin’s family to signify that he had agreed to our relationship, and I could even go and live with him if I wanted to. But he would agree to the actual formal ceremony after Martin had ‘proven himself’.
Martin was promoted to the rank of Manager and transferred to Takoradi. He rented a nice flat, and I joined him. Life was very comfortable, initially. Rather early in the day, he started coming home around eight about three days in the week, even though he closed at four-thirty.
He explained that he spent a couple of hours at the club house with his contemporaries working in Takoradi, and that it was nothing to worry about. At least, he said, I always knew where to find him. And moreover, he made sure he didn’t stay too late. I didn’t worry too much about it, because when he was home, we enjoyed each other’s company.
Then the problems with the ladies started. I saw the signs early. First, he always went out of earshot to take his calls. Then I started smelling ladies perfumes on his shirts. Then he put a password on his phone.
After many attempts, I broke into his phone, and saw quite a number of intimate exchanges between him and one Elaine. So the following morning, I called Elaine, introduced myself as Martin’s wife, and asked her to stop seeing him, forthwith. I assured her that if she didn’t, she would face worse problems than she was causing me.
That evening, Martin parked the car, flung the door open, and demanded to know why I called her. Before I could answer, he slapped me. I fell, more out of shock than the effect of the slap.
‘Sarah, you are lucky I didn’t give you some dirty blows!’ he declared as he walked away’.
I got up and went to the kitchen, turned off the half cooked jollof rice, and sat on the stool. He came in after several minutes.
‘Are you bringing my food or shall I get someone to give me food?’ I ignored him. He picked up the car keys and walked out. But he must have given up on that plan, because he returned to the kitchen, peeled some kenkey, put two pieces of chicken and some shito on the plate, and sat down to eat.
I spent the night in the spare room, alternating between thinking of my future outside marriage, and catching up on my WhatsApp messages. Before slipping into sleep, I prayed for guidance to take the right steps, and psyched myself up to live a disciplined, fruitful life, no matter the obstacles that came my way. I decided to start working towards university admission the following morning. I would buy the draft, do the application online, and treat myself to a good lunch.
I woke up at about 6.15, prepared breakfast, and went to the bathroom. I dressed and came to the hall to find that Martin had eaten breakfast and gone off to work. Just when I finished breakfast, my sister Dinah called from Brussels, and for the next hour and a half we discussed arrangements for her return. I locked up the shop at about ten, and was walking off to the bank when a young man stepped out of a pick-up vehicle with a Top Clean sign. He greeted, and I responded.
‘Sorry to disturb you, madam. Can I give you the past month’s cleaning bill?’
‘Ah, okay. Thank you’. He started walking away, then he stopped and turned.
‘Madam, I hope you don’t mind. Please forgive me. I stood, waiting.
Madam, you are very beautiful. Your husband is a very lucky man’. Tears rolled down my cheeks.
‘Oh madam. Please forgive me. I’m very, very sorry’.
‘Don’t worry’, I said. ‘You’ve done nothing wrong’.
‘Then please allow me to take you where you are going’.
‘I’m going to the nearest bank to make a draft’.
‘Okay, let’s go. Er, quite obviously, you are going to prepare the draft for a purpose. Do you mind if I take you there?’
‘I wouldn’t want to take up your time. After doing the draft, I’ll go to the nearest internet cafe to fill an online application’.
‘No problem. I’ll take you there. Please forgive me if I’m being a nuisance. But actually, I have a couple of hours to spare. And moreover, you are our client, so this is one way of thanking you for your patronage’.
‘Okay, you’re on. Let’s do it’.
He stopped at the bank, and I spent some twenty minutes getting the draft done. He was busy on his tablet when I got back, entering some figures into a table. He turned it off and started the engine.
‘Now’, he said, ‘let me take you to a comfortable cafe where the internet is reasonably fast, and you can work in some privacy. I’ve used it a couple of times. And as you’ve already seen, you can take as much time as you like. I’ll be doing some work’.
‘But, er…. I don’t even know your name’.
‘Paul. Paul Allotey. I’m Sarah, by the way. Paul, why don’t you leave me here, since this is the last important thing I’m doing today’.
‘Okay. Now Sarah. I was just thinking. You will be here at the cafe for about an hour. By then it will be about twelve thirty. By then, you would be thinking of buying yourself some lunch, to eat here or to take home. So if you would please allow me, I will take you to one of the nicest eating places in town, and after you have sorted that one out, then I can drop you home. Just that one errand, then I won’t bother you again’.
‘You are not bothering me at all. You are being very kind to me. And I just realised you are a mind reader too. The last item on my agenda was lunch’.
‘I’m so glad I appeared at your doorstep, just in time’.
‘Okay. Now Paul, since you say the cafe is a comfortable place, let’s go in together, and you can do your work while I get my application done’.
‘Okay, Sarah. Thanks. Let’s go’.
By Ekow de Heer
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WHEN I cast my mind back to a chance meeting which occurred many, many, years ago, I begin to ask myself several questions, the foremost being, was it really a chance meeting?
I can vividly recall that evening at Nkawkaw, when I together with a friend and classmate, went to say hello to another classmate and also a friend called Afful.
As is usually the case when young men, who the youth of today call boys-boys, who are doing their national service meet, the chit chat will naturally involve the careers we would be pursuing at the University.
As the discussion went on, Afful then mentioned that there was a Mining Engineering course being offered by UST (now Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology) at Tarkwa and it offers opportunity to travel outside, specifically to Germany among others as part of the course.
It immediately caught my attention and I made a decision that, I will be going to pursue a career in Mining at UST School of Mines (now University of Mines and Technology), as it was then called. The fact that only six people were admitted each year for the BSc Mining Engineering, did not bother me at all. My mind was made up.
Prior to this meeting, I had in mind Pharmacy, as the course I was going for and was not interested in any of the other engineering courses, but a little worry I had about the pharmacy was my dislike for the scent of drugs that is associated with pharmacies in our hospitals and how I was going to cope with it.
Therefore when I heard about this mining course which had nothing to do with smell of drugs and the added incentive of travelling to ‘aburokyire’, it settled the issue of the choice of career for me. I was going to become a Mining Engineer, end of story. I never discussed it with any of my friends because except one who was going to University of Ghana, the others wanted to go to UST, Kumasi and the fear was that, if I told them I wanted to go to Tarkwa, they might convince me to change my mind.
The decisive and unflinching resolve to go for Mining Engineering despite the chances of not getting in beats my mind up till date. The funny thing is that Afful, who got me interested in the course and had shown some initial interest, never applied for it but went to pursue a different course altogether.
The logical question is, why did I decide to pay a casual visit to Afful on that particular day and time? If we had gone there say in the afternoon, the chances are, he might not be at home or will have been busy and so we will not have had the opportunity to have a long chat for this issue of mining to emerge.
The answer to the questions that readily comes to mind is that fate has something to do with this meeting and that it was orchestrated by a divine authority who rules and reigns in the life of men and especially for those who put their trust in him, he God, directs their path according to Psalm 37:23.
There is a man whose name must also be mentioned to complete this story, Professor Ralph Asabere. An issue cropped up when I was given admission that caused my admission to be withdrawn after I had reported and duly admitted by the then Head of Department and was therefore compelled to return home.
Before I left the campus at Tarkwa, Mr Ralph Asabere, a lecturer, came to my room and comforted me and told me not to worry and that I should go home and further added that, one year is not a long time and so if I really want to do mining, I should apply again for the next academic year and he shall ensure that I am admitted because I have not been treated fairly. I thanked him and left the campus. A year later, Professor Ralph Asabere honoured his word and the rest is history.
NB: ‘CHANGE KOTOKA INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT TO KOFI BAAKO INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT’
By Laud Kissi-Mensah
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