The driver stopped the vehicle at the gate of the big fenced property along the Nsawam Highway, and Kakraba stepped out to meet the several workers who had gathered to wait for him. He greeted them and went to straight to the point.                                                                                                                                        ‘Gentlemen, I am glad to see that you have almost completed the clearing of the land. I’m happy to report that we have concluded all arrangements with Nana Serebour, and construction of the palace will start in a few days.

 I will need you to go and level the ground, and come back to start this project. Some workers from a construction company will come and join us to start the project. My plan is to build twenty houses in four months, then we will do twenty more until we reach two hundred.

 I am relying on you to help me deliver good quality work to satisfy our clients, and as I have already indicated to you, I will reward you for your work’. After an hour’s discussion, he closed the meeting and moved to drive away. Wofa Yaw drew closer.                     

 ‘Director, can you please spare me five minutes? I would like to discuss a small issue’.                ‘Why Wofa Yaw, your wife has threatened to leave you?’                                                               ‘No, Director’. My wife will never leave me. This concerns a young niece of mine’.                      

‘I hope it’s something I can help with. Please sit in the car and let me hear you’.                           ‘Boss, my niece Beesiwa is a polytechnic graduate, very beautiful and with very good character.

Unfortunately, her parents virtually forced her into a relationship with an idiot based in the US, which impacted her badly. She has now recovered from that experience, and boss, I am respectfully asking if you would find a job for her.

I promise you that you will never regret it’. ‘Well, Wofa Yaw, let me meet her and speak with her. I may be able to help, maybe not in the way you will expect, but let me meet her. I will not be back here till after a week, but I will be at the office the whole of next week. You can come with her’.

‘On Monday morning, Wofa Yaw and Beesiwa were seated at the office by nine. Three young ladies welcomed them warmly, offered them soft drinks, and assured them that Kakraba would be there shortly, and got seated behind computers with large screens showing various building designs. Kakraba walked in and greeted them warmly, and after chatting with the three ladies, he ushered Wofa Yaw to his office’.                                                                                                     ‘Director, this is my niece, Beesiwa. I mentioned her to you when you came to Nsawam’.            ‘Yes indeed. Madam Beesiwa, you are very beautiful, as your uncle said. Wofa Yaw is my colleague.

We have just started a building project that will take about three to four years. He mentioned that you have a very small problem, so I said I would like to meet you, and see how I can help. So Beesiwa, please tell me a little about yourself’.

Beesiwa described her childhood, her school experience, her brief work at the bank, and the nasty episode with Sammy Abrokwa which shattered her peaceful life, and how she had been recovering’.                                                                                                         

‘I am really sorry to hear this. Now, here is what we are going to do. We are a small but very busy company. The three ladies over there spend most of the day on site, and come back to report on their work in the morning.

I have three main projects. The big one is an estate project in Nsawam, where your uncle is one of my main colleagues. I need a personal assistant who can take care of my activities, especially when I am not in town.

Now, we will have to start with trust. Based on what I know about Wofa Yaw, and based on what you yourself have told me, I think we can start on a sound basis. So, Wofa Yaw will take you to my home. You can move into one of the four guest rooms. I will give you a good phone and a laptop. I will arrange computer lessons for you’.                                                                                                                           ‘Sir, I have taken some computer lessons, and I have even done graphics and web design’.          ‘Fantastic! Now, Wofa Yaw, take her home. My sister Kuukuwa will meet you and show you round, and you can return to Koforidua. When would you like to start work?’                                               ‘Sir, I would like to start today, but I would need to go and bring my things’.                                ‘No problem. Take a taxi to my house, meet my sister, and let me know what you decide’.

Kakraba and the three ladies met with some bank officials to conclude on the sale of the three buildings at Adabraka.

They closed at five-thirty, and after rewarding the ladies for their hard work, he got home just after dark. He was surprised to find Kuukuwa and Beesiwa sitting at table enjoying supper.                                                                                                                                                                ‘What’s happening here?’ her said. ‘Beesiwa, I thought you would return to Koforidua?’                ‘She changed her mind’, Kuukuwa said. ‘We went to the Mall and bought a few things for her, and we came back to cook. She has made some nice changes to your bedroom. And she cooked a couple of interesting things. Sit down, we will serve you’.  

‘Well, I certainly can’t refuse that. It’s been a busy day. So what’s the plan now? Will Beesiwa go to Koforidua tomorrow, gather her stuff together and come down?                                          ‘No, I will stay here for a while. Kuukuwa bought me things that I need, so I may go back next week. I’m ready to start work. What would you like me to start with?’

‘Well, you can come to the office tomorrow morning, meet the three girls and get a feel of what we do. Since you are living here, at least for now, we can discuss the plans for the next few weeks. Sometimes there are gaps when I travel up north. You can take care of things from now. I think the girls would like having someone like you around’.

GHANA’S Parliament is a peaceful one. The arguments on the floor of the House can be fierce, but the House doesn’t catch fire. Ghana’s democracy has passed the acid-test of constitutional pluralism, and her legislature is a model of democratic beauty others are learning from.

Sometimes it is edifying following proceedings in Parliament and you are likely to catch the voice of Honourable Alban Bagbin in full flight. He doesn’t talk much. His English vocabulary does the talking.

Last week, I heard another MP talking on bad dressing, and I must congratulate him on his brilliant exhibition of vocabulary, delivered in Westminster tradition.

Such explosive delivery titillates the floor of the House and brings joy to members and Mr Speaker.

In the parliament of some countries, there is no need for such niceties. The floor of the House is regarded as a battle ground. Others, including lady members, see it as a boxing ring, where the spoken word is often jettisoned and supplanted with punches and upper-cuts.

PART-TIME

So the average parliamentarian trains part-time as a boxer, in case boxing skills will be needed in the House to iron out knotty points.

The ladies’ pedicure and manicure are carefully designed to fulfil a dual purpose. One is to showcase trendiness and the other is to scratch the faces of opponents in the House whether they are ladies or gentlemen. 

Sometimes, the Speaker has to keep shouting and banging for well over 15 minutes as a recalcitrant MP dashes across and grabs the tie of another MP, thus precipitating a free-for-all brawl. Some MPs return home with a half nose, a missing left ear and a double forehead.

None of the offending parties is sanctioned because brawling in parliament is seen as a democratic process, since some MPs are so stubborn that only a sidekick to the ribs can mellow them. Meanwhile, a free-for-all is good exercise for the MPs, some of whom have grown too fat due to over-feeding.

Fortunately, the parliament of Sikaman has a civil democratic culture and debates get fierce but punches are not unleashed. For comic relief however, MPs do some break dancing once in a while.

When ROPAB was passed into law, some MPs caused a stir by bursting into song and dance. Mr. Speaker was be wildered, but obviously pleased that his announcement of the passage of the bill had brought joy to the House.

Others were not happy, though. The bill and the debates had caused them enough distress. As for the passage, it was like cutting their throats. They groaned in their hearts. No punches, no karate. That is democracy in its maturing stage. It is tempered with reason and civility. One day, it will be their turn to laugh and dance.

Now, the MP who spoke on bad dressing did a good job by all standards and added value to his delivery by going highfalutin. He wanted a law to be enacted against bad dressing, because it was not good for society.

What constitutes bad dressing? That is a very difficult question. Judging what is good or bad as far as dressing is concerned will obviously depend on the setting or context.

For example, going virtually naked on a holiday beach is considered good dressing. But when a man and his wife storm a church room in their birth-time suits (naked) the pastor and his deacons will surely take cover. It means a sartorial revolution has precipitated and only the Holy Spirit can hold tempers at bay.

STYLISH

In the streets of Sikaman, a lady with a very short skirt is admired by some as trendy and stylish. Others would think she is indecent and a bad influence. But the question that arises ultimately is this: Don’t people have the right to wear what they want to wear, so long as the unseemly parts of their bodies are not laid bare?

Certainly, nobody will go totally naked in the streets, unless the person is either in-sane or is a Black Stars supporter painted in the national colours. Even then, he’d be in what is called ‘pioto,’ with his ‘instrument’ well-positioned. That is called proper dressing.

So in the streets, this kind of dressing will be considered good or bad depending on the setting and the extent of exposure of the private parts (breasts, thighs, lower back, buttocks, etc).

Personally, I feel the churches should be very scrupulous about the dressing of those who go in to worship. The ushers should be tasked with ushering away badly-dressed worshippers. Incidentally, they are the worshippers who like the front pews, and the pastor is so distracted he can’t preach any meaningful sermon.

However, a law on dressing is something I won’t advocate, for the simple reason that, first, there is no clear definition of what is bad dressing and second, society must be left to evolve its own dress culture so that fashion and creativity in fashion design will not be stifle Any law to regulate dressing will kill such creativity.

This article was first published on Saturday July, 2006