Features
The Cop, press and lost fingers
The job of a policeman, whether he is short or tall, is not a cheap one. He is supposed to keep the peace, protect society and monitor the activities of local magicians and money doublers who are specialists in making civil servants lose their pay within seconds.
By far the most difficult job of the policeman is when he is expected to arrest a murderer who is not only armed but also has a record of appearing and disappearing at will. Even if the tough cop is in the company of other policemen all armed to the teeth, his stomach will turn to water when the criminal suddenly appears.
He is terrified not because the criminal is a better marksman, but because nobody dies twice. The problem also is that a criminal might be prepared to die in a bid to shoot his way to freedom. But is the police-man prepared to risk death in the course of duty when he has a family to rear.
If he had just acquired a new girlfriend with whom he is enjoying life, should he not run away with his tail between his legs and tell his boss that the criminal is uncatchable?
Before some policemen go on patrol duties, they actually pray solemnly. “God send me into the wilderness and bring me back safely with my nose intact because I’m worth more than a common rat. I also do not want to die like a stray dog. If a bullet is targeted at my forehead, Holy Spirit please let it go over the bar, because six children is not a small palaver. If I die, who will look after them? Lord keep me safe day by day. Amen!”
The Sikaman policeman’s job is a risky one because he is not properly equipped with even a trained dog to help track down criminals easily. So he has to use his own nose judiciously in sniffing out suspects while making sure a bullet doesn’t catch him square on the jaw.
My friend Sir Kofi Owuo, a.k.a. Death-By-Poverty was telling me journalists are in an even riskier profession. Apparently, he had been reading about the palaver of journalists in places like Algeria and Columbia. Algeria, even women journalists are not spared assassin’s bullet. You’d see them lying in front of their homes with their heads full of bullet holes.
In Columbia, no journalist is safe. When a journalist is leaving home, he has to tell his wife. “Darling, when I don’t come back by 7 p.m. check the mortuary
The drug trade in Columbia has made journalism a profession not worth practising. If you write on cocaine and the harm it is inflicting on society, you’ll certainly receive a phone call.
“Hello, Mr Journalist, your article yesterday was great. Congratulations! We never knew you were such brilliant writer, championing the cause of society. Again we say congrats! But you know something, by your article, you want to take the bread out of my and that of my family. You don’t want us to beak. We are aggrieved beyond measure”
“Oh, I was just… “You’d try to say something
“You don’t have to explain. The harm has already been done by your award-winning masterpiece. We have an appointment with you. You’ll hear from us.
Rest In Peace!” After such a phone call, you just have to pray to your soul, sing a hymn or two and get prepared fort appointment with death. For, death will surely come
I think pressmen in Sikaman would also have start informing their families appropriately before leaving for work now. “If I don’t come back early, I’m probably at the Ear, Nose and Throat Department of Korle- Bu checking a leakage in my left ear due to a gendarme slap from an AMA official. If you don’t see me there, track me down to the emergency ward. If you see a newly-made cripple, I’m the one”
What about referees? These days they are guarded during football matches so that the risk they bear in terms of lost teeth is minimal. Formerly, it used to be a job full of woes and tribulations.
You were expected to oversee a match in such way that would favour a particular team. If that is not done, you’ll get back home and your wife will not recognise you. She’ll mistake you for Frank Bruno who had just lost a bout. When she finally recognises you, she’ll fix some hot water to massage your poor face.
I hear that these days, apart from the protection referees receive, some are well-armed with Damfo Dzai, a kind of jack-knife that can carve a rowdy supporters face in several designs.
My Press Secretary and part-time bodyguard Devine Ankamah, was telling me if he happens to be a referee, he’d surely carry a Kalashnikov AK 47 rifle with him, complete with loaded magazine, before officiating matches. According to him, that is the only way to do the job without fear or favour. Anyone dares will lose his jaw.
Anyway, risky jobs require good remuneration. As Kwame Korkorti once said, risky jobs require risky salary. A policeman would require a good pay so that when a criminal targets his left ear it would be worth the ‘amputation’. Same for journalists and cameramen.
But go round private workplaces and factories and you’d see really risky occupations where workers are receiving salaries they can’t see with the naked eye.
In fact, in some private workplaces, environmental safety is completely absent. Workers breathe in fumes, poisonous gases and risk lung and respiratory problems. Their employers do nothing about protecting them against these hazards. Check out their payer.
In other places, workers have their fingers chopped off on the job, some losing as many as four fingers in stretch. The compensation they get can best be described as “wicked”. Their employers live big, chop big, ride big but are not willing to pay more than ¢120,000 for lost fingers.
Actually the more fingers you lose, the more money you get. So if you intend losing your fingers on the job, it is advisable to lose as many as possible so that you can get more cash. Those who have lost one finger have not benefited much and are encouraged to lose more next time around.
Sikaman Palava is undertaking to investigate some of these cases of very risky jobs in private setups and companies where workers are being exploited to unnecessarily but not offered protection against health hazards, and not properly compensated when they sustain injuries.
This article was first published on Saturday, September 28, 1996
A haircut I had about a week ago didn’t go down well with many. Someone quite close to my heart saw it, examined it critically and felt dizzy.
“What’s this?” she proceeded to ask me.
“An international hairdo,” I replied.
She was disgusted, in fact disappointed. The problem with the haircut is that the style is neither Punk, Tokyo Joe nor Show Your Back. If anything, it is a combination of all—and I liked it, for a change.
It was when I bounded downtown that someone called me and enquired whether I was no longer a journalist. He said I looked like a well-fed Warrant Officer.
“Class One or Class Two?” I asked.
Another studied my head as if he was studying physical geography and pronounced that I looked like a boxer who can throw dangerous punches. Still, someone was of the opinion that the haircut didn’t quite fit me, but admitted that I looked like a prosperous merchant.
Commendation
I remember some three months ago, I had a haircut that made two girls fall in love with me. In spite of the fact that the barber was not a graduate, the cut was such that they couldn’t help admiring it. One of them actually ‘checked out’ the style and commended the barber.
The other was more bent on the ‘love matter’ but I was too busy to give her any attention. LOVE!
I was reminded of this when I viewed a premier showing of the latest Sikaman film titled THE POWER OF LOVE. The film kept me thinking. Some of us have long forgotten about what it is like to be head-over-heels in love. When we were students, we had such experiences because there was nothing doing anyway.
We were either learning how stylishly to smoke ‘jot’ or how romantically to fall in love. Anyhow, I was intrigued by this latest movie because of the way love unlimited was portrayed on screen. It took my memory back many years to relive those youthful days when we felt we’d really die if jilted by our lovers.
The storyline of THE POWER OF LOVE is really an exciting one. The combination of love, treachery and intrigue made me feast my eyes intently on the screen, unbelieving the extent the force of love can reach.
Ama and Afua are good friends. But when it comes to matters of the heart, they have different tastes; Ama is content with only her boyfriend (a student) and Afua samples the bigwigs around town. Afua, not satisfied with the shots in town, wants Ama’s boyfriend Joe in addition. She lies to Joe that Ama has often been picked by a man on four-wheels, whereupon Joe dismisses Ama and takes on Afua.
Ama doesn’t realise that it is her best friend Afua who is destroying her relationship with Joe until she catches her having sex with him. She collapses and goes out of her mind from the broken heart. But before then, she had been made pregnant by Joe.
Having escaped from a psychiatric hospital, she roams town murmuring Joe’s name. Heavily pregnant now, she espies Joe boarding a mini bus and runs towards him. Joe, seeing her approaching, quickly disembarks and takes off.
Ama pursues him furiously, and he runs to his home where he finds his bosom friend Frank making love to Afua. He immediately realises the treachery of Afua who instigated him to leave Ama.
He intends leaving the home in disgust and meets mad Ama at the door and embraces her despite her madness. Instantly, she regains her sanity.
Love indeed heals the wounds of the mind and it is the greatest positive force in the world. Incidentally, the greatest negative force is hatred.
Greatest force
Now coming to talk about love, I reiterate it is the greatest force imaginable. That is why a man will butcher his rival to death if he catches him climbing his wife without asking permission; and a woman will go mad if jilted.
It is also for this reason that a young boy who is scared stiff of cemeteries and under normal circumstances would not dare go near one, will this time walk boldly through a cemetery at midnight if that is the only way to his lover’s abode.
The Bible describes love for our neighbours as the surest way to heaven: Love thy neighbour as thyself.
Unfortunately, what Ghanaians are more interested and skilful in is loving the opposite sex. Romance under the cover of darkness is what we understand love to be all about. When it comes to loving our fellow human beings, we are found wanting.
People hate others just because they are of another tribe and do not speak the same native language. Too much grudge-bearing that does not augur well for national development.
War in Liberia, carnage in Rwanda are the results of the absence of love for one’s fellow being. If everybody could express a little bit of love for his fellow being irrespective of tribe, race, politics or religion, Sikaman—and indeed, the world—will be a more habitable place.
This article was first published on Saturday, October 29, 1994
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“Sir,” Ms. Odame said when David Asante answered the call, “my name is Victoria Odame. I’m a teacher at Research School in Koforidua. I would like to come and see you concerning a student called Sarah.”
“Okay, madam. I would be very glad to meet you. How can I make your trip easier?”
“I was going to join a bus to Accra.”
“Here’s what we will do. Take a taxi and ask them to bring you to Accra. I will speak to the driver, give him the directions, and pay him when you get here.”
The taxi stopped in front of the house. The gate opened, and the driver moved to the long driveway and stopped.
“What a beautiful house,” he said.
David and Adoma came out to meet them. Adoma paid the driver as David and Sarah stared at each other.
“Please come in and sit down,” Adoma invited. She served them water.
“You are welcome,” Adoma continued. “We have been waiting anxiously since you called this morning. So please, let’s hear you.”
Before she could open her mouth, Sarah rose, moved to David, hugged him, and sat on his lap. They both broke into tears. Adoma and Ms. Odame also broke into tears.
“Sorry, madam,” David said. “This whole episode has been a very difficult one. But let’s do the proper thing. Let’s hear you first, and I will also speak. I’m sure we need to answer some questions immediately.”
“Okay, sir. I have been taking an interest in Sarah because, although she’s brilliant academically, she seemed to be troubled. Following my discussions with her and some whispers I had been hearing, I went to Aboso Senior High School and spoke to your former colleague, Mr. Hanson. He told me that you were an exemplary teacher who was loved by all, and he also told me about the unfortunate events that caused you to leave for Germany. So I returned to Koforidua with the view to finding the appropriate means of helping to solve this problem.”
“Great. Ms. Odame, I have to thank you for finally helping us to solve this problem. Now, let me state the facts. This is what happened.
“Gladys and I met and got married whilst we were both teachers in the school. Some months into our marriage, she told me that she needed to spend some days with her parents, and I agreed.
“It turned out that she was actually spending time in a hotel with her ex-boyfriend, Simon. This happened again after Sarah was born. I got wind of this and told her that I was no longer interested in the marriage.
“I started preparing to travel to Germany. She pleaded for forgiveness, but I stood my ground. Then she told me that she would punish me for rejecting her.
“She came out later to say that Sarah was not my child, but Simon’s. She went and hid her somewhere, obviously expecting that I would fight to take my child. I was actually going to do that, but my parents advised me that it was almost impossible to win such a fight.
“They advised that, difficult as it sounded, I should leave the child with her because she would come back to me eventually. I have absolutely no problem taking care of you, Sarah. I am taking care of quite a number of kids who are not mine. So that is what happened. My hands were tied. I have been trying to find out how you are doing.
“I kept hearing that you were doing well at school. I also heard that Gladys and her husband were having problems, but I kept hoping that my daughter would at least be okay till it was possible for me to go for her.”
“Sarah, now you have met your dad. You will be free to—”
“I’m not going anywhere!” she declared as she held on to him.
“You don’t have to worry about that, Sarah,” Adoma said. “We have been looking forward to the day you come home. This is your home. Now, you have to meet your siblings.” She called Abrefi and Adaawa.
“Girls, we told you that you have a sister who would join us anytime. Now here she is.”
“Sarah?” Abrefi asked.
“Yes,” Adoma replied. The girls hugged her and took her away.
“Now,” David said, “I think it is time to call Madam Gladys.” He dialed the number.
“My name is David Asante. I’m here in my house with my daughter Sarah. I hear you have told her all sorts of crazy stories about me. I could make life very difficult for you, but I won’t.
“You are your own worst enemy. I don’t think you should be expecting her anytime soon. What do you say?”
Gladys stayed silent for over a minute, then cut the line.
“Food is ready,” Adoma announced. “Everybody, please come to the table.”
Sarah chatted excitedly with her siblings as Adoma and David spoke with Ms. Odame. She kept staring at her father.
“Now, Ms. Odame, after you have brought such joy into our home, should we allow you to go back to Koforidua today, or should we wait till we are ready to release you? I could call your husband and ask permission.
“And please don’t tell me you didn’t bring anything for an overnight stay. There are several supermarkets around here. We can fix that problem quickly.”
“I will beg you to release me. Now that I have been so warmly welcomed here, I already feel part of this home. Koforidua is not that far away, so I will visit often.”
“Well, let’s see what the kids have to say. Ladies, shall I release Ms. Odame to go back to Koforidua?”
“No!” they shouted, and all broke into laughter.
“Ms. Odame, I will have mercy on you. But we are going to do something to make it easy for you to visit us. My wife wants to show you something. Please follow her.”
Adoma led her to the driveway as the others followed. They stopped in front of the car.
“This is a Toyota Corolla 1600. It is very reliable and good on petrol consumption. We are giving this to you in appreciation of your help in getting our daughter back to us.
“And here in this envelope is a little contribution to help you with maintenance. And here in this other envelope is a gift to help with your children’s school fees.”
As she stood, stunned, and stared from the car to the envelopes, David put his hand around his family.
“Let’s leave her to take a look at her car. Ms. Odame, one of my drivers will drive you to Koforidua and leave your car with you. We are waiting inside.”
By Ekow de Heer
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