Connect with us

Features

Tears and joy of service

Published

on

National Service personnel at post

The time is again ripe for us to call some people ex-national service personnel. They are the new group of people who must start learn­ing how to sing songs like “Hark My Soul,” a sorrowful anthem of all jobless people.

The song is a choral appeal to God to intercede on their behalf so that “morning waakye” will not become a palaver.

Sikaman Palava
Sikaman Palava

Just as some are out-going national servicemen, others are preparing to become in-going servicemen. And I’m glad to hear that these days people are accepting postings to the rural areas because conditions in the countryside are no longer too bad. Ask Mr David Kanyi, the Greater Accra Regional Co­ordinator of NSS and he’d brief vou.

At least you won’t be infected by the guinea worm. If anything, it is the roundworm which would present a problem like it did to Ali, otherwise known as Emmanuel Lawer, a class­mate of my younger brother Alor.

In fact, the worms, contrary to med­ical logic, made Ali a very prosperous person during the course of his national service. His belly was growing bigger and bigger and people began calling him “Alhaji”, thinking he was becom­ing wealthy.

Advertisement

As I once said, Ali went to the hos­pital and pleaded with the doctor to measure the extent of his prosperity, whereupon he was given two small pills. The next morning the entire colony of worms was decimated and Ali tearfully lost his Alhaji status in the Upper West Region where he undertook his national service.

Sometimes, going far away from home to serve the nation is like going to “hustle” in Lagos. For those forced to serve in the Upper Regions it is like slugging it out in Sokoto, and there, you can only make it if God dey your back.

You might be posted to a remote village where there is a tiny primary school and a JSS block that looks like it had just suffered from an earthquake measuring 7.5 on the Ritcher scale. You’ll think the building will collapse on you, but it won’t. You are supposed to go in there and serve the nation.

Immediately you land, you must get a place which is an accommodation whether you think it is or not. You’ve got to accept it, otherwise you will be transformed into a Son of Man with nowhere to lay your head (Matthew 8:20).

Advertisement

A landlord will receive you as a serviceman with open arms until you start eyeing his beautiful daughter. Some landlords don’t tolerate such non-sense. They expect you to behave like a castrated goat and be the good tenant you are supposed to be.

Anyhow, your landlord would ask you a few questions.

“Krakye, you’re from the South-eh! How’s the place like?”

“Fine. They all send their greetings”.

Advertisement

“Good! For how long will you be staying?”

“About a year.”

“Good. This is your room,” he’d point to a small door. “The only advice I’ll give you is that if you follow some­body’s wife, they’d stick an arrow into buttocks, Get the point? An arrow is not a small thing”

“I know Baba.”

Advertisement

“I’m glad you know this. So if your manhood worrying you, go and drink pito and cool it down. if you chase my daughter, worse things will happen to you. I wish you a happy stay.”

Events narrated by past servicemen are good pieces of advice to their successors. You’ll find your national service very interesting or not de­pending on how you conduct yourself. And you have to go by the adage that while in Rome, do as the Romans do. If you go to Cinkase don’t go behaving as if you’re from Larteh. Abandon your Larteh ways altogether.

First and foremost, you must get used to the idea that your new envi­ronment is quite different from what you used do know and that you must as much as possible adjust to the staple of the area and acclimatize to the weather.

You must also know before-hand that the first disaster you’re likely to en­counter is known as diarrhea. For three days, your stomach will be cleared of southern rice and meat stew, to be filled with Zaafi and alefi soup. The first day, you may need Andrews Liver Salt, but subsequently, you’ll be swal­lowing the ‘tuo’ morsels like a hungry native.

Advertisement

Yeah you got to forget about oats and butter-bread for breakfast and eat their food, drink their pito but don’t stare at their wives while licking your lips. The fact is that matters of the heart cannot be joked with. A man might forgive you even if you slap him in public but if you go near his wife, then you’re really in for like the foolish dog who sees fire and still wants ven­ture in. Some sins cannot be forgiven.

The most important thing to do also as a service personnel is not only to go and eat tuo zaafi and come back, but to impart knowledge to the local folks. Tell them about the need for family planning, and sex education, but please don’t demonstrate the practical use of the condom.

You must try to make an impact by teaching them about environmental cleanliness, personal hygiene and func­tional literacy.

All these you have to do not by be­coming “too known” but by being witty and accepting their points of view and counteracting them wisely and getting the message across. But if you go and tell them alcohol is not good, they’d say you’re a bad person who doesn’t want them to enjoy life.

Advertisement

You may also preach the good news but if you speak in tongues, they may be tempted to think you’ve been possessed by the spirit of one of their gods. In the process, they’d say their religion is superior to yours and you can’t convince them again.

In fact, if you make good use of your time anywhere you’re posted be it a cottage in the East or a hamlet in the North, you’ll come back satisfied and fulfilled. That is the real essence of national service. The service period is not time for honeymoon. It’s time for hard work and helping society.

Coming back home after national service is another palaver. Some come back fat and jolly but for others, their own parents can’t recognise them twenty metres afar unless they use a binoculars. When Edward Alomele, my kid brother came back from Karni, Upper West, I sincerely mistook him for a Malian refugee begging for alms.

I realised that the guy was smiling to me but these refugees hardly smile. I became confused. I was about to give him 50 cedis when I realised that it was my own brother. I embraced him. He was back from war or better still he had literally deserted the army and was back home leaner than a hungry Somali.

Advertisement

But he was happy and fulfilled. He had served his nation admirably.

Yes, some come back wealthy others return as churchmice. Some come back alone, others with a woman and child behind them.

“Mama, this was the lady who helped me-o! If it had not been for her, I would have died of kwashior-kor. She fed me well on beans. Look how fresh I’m looking.”

“But who’s the child?”

Advertisement

“That’s my first born.”

Mama will then realise that his dear son didn’t eat beans alone. He ate something else too. At night!

This article was first published on Saturday, September 24, 1994

Advertisement

Features

The audit of the years: Why old age does not reward sacrifice- Part 1

Published

on

We are raised on a foundational myth: that sacrifice is a currency, and time is a bank that honors it. From youth, we are fed the romantic notion that self-denial is an investment.

We are told that if we starve our own ambitions to feed the collective, if we endure silent strains, postpone our vitality, and mortgage our peace for the security of others or the demands of an unrelenting system, the ledger will eventually balance.

We are led to believe that old age is a benevolent auditor-a quiet season where the universe presents a receipt for our endurance and hands back comfort, reverence, and ease.

It does not.

Advertisement

Old age is not a rewards ceremony; it is a reckoning. And the bitterest truth of longevity is that aging does not care how much you gave up. It cares only how you are built to withstand the descent.

The myth of deferred living

To sacrifice is to treat the present as a disposable bridge to a destination that rarely resembles the brochure. In the architecture of a lifetime, the human body and mind operate under strict biological and emotional laws.

Every time you override your limits, swallow your voice, or defer your joy for a hypothetical tomorrow, you are not saving credit-you are accumulating debt in tissue, joint, and spirit.

Advertisement

When people reach advanced age, the societal narrative expects them to bask in a golden twilight of quiet dignity earned through decades of self-effacement. But look closer at the reality of unrewarded sacrifice.

The worn-out joints do not ache with the romantic resonance of a noble history; they ache simply because they were overspent on things that ultimately did not require or appreciate the cost.

The silence kept to keep the peace turns into an isolation that no one bothers to breach.

Time does not compound the value of a sacrificed life. It merely exposes the vacancy left behind.

Advertisement

The biological and psychological toll

From a systemic standpoint, chronic self-denial is a high-stress pathology. The nervous system remembers every time you ignored its signals in favor of duty.

Structural Breakdown: Chronic tension-whether physical or emotional-alters posture, compresses the spine, and locks the body into defensive, braced patterns that harden over decades.

The Emotional Ledger: Emotional suppression leaves a residue that compounds into bitterness or detachment. When the external roles that demanded your sacrifice (the relentless career, the draining obligation, the unreciprocated loyalty) finally fall away, what remains is not a triumphant hero, but a depleted vessel wondering where the trade-off went.

Advertisement

The universe has no sentimental attachment to your martyrdom. Biology does not check your resume to see how many weekends you surrendered. It responds strictly to mechanics, alignment, and nourishment. If you spent your life running on empty to fuel everyone else’s engine, your own chassis simply wears out sooner, leaving you stranded on the roadside of your own history.

Reclaiming sovereignty before the audit

If old age refuses to honor sacrifice, then the only intelligent response is to stop offering it. Sovereignty cannot be postponed until retirement; it must be practiced in the present tense.

Sovereign living requires a radical shift in how we value our energy:

Advertisement

Cease the silent ledger: Stop keeping a mental tally of what you endure for others, expecting a delayed payout. If a duty requires your self-destruction, it is a bad investment. Cut the losses now.

Honor the vessel first: No system, institution, or relationship is worth the structural integrity of your body and mind. Alignment and self-preservation are not selfish; they are the baseline requirements for a functional existence.

Redefine legacy: True legacy is not built on how much you endured, but on how fully you inhabited your own autonomy. People are remembered not for how quietly they suffered, but for the distinct, uncompromised shape of their truth.

The years will pass whether you spend them as a perpetual offering or as an autonomous agent. The calendar does not pity the martyr. Strip away the romanticism of endless endurance, reclaim your boundaries, and demand that your life pay dividends now-because the future owes nothing to those who spent it all on a receipt that nobody is going to cash.

Advertisement

By Robert Ekow Grimmond-Thompson

Continue Reading

Features

Palaver of the Sikaman media and the future

Published

on

WITH the advent of multi-party democracy, press freedom was born again. And soon after, Ghanaian journalists started speaking in tongues. Small groups of people, infected with the idea of a free press, got together and sought finance to produce newspapers.

The newspaper craze was also contagious and overnight, the newsstands became laden with newspapers of various sizes, colours, shades, emotions and, of course, notoriety.

Readers of newspapers became confused. With purchasing power constraints to consider, they didn’t know which papers to buy. Moreover, it was difficult to know immediately which papers were worth reading and which were mere garbage.

The Media
The Media

Soon, the sheep were separated from the goats. Some papers which got no saleable news and survived on lies and speculations were eventually boycotted. When they couldn’t break even, they quietly left the stands. Others were hopelessly sub-standard in content, language and layout. For some time, they survived on artificial respiration but lapsed into coma. Others simply disappeared after paying damages for libel.

Today, the fittest have survived, notable among them the Ghanaian Chronicle, Independent, Free Press, Ghana Palaver, Democrat, Public Agenda, Statesman, P & P and Insight. They are slugging it out on the stands and only time will tell which of them would survive the beginning of the next millennium.

Advertisement

On the electronic front, radio stations have come operating Frequency Modulation (FM) units. Short Wave (SW) being too expensive to venture into, the result is JOY 99.7 FM, GOLD, ATLANTIC, CHOICE FM and other private regional, town and cottage FM stations that dot various parts of the country.

These have brought about variety and jobs. So have the television stations. Ghana Television (GTV) is facing competition from TV3 and Metro TV. Competition brings about in efficiency, and for once we can all see that GTV is performing better after being divested of the monopoly it enjoyed.

Journalists who man the newspapers, radio and television stations together form the Ghana Journalists Association (GJA), an association which, until recent years, existed only in name. It is now feverishly preparing to celebrate its Golden Jubilee, an occasion I believe will give more meaning to the Association and anchor it firmly for good as a closely-knit union of Ghanaian media practitioners.

PRINT MEDIA

Advertisement

Print journalism has really come a long way, plodding on like the proverbial snail, hoping to achieve the ultimate. It has had to contend with vicissitudes of fortunes as one political era succeeded another.

Of interest is also the fact that from the cut-and-paste method, press outfits now employ desktop publishing techniques with PageMaker components, making the job easy and speedy.  From for four-page newspapers we can now boast of are 30 pages and more, radio stations are on air 24 hours a day.

The development of the media is one thing people have taken note of, and in years to come, the fourth estate of the realm will be well-equipped to collect and dispense information more efficiently, more accurately, and more speedily.

There is another side to it. The media is likely to develop into a monster, the way it has developed to harass Lady Diana, the Princess of Wales, to her death; the way it has made Bill Clinton very uncomfortable by making a showpiece of his private sex life, and hundreds of others.

Advertisement

Indeed, until her death, the Princess had no privacy. She couldn’t sneeze without it being reported somewhere in a newspaper, complete with pictures in colour. At one stage, she lamented being a celebrity and asked the press to leave her alone to lead her life without world attention. She died while speeding away from pressmen who were furiously chasing her (and her boyfriend) on motorcycles.

If the press develops in Sikaman to the extent that it can in future drive someone to his or her death, cause heart attacks, and destroy families and leaders, can be tolerated as it has been in the United States and Europe?

Some of us think that becoming copycats of alien values and foreign systems is causing more harm than good to our society. For instance, it would be very unfortunate if the Ghanaian media developed to the negative extent that it can publish pictures nude girls as some British tabloids do.

The African culture is a decent one and should not be tainted with the wholesale acceptance of everything western.  In Europe there are magazines for homosexuals and lesbians, glorifying their acts and promoting their perverted ideals.

Advertisement

The homosexual culture is gradually seeping into African countries, Sikaman inclusive. Should we, therefore, expect to see a homosexual magazine on our newsstands one day?

If the European and American press can harass celebrities, presidents and top shots to the point of discomfort and even death, should the African press copy same if our culture is palpably different in form and orientation, history and tradition?

What I would like to see of a future Ghanaian media is a development-oriented press system seeking to promote the ideals of societal progress, economic growth, agricultural development, political unity, social cohesion and technological advancement.

And what I’d hate to see is the kind of media that is overly interested in wanting to know what the president eats for breakfast, which women he has spoken to of late, and when he is likely to sneeze without covering his nose with a handkerchief.

Advertisement

What I’d also hate to see is a media that seeks to play one tribe against the other, take to pornography or pry into the private lives of people not for any other purpose than to sell newspapers that only thrive on the obscene.

I’ve heard some editors say, “If you don’t write and insult Rawlings your paper won’t sell.” What kind of mentality is that?

The African press must develop, but it must do so in a positive way and not in the negative and destructive sense.

This article was first published on Saturday August 29, 1998

Advertisement
Continue Reading
Advertisement

Trending