Features
The death threat of the dancing mosquito
I have just been informed that mosquitoes in Sikaman are manufactured in Dabala in the Volta Region, from where they are carted to Sogakofe where there is a depot to receive them in transit.
From Sogakofe, they are distributed all over the country to as far as Paga. But before they reach places like Paga, they are so lean and weak and cannot bite hard.
People claim Dabala is where the mosquito factory is located because Dabala mosquitoes have distinguished themselves in several ways.
They have jaws and muscles and some of them are so plump and might be suffering from hypertension and cholesterol. Some of them are in fact so fat they can’t even smile, sorry fly. But those with moustache do not bite. They only dance.
When I was a young student, my colleagues at St. Paul’s Secondary used to tell me that mosquitoes on their campus were not common mosquitoes. They had teeth and could tear any mosquito net and descend on their victim. Some students, therefore, decided to use calico to sew their nets to avoid ‘death by mosquito squad.’
Whatever it is, the mosquito is a very romantic creature. It doesn’t only bite. It sings love songs to the annoyance of the human ear. When they are two or three in number, they form an orchestra and entertain all night long. I hear it is the males that sing. As for the females they are always busy looking out for a bite. Fear woman and live long!
Sikaman doctors are always thankful that mosquitoes are in abundance in the country. The mosquito gives them money. Doctors at private clinics make their money via the female mosquito. About 80 per cent of heath cases are malaria-related.
So if you want to wipe out mosquitoes, a private doctor is likely to warn you before informing you that mosquitoes have the constitutional right to live.
If you want to wipe out mosquitoes from Sikaman without parliamentary approval, we shall deal with you. We shall make sure that mosquitoes enjoy their right to life. This will be by decree.
Well, mosquitoes will have to be wiped out any way if we can because some of us are too prone to malaria. Kwame Alomele, for instance, suffers from malaria fortnightly. Just one mosquito bite is enough to knock me out but I’m now used to the situation. Now malaria to me is like another stomach upset. In any case the drugs are becoming less and less effective in curing the disease, so most often I leave the disease to cure itself.
MYTHS
There were and are many myths about the tropic’s most common disease- malaria. When the cause of the disease was not known, it was generally attributed to bad air from which it got its name -MAL (bad) RIA (air). People were advised not to breathe the cool night air because it had malaria parasites in it. They did not know a tiny creature was causing all the havoc.
Even today, some people attribute malaria to beer drinking. Some say too much bitters give malaria. Others claim too much of sex makes one prone to malaria. If that were so, my uncle Kofi Jogolo would have died a century ago. His stylish moustache not-withstanding, he is well addicted to beer, the brand doesn’t matter. He takes bitters occasionally and openly declares that he has a restless waist. I don’t remember the last time he got sick of malaria.
So the cause must naturally fall on the mosquito. That is the culprit yesterday, today and forever. The problem with the mosquito is that it is difficult to wipe out unless the environment is carefully attended to- no stagnant water, no water in empty milk tins, no bushy surroundings, and no choked gutters. It is a very versatile creature which can breed anywhere water collects for a while.
As it were, no mosquitoes are bred in Dabala and distributed via a depot in Sogakofe where I once lived as a kid. That was where I thought I could beat my elder brother but I often made the wrong judgement.
He was a quiet fellow and I was more open and aggressive. We fought a number of bouts and although I was losing 70 per cent of the fights, I still had hope I could floor him, taking into consideration my style, footwork and agility.
I relied on speed and aggression, but the guy was, growing faster and bigger and had more punching power. He would beat me to coma-point but I fought back gallantly and once I was praised for my accuracy and precision in punch delivery.
Years later, my Mum told me when we were at Sogakofe I was sick of malaria so often and it was so frequent she thought I wouldn’t live. But Kwame Alomele has always been a survivor. When I learnt recently that Sogakofe was a distributing point of mosquitoes, I realised I had once lived in dangerous territory where I started my early boxing practice.
My concern with malaria is not so much about prevention but cure. Prevention lies in our hands-KEEP A HEALTHY ENVIRONMENT but cure is becoming a problem. Chloroquine which used to be the most medically suitable drug has apparently lost its ability to deal with the disease.
Some doctors I spoke to said this is happening because people are self-medicating and abusing the drug. For example, if you do not take the full course of chloroquine and only go half way through, all the parasites wouldn’t die. The remaining parasites will survive and later get inured against chloroquine. So further administration of chloroquine least bothers the parasites.
The doctors say chloroquine is still the most effective drug. If so, there must be some education on drug use countrywide and on why people should not self-medicate. They should not self-medicate, for instance, because the disease might be typhoid and not malaria; and typhoid cannot be cured by chloroquine.
But one thing the doctors will have to explain to me is why I have malaria so often when I am not a sickle cell patient.
This article was first published
on Saturday, May 16, 1998
Merari Alomele’s
- Mosquito is a romatic creature
Your Weekend Companion
www.spectator.com.gh
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
Join our WhatsApp Channel now!
https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029VbBElzjInlqHhl1aTU27
“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
