Features
Too much of everything
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I was curious when I read in a foreign magazine that great writers are normally smokers. I kept thinking whether that was true of Sikaman writers, because I know quite a good number of brilliant writers in this country who are not locomotives. But I may be wrong. Probably they puff when I am not looking, or only when they are writing. When they stop writing they cease to be smokers.
According to the article in the magazine, the cigarette ‘helps them to think’. It is not because their minds are stimulated by the nicotine, but the fact that just holding the stick between the lips, puffing smoke, exhaling through the nostrils and tapping away the ash just keep them forming ideas
Before long, they would be seen scribbling away as sticks of cigarette get burnt into ashes. And society judges them the best writers. That’s quite interesting, isn’t it? And one writer actually confessed that he couldn’t have been a successful novelist without cigarettes.
Well, that’s the world. What is generally harmful to people is said to be beneficial to others after all. It is just like booze and sex. Alcohol destroys the liver, can damage brain cells, induce hypertension and cause social problems.
But alcohol is such that when a total ban is placed on its production and sale in Sikaman, there is likely to be a coup d’etat within a week. Who doesn’t drink, anyway?
Civil servants imbibe alcohol to cure their financial malaria. A husband will take it if he wants to go and insult his mother-in-law for interfering in his marriage.
People charge their brains with alcohol when they are going to collect debts from stubborn debtors. Students take it when they are going to collect their results slips.
Go to the pastors, catechists and reverends and ask them to confess their alcoholic improprieties. Some of them will be sincere and justify their alcoholic dispositions by quoting direct from the Holy Bible.
Timothy was advised to take a little alcohol for the sake of his stomach. But ‘little’ can always be subjective, and that is the loophole that is normally exploited by resident clergymen.
In any case, they can always give the excuse that they have ‘kooko’ and that a famous herbalist had made some concoction for them.
They’ll tell you that it is unfortunate the herbs can only work in alcohol, and that they can’t help doing with it.
When the evening meal is fufu, the holy-man must increase the dosage for an obvious reason – appetite.
But alcohol is most helpful in some spiritual and charismatic churches, when the Holy Ghost can almost be seen moving among the congregation. During such an occasion, the sermon must be extra-lively and the ‘preacherman’ must ‘charge’ to loosen his tongue, to improve the sweetness and quality of the sermon.
“Begone Satan! Begone! “He’d cry out, probably mistaking Satan for the Holy Spirit. He’d taken a bit too much of the stuff and when that happens, you can be sure of an ecclesiastical disaster.
The theme of the sermon will completely be ignored and the drunken pastor, now extra-lively, will start preaching on how to fight the thief who wants to relieve you of your salary. Too much of everything is bad, is the saying.
SIDE DRUM
Take food for instance. Well-cooked, finely spiced food is always delectable to the human palate. But when you take in an overdose and your stomach becomes like a good side-drum and distended, then you are likely to have a nightmare. You’ll start dreaming about cows chasing you here and there and you’ll jump out of sleep to avoid a cow’s leg crashing into your face.
But too soon, you’ll relapse into sleep and start a new dream; seeing yourself falling into a bottomless pit. You’ll scream and someone sleeping in the same room with you will wake you up.
“What’s happening to you?” he’d ask.
“Oh nothing. Just a dream”.
Anyhow, sooner or later, the real symptoms of over-feeding will start showing. You’ll start passing wind indiscriminately and your room mate will start requesting for oxygen lest he suffocates.
“Did you eat too much last night?”
“Yes, the banku was superb, so I took double-dose”.
“I see!”
Yes, your room mate has truly seen. Henceforth, he’ll start timing you. When he sees that you’ve over-eaten, he’d try to avoid the room and sleep on the veranda. He cannot afford to die young.
Coming back to cigarettes, it is generally acceptable that smoking cigarettes is harmful to health, and the Surgeon General has always confirmed it on cigarette packs. Quite paradoxically, doctors are the most inveterate smokers.
In Sikaman, smoking is a habit to some people, but because of poverty they can’t afford to become chain-smokers.
They can afford at most six sticks a day and that is quite moderate. So in effect poverty is saving them from cancer of the lungs.
The prevalence of lung cancer in the developed countries is due to the fact that chain-smoking is a normal phenomenon.
The more you smoke, the more vulnerable you become to disease. MODERATION is, therefore, the solution because habits cannot easily be done away with altogether.
How dare you tell Kofi Owuo, alias Death By Poverty, that he should go to toilet to off-load without taking along cigarettes.
He once told me, “Although I’ve vowed to be poor all my life, I won’t stop smoking. Jot keeps me going. When I get my favourite brand of cigarette and I don’t even get food, I’m okay”.
Yes, Kofi Owuo, a former classmate of mine, took the Oath Of Poverty several years back. But he can always afford his ‘jot’ because without it, he wouldn’t live long. “If I don’t smoke one day, you’ll see me at the mortuary”, he told me.
Perhaps, it is only when there is a total ban on the cultivation of tobacco, its production and distribution that the world will really know that it cannot do without some vices like smoking.
There will be an immediate uproar. Millions of people in tobacco farming, processing and distribution will lose their jobs. Addicts will go haywire and start a riot. Soldiers will take up arms against incumbent governments
The old men who are addicted to snuff (asra), alias rural cocaine, will embark upon a countrywide demonstration.
The snuff keeps them going. When they take it and sneeze hard, they feel good. They may develop cancer of the nose, but that’s nobody’s business. It is the business of their own noses.
I’ve known people who will vomit if they don’t smoke after eating. Some take cigarettes to release tension and others smoke to keep them happy. So which is which? To stop or not to stop!
Features
The Tema palaver
There is a legend about what Osagyefo Dr Kwame Nkrumah wanted Tema to be like.
According to the prophets of the pre-coup era and those who claimed to have known the Osagyefo’s plans, Tema was being gradually developed to become a model city, a workers’ paradise, not a Chinatown.
Today if you see the Meridian Hotel, you’ll think it has just suffered from a bomb attack. Kokotako recently told me he was sure the once elegant hotel was suffering from a virus infection.
Tema, it has been said, was meant to be a thoroughly planned heavenly-city under a presidential blueprint to be eventually decorated with two border posts. You couldn’t enter using bush paths and grasscutter routes. No rat-catching gimmicks!
According to the sages of those times, non-residents of the city on a visit would have been required to go through a bureaucratic and medical procedure.
First you’ll have to produce your passport cum visa, or a travelling certificate, lassez de passe or carte identite (identity card). Your forehead would have to be examined by an expert to make sure you are not a magician. No magical shows in the city. No Kofi Larteh!
You’ll also be required to produce a medical certificate to prove that you’ve been vaccinated against yellow fever, typhoid and poverty. You don’t come to the city to become a beggar. No way!
In a nutshell, the city was meant to become the model city of West Africa, the Vatican of Sikaman; a state within a state, a wonderland of no mean accolade.
The 1966 coup was a national tragedy although Ghanaians hailed the coup. To the Osagyefo, it was a personal tragedy. His dreams of a glorious harbour city, for instance, with its night-time glow and daytime glitter were washed away as the sub-machine guns rattled the signal of the advent of Ghana’s woes.
Nkrumah probably lamented the coup for one main reason that Tema would never be what he visualised it to become. Some people say the tears he shed were laden with an anathema, a bit of which has probably been visited upon Tema.
Yes, visit Tema and you’ll see vestiges of the old plan, now adulterated and totally confused with gross lack of maintenance, irregular development, over-flowing manholes, dark streets at night, beggars, and people who would have been denied access to the comforts of the city, had the Osagyefo been alive.
Tema is no longer for workers. It is now a free-for all, a boiling pot of all ethnic groups like fufu-eating Ashantis, butter-smearing Fantes, akple-eating Ewes, kontomire-swallowing Akwapims, khebab-roasting northerners and Brong self-imposed exiles who would eat nothing apart from unripe plantain. Very delicious, you know.
The shoe-shine boys are in their hundreds and wayside chop bars especially at night are common feature. You’ll be glad to meet an ex-seaman at a drinking bar talking about the good old days when Black Starline was indeed a national line. You’ll notice a retired seaman by his swag for the unmistakable seaman trademark in the gait.
Tema of today is famous for its brand of Pidgin English. It is next to the Nigerian version which is acknowledged by linguistic experts as the cremé of pidgin. Not good for SSS students, though.
The city is also famous for its high cost of living. Those who come from Accra and Kumasi to live there often pack bag and baggage after a few months and run away without anybody chasing them. Sometimes they leave their jackets behind. Life is no joke.
If you can, however, stay in Tema for over five years without suffering from financial constipation, then you are qualified and baptised to live in the ‘hard’ cities of the world including Hanoi, and Bombay. As for Mogadishu, I doubt it. Sometimes you have breakfast once in two weeks and that’s not a cheap situation. You’ve got to bow.
Surprisingly those who live in Tema and have got used to the rough weather don’t want to live anywhere else. They love the city, the breeze, the pidgin.
Today, the new SSNIT flats are giving the city a new class just as fast as the deteriorating conditions of the Tema Development Corporation (TDC)-owned houses are de-beautifying the city. No maintenance whatsoever and the corporation is beset with problems and matters that need redress.
At this very moment, the Tema Tenants Association (TTA) and TDC are at each other’s throat, in a dangerous horseplay that can degenerate into something else. The corporation intends to sell its rented units, meaning that if you can’t buy the house you’re living in, then you’ve got to quit and probably go to your hometown for good.
So whether you are a rich business tycoon or a mandated church mouse, you have to, within three months from now, make ready over three million cedis for the place you are occupying.
There is, however, an alternative. Poor tenants who can’t afford the outrageous prices will from October 1 pay 300 per cent on rent. A single room will now cost 7,000 cedis per month.
Members of the tenants’ association who are ready to take to the streets in protest have accused TDC of having woefully failed as a landlord because it has not maintained buildings it is supposed to maintain.
Some of the buildings are in a real mess.
The association has called for a commission of enquiry to investigate the matter to ensure that propriety and neglect no longer become good bedfellows and also to enable the poor worker and his family to have a place to lay their heads without being intimidated with outright sales and high rents.
The Tema Development Corporation (TDC) itself has a lot of things happening in there, the public would be very much interested in knowing. Many things in fact.
I’ll revisit the issue sooner than you’d expect. Watch out for the bombshell!
This article was published on
Saturday, August 6, 1994
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Features
Tears of Ghanaman, home and abroad
The typical native of Sikaman is by nature a hospitable creature, a social animal with a big heart, a soul full of the milk of earthly goodness, and a spirit too loving for its own comfort.
Ghanaman hosts a foreign pal and he spends a fortune to make him very happy and comfortable-good food, clean booze, excellent accommodation and a woman for the night.
Sometimes the pal leaves without saying a “thank you but Ghanaman is not offended. He’d host another idiot even more splendidly. His nature is warm, his spirit benevolent. That is the typical Ghanaian and no wonder that many African-Americans say, “If you haven’t visited Ghana. Then you’ve not come to Africa.
You can even enter the country without a passport and a visa and you’ll be welcomed with a pot of palm wine.
If Ghanaman wants to go abroad, especially to an European country or the United States, it is often after an ordeal.
He has to doze in a queue at dawn at the embassy for days and if he is lucky to get through to being interviewed, he is confronted by someone who claims he or she has the power of discerning truth from lie.
In short Ghanaman must undergo a lie-detector test and has to answer questions that are either nonsensical or have no relevance to the trip at hand. When Joseph Kwame Korkorti wanted a visa to an European country, the attache studied Korkorti’s nose for a while and pronounced judgment.
“The way I see you, you won’t return to Ghana if I allow you to go. Korkorti nearly dislocated her jaw; Kwasiasem akwaakwa. In any case what had Korkorti’s nose got to do with the trip?
If Ghanaman, after several attempts, manages to get the visa and lands in the whiteman’s land, he is seen as another monkey uptown, a new arrival of a degenerate ape coming to invade civilized society. He is sneered at, mocked at and avoided like a plague. Some landlords abroad will not hire their rooms to blacks because they feel their presence in itself is bad business.
When a Sikaman publisher landed overseas and was riding in a public bus, an urchin who had the impudence and notoriety of a dead cockroach told his colleagues he was sure the black man had a tail which he was hiding in his pair of trousers. He didn’t end there. He said he was in fact going to pull out the tail for everyone to see.
True to his word he went and put his hand into the backside of the bewildered publisher, intent on grabbing his imaginary tail and pulling it out. It took a lot of patience on the part of the publisher to avert murder. He practically pinned the white miscreant on the floor by the neck and only let go when others intervene. Next time too…
The way we treat our foreign guests in comparison with the way they treat us is polar contrasting-two disparate extremes, one totally incomparable to the other. They hound us for immigration papers, deport us for overstaying and skinheads either target homes to perpetrate mayhem or attack black immigrants to gratify their racial madness
When these same people come here we accept them even more hospitably than our own kin. They enter without visas, overstay, impregnate our women and run away.
About half of foreigners in this country do not have valid resident permits and was not a bother until recently when fire was put under the buttocks of the Immigration Service
In fact, until recently I never knew Sikaman had an Immigration Service. The problem is that although their staff look resplendent in their green outfit, you never really see them anywhere. You’d think they are hidden from the public eye.
The first time I saw a group of them walking somewhere, I nearly mistook them for some sixth-form going to the library. Their ladies are pretty though.
So after all, Sikaman has an Immigration Service which I hear is now alert 24 hours a day tracking down illegal aliens and making sure they bound the exit via Kotoka International. A pat on their shoulder.
I am glad the Interior Ministry has also realised that the country has been too slack about who goes out or comes into Sikaman.
Now the Ministry has warned foreigners not to take the country’s commitment to its obligations under the various conditions as a sign of weakness or a source for the abuse of her hospitality.
“Ghana will not tolerate any such abuse,” Nii Okaija Adamafio, the Interior Minister said, baring his teeth and twitching his little moustache. He was inaugurating the Ghana Refugee and Immigration Service Boards.
He said some foreigners come in as tourists, investors, consultants, skilled workers or refugees. Others come as ‘charlatans, adventurers or plain criminals. “
Yes, there are many criminals among them. Our courts have tried a good number of them for fraud and misconduct.
It is time we welcome only those who would come and invest or tour and go back peacefully and not those whose criminal intentions are well-hidden but get exposed in due course of time.
This article was first published on Saturday March 14, 1998
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