Features
The taxi driver
Taxi drivers are scared when passing near the Accra Sports Stadium. One has told me, he was driving past the stadium at around 10:30pm when he heard someone running football commentary through the nose. What! He levelled the gear to third, fourth and then fifth and fired the accelerator. The car dashed forward in full flight.
Then he saw someone in the distance stopping him for ‘dropping.’ The person looked like a soccer fan. Assuming he stopped and the guy turned out to be a ghost, could he control the steer and not end up in the sea?
He took a split-second decision. After all, ghosts did no harm unless you were responsible for turning them into ghosts. He’d stop and see if the gentleman spoke through the nose. He applied the brake and the car screeched to a halt.
“Take me to Labadi,” the man said, “how much?”
The taxi driver was too scared to answer. He did not know whether the man spoke through the nose or through the ears. Before he could say anything, the man open the front door and sat down. He banged the door hard! The driver wondered whether he was dealing with a human being or someone else; something transcendental. A ghost?
In his apprehension, he mistakenly put the gear into ‘third’ when it should have been in ‘first.’
He began moving the car. The wrong gear made the car jerk twice and the ignition went off. His first thought was that he’d picked a ghost who had just turned the engine off.
Wahallahi! Kakusunka!
Should he run and leave the car behind or simply scream for help? He did not know which would do under the circumstance. He shook like leaf, fiddled with the gear and sparked the car again. It sparked. The gear was at its right place.
He moved enroute to Labadi, glancing cheerfully at the man next to him on the front seat. When the man got down and paid for the short trip, the driver said he thanked his stars. Actually he nearly defecated in his ‘supporter.’
Next time, he’d not pick anyone around the disaster area. You wouldn’t know whether the passenger is a soccer fan in external glory, or true flesh and blood who eats salt and bread.
When he told me his story the day I chattered his car, I began thinking about ghosts. I haven’t seen any before and I don’t wish to. I don’t think it would be good for my health.
Fact is, I don’t want my blood pressure dangling like a pendulum. I am a simple man with no worries.
I went to a pastor friend and asked him about ghosts. They do not exist, he told me as a matter of fact. Every ghost is an impersonator, or an imposter.
“My friend get serious” I queried. “People say they see their dead friends, lovers, mothers, brothers, and so on.”
“That doesn’t mean there are ghosts,” he said. “The devil is only playing tricks. He impersonates people, using their faces to frighten others, to make them believe there are ghosts on earth, According to the Holy Scriptures, there are nothing like ghosts.”
“When you die,” I asked, “where will your spirit go?”
“To its Maker.”
“What for?”
“And before then, wouldn’t it hover on the earth?”
“What for?”
“So the so-called ghosts are in fact evil spirits and not human spirits?”
“That’s right
“Heard of the stadium disaster?”
“Yeah!”
“They say ghosts are displaying there basaa! You hear them at night shouting goa-a-l! ‘Offside! Penalty! and the rest. Aren’t they the spirits of the unlucky fans who died?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Meaning you are not sure.”
“I am sure dead people don’t shout.”
“But their spirits can.”
“Have your heard one shout.”
“No. But if they exorcise the place and there is no more shouting, doesn’t it means the ghosts have left?”
“It only means the evil spirits impersonating the dead people left. There are over one billion demons and principalities in the world .127 of them can easily be mobilised to be shouting at night to frighten people, to make them believe ghosts exists. That is no big deal for Satan.”
I was not quite convinced. Why would the devil want people to believe there are ghosts if they do not exist?
At any rate if the spirits were exorcised with cows, sheep, and fowls then it was not cost effective. The authorities should have hired the charismatic churches to do the job for them. They don’t need cows to chase spirits away.
The other day members of a church were attending a crusade and carried pestles and mortars on their heads to the crusade ground. I was amazed. I thought they were going to pound fufu mid-way during the programme.
When I asked one lady whether the fufu was going to be eaten with groundnut soup or aponkye nkrakra, she said they were going to pound the devil in the mortars and that it was no fufu festival. “The devil will confess today,” she assured me.
Before long, a man also carried a carpenter’s saw and hammer. He was going to saw Jimmy Satan into two halves; no two ways about that. There, he hammer his forehead and him to vamoose.
Before I left a little boy walked past with ten canes.” we are going to cane the devil,” he promptly announced. “He’d take 100 lashes on his bare-buttocks, then he’d learn sense.
Of course, Christianity is becoming more practical than theoretical. The devil must be attacked physically, battered and pounded. But it might be wasted effort. Christians must learn to speak the word and the devil will flee. As for pounding and sawing and caning, you might as well do it as a productive venture.
Sikama Palava takes this opportunity to express its deep-felt sympathy to the bereaved families of the stadium disaster. Not entirely belated, I hope!
This article was first published on Saturday, June 23, 2001
Attention-Deficit or Hyperactivity Disorder (ADHD) is often mistaken for laziness or indiscipline. In consulting rooms across Accra and in reports from school teachers, the pattern repeats: children who are bright but forgetful, parents who feel helpless, teachers who see incompleteness.
Research is clear-Barkley (2015) and others describe ADHD as a difference in the brain’s regulation of alertness, impulse and working memory, not a lack of effort.
The family’s role begins with structure. Regular sleep, predictable meal and homework times, and a simple visual list (uniform → books → water → corridor) provide the external scaffolding of these children need. Praise what is completed—“You opened the book and wrote the first sentence”-instead of rebuking what is missing.
Schools can help by seating the child front-row and centre, giving short written plus verbal instructions, allowing brief movement breaks, using quiet nonverbal cues and, where possible, grading effort and method as well as neatness. These adjustments reduce conflict and raise submission rates without lowering standards.
Couples and caregivers should share roles: one grounds, one pivots, and both protect rest. Shame-“bad parenting, bad child”-needs replacing with fact: different wiring, needs scaffolding.
Outcomes improve not by promises of perfection but by daily routines, clear limits and warmed connection. One homework slot kept, one instruction chunked, one calm repair after blurting-these small wins shift the family climate and let the child be seen beyond the label.
Resource
• CPAC (award-winning Mental Health and Counselling Facility): 0559850604 / 0551428486
Source: REV. COUNSELLOR PRINCE OFFEI’s insights on special needs support, relationships, and mental health in Ghana. He is a leading mental health professional, lecturer, ADR Expert/Arbitrator, renowned author, and marriage counsellor at COUNSELLOR PRINCE & ASSOCIATES CONSULT (CPAC COUNSELLOR TRAINING INSTITUTE) – 0551428486 /0559850604.
WEBSITES:
https://princeoffei22.wixsite.com/author
https://princeoffei22.wixsite.com/website
After two weeks of hectic activity up north, I drove to the Tamale airport, parked the car at the Civil Aviation car park as usual, paid the usual parking fee and boarded the plane for Accra.
Over the last two weeks, I had shuffled between three sites where work was close to completion.
One was a seed warehouse, where farmers would come and pick up good quality maize, sorghum and other planting material.
The other was a health facility for new mothers, where they were given basic training on good nutrition and small scale business.
And the third was a set of big boreholes for three farming communities.
The projects usually ran on schedule, but a good deal of time was spent building rapport with the local people, to ensure that they would be well patronised and maintained.
It was great to be working in a situation where one’s work was well appreciated. But it certainly involved a lot of work, and proactivity. And I made sure that I recorded updates online before going to bed in the evening.
When the plane took off, my mind shifted to issues in Accra, the big city. The young guys at my office had done some good work. They had secured five or six houses on a row in a good part of the city, and were close to securing the last.
When we got this property, unusually, Abena greeted them casually, and appeared to be comfortable in the guy’s company.
I was quite disappointed to hear that, because until the last few weeks, it seemed as if Abena and I were heading in a good direction. Apart from the affection I had for her, I liked her family. I decided to take it easy, and allow things to fall in whatever direction.
Normally I would take a taxi to her house from the airport, and pick her up to my place. This time I went to my sisters’ joint, where they sat by me while I enjoyed a drink and a good meal.
“So Little Brother,” Sister Beesiwa said, “what is it we are hearing about our wife-to-be?”
“When did you conclude that she was your wife-to-be? And what have you heard? I’ve only heard a couple of whispers. Ebo and Nana Kwame called to say that they have seen her in the company of—”
“Well said Little Brother,” Sister Baaba said. “By the way, Nana Kwame called an hour ago to ask if you had arrived because he could not reach you. Someone had told him that Jennifer had boasted to someone that she had connected Abena to a wealthy guy who would take care of her.”
I was beginning to understand. For some time, Abena had been asking me what work I was doing up north, and after I had explained it to her, she kept asking. So I think Jennifer fed her with false stories about me in order to get her to move to the Ampadu guy. Jennifer must have been well compensated for her efforts.
“In that case,” Sister Beesiwa said, “you should be glad that Abena is out of your way. She is easily swayed. Anyone who would make a relationship decision based on a friend’s instigation lacks good sense. I hope the guy is as wealthy as they say?”
“Who gets wealthy running a supermarket chain in Ghana?” Sister Baaba said. “Our supermarkets sell mostly imported products. Look at the foreign exchange rate. And remember that Ghanaians buy second-hand shoes and clothes. Supermarkets are not good business here. Perhaps they are showing off that they are wealthy, but in reality they are not doing so well.”
“Amen to that,” I said. “I’m beginning to understand. For some time, Abena had been asking me what work I was doing up north, and after I had explained it to her, she kept asking. So I think Jennifer fed her with false stories about me in order to get her to move to the Ampadu guy. Jennifer must have been well compensated for her efforts.”
She said that David Forson was only an agricultural extension worker in the north who did not have the resources to take care of a beautiful girl like her. And apart from being wealthy, the guy comes from an influential family, so Abena had done much better leaving a miserable civil servant like you for him.
“Amen to that,” I said. “I’m beginning to understand. For some time, Abena had been asking me what work I was doing up north, and after I had explained it to her, she kept asking. We would be able to sell all five houses to one big corporate customer, and we had already spoken to a property dealer who was trying to find a buyer in order to get a good commission.
That was going to be my biggest break. I had asked the boys to look for a large tract of land on the outskirts of the city where we could develop our own set of buildings, blocks of storey houses and upscale apartments. Things were going according to plan, and I was quietly excited. However, things were not going so well regarding my relationship with Abena.
My buddies Ebo and Nana Kwame had called to say that they met Abena and her friend Jennifer enjoying lunch with a guy, and Ebo believed that Jennifer was ‘promoting’ an affair between Jennifer and the guy. They were of the view that the promotion seemed to be going in the guy’s favour, because only an agricultural extension worker in the north who did not have the resources to take care of a beautiful girl like her.
And apart from being wealthy, the guy comes from an influential family, so Abena had done much better leaving a miserable civil servant like you for him.
“As I’ve already said, I will stop by her place, but I will mind my own business from now. Hey, let’s talk family. How are our parents? And my brothers-in-law? And my nephews and nieces? Why don’t we meet on Sunday? I’m going to drop my bags at my place, and go to see Mama and Dad.”
