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The sins of Sodom and Gomorrah
The biblical Sodom and Gomorrah typified sin in its raw, carnal and abominable form.
Sin was widespread and so deep-rooted that the Lord could not find even 10 righteous men in the twin city.
If He found at least 10, Sodom and Gomorrah would have been saved from the blazing fire that turned the entire city into ashes; courtesy of God’s anger and fury.
Sodom and Gomorrah was quite forgotten since the days of Noah until a slum developed in the Odododiodio constituency of the Greater Accra Region of the Republic of Ghana. It was not named Sodom and Gomorrah out of whim. Some say it is the cradle of sin, another birthplace of the seeds of transgression.
Others beg to differ
Whatever it is, in modern-day Sodom, both the good and the bad co-exist. There are good, righteous, hardworking fellows earning a decent living but have to pass each night in Sodom because foxes have holes and birds have nests but the son of man has nowhere to lay his head.
In Sodom and Gomorrah today, you’d find civil servants, reverend ministers, businessmen, aspiring politicians, technocrats, polytechnic students and managing directors. You’ll also find robbers, prostitutes, graded pimps, sodomists, small-time pickpockets, magicians, boxers and kpalogo dancers. So you’ll find both good and bad people.
History has always repeated itself. The current Sodom and Gomorrah was burnt down recently but not completely. Certainly, more than 10 righteous folks were found there. So some areas were spared.
The problem now is that, there are plans to resettle residents of the infamous twin city, and one of the reasons is that, the place is so filthy and disease-ridden so much that the continued human existence is deemed not in the interest of anybody.
A new settlement is what the government sees as ideal for these people, more so when the name Sodom and Gomorrah is nothing complimentary as a name.
The residents, however, say that they love the place. Their hearts and souls are enshrined in Sodom and Gomorrah, so they won’t move, bulldozer or not.
The situation recalls the one similar to the people of Tema Mahean who lived at the site where Meridian Hotel is located. To get the site for the hotel, the Nkrumah government had to resettle the indigenes who were rather unwilling.
A bulldozer was brought in to do the job, and the people still feel bitter about it. Their collective soul was uprooted and of course, they left a curse, as some people say. The Meridian Hotel and its present state, similar to a bomb-ridden edifice, may be a living testimony of the bitterness of the people.
But the difference between the Tema and Sodom variants – the Tema case was that of an ancestral home with its shrine and roots. Sodom and Gomorrah is a slum that has developed over the years, and you’d find people of various nationalities there. They include Burkinabes, Nigeriens, Ivorians. Some are perchers; others appear and disappear as and when they deem fit.
“It would be a mistake for this government to send us away after we’ve voted for Kufuor for positive change”, one resident has said. “We cannot be sent away like animals.
They must give us time to decide. We support the government, so the government must not go against our wishes and make us miserable”.
Another resident I had a chat with said the government should think about places like Ashaiman (pronounced by many ‘Ashiaman’), because the sins of Sodom and Gomorrah are nothing to be compared to the abominations of Ashaiman.
“I’ve stayed at Ashaiman before and I know the difference. In Ashiaman you can find every type of criminal. Sodom and Gomorrah is not a crime haven, as others think. It is a residential area for the poor. And if poverty can be said to be a crime, then we are criminals. Otherwise, we are like anybody else,” he said.
The mention of Ashaiman was intriguing. Ashaiman, also called Hanoi, may be one of the infamous crime cities in West Africa, sharing the infamy with places like Brooklyn, Harlem and Manhattan in the United States.
But those who live in Ashaiman have very favourable comments about the place. They admit that criminals live there. But the good thing about it is that they don’t commit their crimes in Ashaiman. They go out to sin and come back to roost quietly. After all the township is full of poor people you cannot steal from, they contend.
Yeah, Sodom and Gomorrah is once again about to be obliterated from the surface of the earth. Personally, I do not like the name, and it bothers me. At any rate, I believe that if the people are going to be resettled, it should be done benevolently and what should precede it is education.
They must be told why it is necessary to resettle them. And in resettling them, they should be comfortable – electricity, water, playground for the kids and recreational centres, etc. They must leave smiling, not grumbling and leaving curses behind.
This article was first published on Saturday May5, 2001
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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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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