Features
When war affects us
About two weeks ago I watched the harrowing tale of a 16-year-old Ukrainian on one of the international television channels. According to the teenager, two Russian soldiers chanced into their home. One of them was either drunk or high on some substance. The drunk wanted to have sex with her, though she was heavily pregnant. She was threatened with death, so the soldier had his way with her.
That, this young girl had the courage to appear on television to tell her story almost moved me to tears. She is a war-affected child for the rest of her life. Whatever justification Czar Putin has to invade Ukraine, there are clear international rules of engagement being violated by the men he sent into battle.
The situation in Ukraine, as being reported, brings to my mind the situation we faced in our sub-region three decades or so ago, especially in Liberia. In 1999 I was a participant at a conference on war-affected children at the Accra International Conference Centre, organised by the United Nations refugee agency (UNHCR), represented by Mr. Olara Otunu.
Deliberations at this conference centred on the effects of the Liberian situation on children who survived the war, but were traumatised by the things they witnessed and went through. How child-soldiers were victims themselves and what rehabilitation they needed. I had the opportunity to meet with Liberian politicians, including a one-time interim President, Dr. Amos Sawyer and Professor Togbah-NahTipoteh who stood for president on three occasions.
A friend who knew me as the Deputy Editor of The Accra Mail at the time asked that I interveiew a Liberian woman who had a rather bizarre tale to narrate. For the sake of this narrative, let me call her Ronda. By her side was a young lad whose voice sounded like just breaking out of puberty and she held a toddler by the hand. Let’s say he identified himself as Ted.
Speaking in the Americanised Liberian accent, Ronda said she was preparing a meal for her husband and son one afternoon in a remote part of Monrovia when rebel soldiers burst into their cottage demanding to search their abode for enemy soldiers. Her husband, on hearing the commotion, came out of the hut where he was taking a nap to ask what the matter was. For daring to ask, a slap from one of the rebels, numbering about a dozen, sent her husband sprawling on the ground.
The soldiers found nothing of value in the cottage, but they were not done yet. They beat up her husband and then called out to her teenage son, who was fanning the fire on which she was cooking and beckoned him over. She was ordered to strip naked, which she did out of fear, thinking they were going to gang-rape her. She was asked to lie down spread-eagled, which she did and the soldiers asked her husband to watch her own teenage son have sex with her.
Her son, Ted, could not but oblige while her husband wept like a child watching the unfolding scenario. After watching the act, the soldiers marched her husband out of the cottage, leaving her and Ted shivering from it all. A couple of 100 metres in the distance, they heard gunshots and she knew her husband was dead.
Ronda said it took them some time to get their wits about them. She and her son took a few clothes and fled into the bush, where they lived on raw cassava and its leaves, any edible fruits they knew and on riped palm fruits that were in abundance. She could not tell how long they were in the bush, but she realised later that she was pregnant, not for her late husband but for her son.
Somehow, according to her, intuition pushed her to follw the direction of the rising sun (East) and she was sure they might get to safety and help. They might have walked many days and slept wherever darkness fell and continued at sunup. Many days later, they crossed into the Ivory Coast and into a border town called Ganta where a family took them in till she gave birth to a baby girl, which was the toddler she was with.
As a journalist, I was minded not to put my emotions and sentiment into a story I was covering, but this was a chat I was having with a victim of war. While I was recording this narrative, I formed a mental picture of what was happening on that day. So, Ted’s daughter was his own sister and the little girl’s older brother was her father. How was Ronda dealing with that? Too many questions ran through my mind as I was listening.
She loved her two children to bits, she told me, because they were her only relatives left at the time. It was not Ted’s fault he sired his sister. Rather, it bonded them together, not in any sensual way, as a family. All she wanted was for her children to have education and for her to be there for them and support them. She was bitter at the loss of her husband, but there was nothing she could do about that.
Ronda was more composed narrating her ordeal than me listening to her. She was a comely young woman one could describe as an African beauty. In spite of her ordeal, she carried herself well. Later I got a Clinical Psychologist to attend to her for the duration of the conference. Ronda was a strong woman, according to the doctor. She wanted to go back to Liberia and put their lives back together. Fortunately, an NGO took her case up and got her back to her country, I was later informed.
When I was a UN Consultant to Liberia in 2005 and saw bullet marks on many buildings in the capital, Ronda and her children were on my mind for the period I stayed in the country. She might be lucky, but there were thousands whose trauma knew no bounds, whose future may have been ruined forever. I saw what happened in Rwanda.
Now it’s Ukraine. The whole country is being razed to the ground. Nothing is being spared by Czar Putin. This is like cleansing Ukraine from the map. Some snipets of information coming from Russia indicate that more than 90 per cent of Russians do not know what is happening next door except what is fed them by state media. And that the soldiers get to the war front before their commanders tell them their mission. It’s simple: orders from the Kremlin. No questions.
There will be children affected by Putin’s war on Ukraine plus more. Russia and Ukraine together produce more than half the world’s wheat demands and Russia alone supplies a huge chunk of Europe’s gas and oil. So, the war on Ukraine has a huge global dimension aside of the trauma the people of Ukraine are already dealing with.
Economies will take some time to heal but the emotional and psychological scars on the women and children of Ukraine will take far longer to heal. Not only that; returning Russian soldiers will, not be the same gain, if what we know about the aftermath of wars is anything to go by. Definitely the Rondas of Ukraine will have their tales to tell when the deal is done. This is very sad for a Twentieth Century world.
Writer’s email address:
akofa45@yahoo.com
THE state of feeling rejected, could be a terrifying experience especially for those who have become used to fame. If not properly addressed, it could lead to depression and the consequences, could be disastrous.
When you are on top of your game in whatever profession you find yourself such that you become famous, a lot of people try to associate with you. The phone never ceases to ring and one is tempted to feel loved and very important.
When a disaster strikes and the fame or the money which was the source of the attraction fades away, the circle of friends and fans begin to shrink and the phone will start to stop ringing until the call stops voting completely.
You will be shocked at how people you considered friends, will no longer be calling you or pay casual visits as they used to. You will begin to notice that messages you leave after calling them and not getting a response are not replied to and that is when you begin to know who your true friends are.
One of the most popular movie stars was an actress called Sharon Stone. In an interview with one of the media houses that was published, she spoke about how people who should have come around to encourage her in her moment of depression, shunned her. The calls stopped coming.
This is what the Bible admonishes that the arm of flesh will fail you and therefore we should put our trust in God. It could be a very frightening experience and can easily lead to depression.
Human nature being what it is, people will want to get close if things are okay. Everybody wants to associate themselves with interesting things, famous people, rich people etc for mainly selfish reasons.
We need to develop the habit of putting our trust in God and relying less on human beings. The lesson we have to take along in life is that, no one marries his or her enemy so how come people who took vows that they will love each other become so hostile to each other that they want to go their separate ways in life? Such is the reality of life.
It is therefore prudent for people to recognise that, life is full of uncertainties and so there is the need to prepare your mind for uncertainties so that when they occur, they do not disorganise your mental sanity.
A lot of people have experienced situations where people who they could have sworn will never betray their trust have disappointed them when they were through challenging moments.
If there is one thing famous people should desire, it should be the ability to identify who are true friends are. Countless stories abound regarding incidence of celebrities who have lost their shine and their wives divorcing them soon after.
It is sometimes useful as a famous or rich person to sign a prenuptial agreement before marriage to safeguard or protect yourself from any future unpleasant surprises.
People can be very pretentious these days, it goes both ways. There is this real life story where a man married a divorced wealthy woman and convinced her to sell her house so they could build a new one together, with the excuse that people are gossiping that he is being housed by a woman.
The woman agreed and they put up a new building. After a few years the man asked for a divorce, only for the woman to realise that the land on which the building was situated, was bought in the man’s name.
This can drive a person insane, if you are not mentally tough and this happens to you. When people hear that you are homeless, a lot of your so-called friends will stop calling, so that you do not become a burden on them.
By Laud Kissi-Mensah
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‘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. 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’.
We got back in the car at eleven forty-five.
‘So where are we going, Paul?’
‘To Royalty restaurant. It’s a twenty minute drive away’.
‘So, do you enjoy your job?’
‘Most certainly. I won’t change it, not even to be President. And am I right to say that you are preparing to enter the university?’
‘That’s my plan. I hope it works’.
‘It will, if you are determined, and disciplined. You look very much like a disciplined person’.
‘Thank you very much’.
We arrived at Royalty in twenty-five minutes, ‘You are joining me for lunch, Paul’.
‘Thanks for the honour, Sarah. But the bill is on me’.
‘Aren’t you taking on too much for one day?’
‘I never do anything that is bigger than me, Sarah’.
Over the next hour and a half, we discussed fashion, local and international politics, and sports, as we ate and relaxed. Finally, he drove me to the shop.
‘I will never forget you, Paul’.
‘I’m glad to have been helpful. But if you don’t mind, I’ll say it again, your husband is extremely lucky. You are really beautiful’.
‘Thanks again. But do you mind if I call you sometime in the future?’
‘Certainly not. Let me write it here. I will not ask for your number, for obvious reasons. But I will be looking forward to hearing from you. And hopefully, I will see you next month, when I call to drop your bill’.
‘Okay Paul. See you then’. What a lovely day, I said to myself as I opened the front door. I closed the shop and got home by seven. I went straight to the bedroom, stood in the mirror and took a good look at myself. ‘You are a very beautiful woman, Sarah. Never forget that’. I will not forget that, again.
Over the next several weeks, Martin and I had very little to do with each other. In the morning he ate his breakfast and after a shabby ‘I’m going’, he left. He came home around eight at the earliest, ate his dinner and, already soaked in beer, went off to sleep.
He spent the greater part of the weekends at the club house with his friends, playing tennis and partying. My mind was focused on furthering my education, so I didn’t complain to him, and didn’t bother to inform my parents about what was happening. I had decided that I would only take action if he lifted his hand against me again. I spent my free time reading all manner of interesting stuff on the internet, and chatting with my sister on WhatsApp.
One evening, he came home at about eight, rushed to the bedroom and rushed out. An envelope, obviously containing money, dropped out of his pocket, and I picked it up and followed him. I was going to call him and give it to him, but I noticed that there was a young woman in the car, so I went back in, counted it and put it in a drawer in the hall. He came back after some ten minutes.
‘Excuse me, I dropped an envelope containing money. You must have seen it’.
‘Yes, I saw it. Actually, I followed you, and was about to call you and hand it over to you when I realised that there was a woman in the car, so I came back in. I counted it. One thousand cedis.
‘Well let me have it. I have to be going’.
‘I will let you have it if you will tell me who the woman in the car is, and why you are going to give her that amount of money’.
‘Listen, if you waste my time, I will teach you a lesson you will never forget. Give me the money now!’
‘Here’s what we will do, Martin. I know you will give money to her anyway, so I will give it to you, if you will withdraw the threat you just issued. But I want you to know that I will be taking some steps from tomorrow. Things are getting out of hand’.
‘Okay, I’m sorry I threatened you. Can you please give me the money’. I handed it over to him, and he ran out’.
The following morning, I waited for him to finish having breakfast, and told him I wanted to have a word with him urgently.
‘You better be quick. You know I’m going to work’.
‘Well, I want to inform you that I will inform my parents, and your parents, about the situation in this house. As I said yesterday, things are getting out of hand. You spend most of your time drinking. You get drunk every evening, and through the weekend. And you are also spending your time and money on a prostitute’.
‘How dare you? One more stupid word from you …’
‘Am I lying, Martin? You have just started life, yet you are behaving like a rich, elderly man who has already seen his children through university, and can afford a life of fun. As I said, I’m going to inform our parents. Maybe your parents can straighten you out before it is too late’.
‘Look, we can talk this evening. It’s nothing like what you are saying’. He walked away, shocked.
That evening, I was expecting to have a meaningful discussion with him, but his mother called early in the evening to offer me some ‘advice’. Her son had called to say that certain developments at home were disturbing him so much that they were beginning to affect his work.
And, ‘as a loving mother to her daughter’, she was advising me to submit to my husband, and support him in prayer, and not ‘drive him from home’. Men would always be men, and she was telling me ‘from experience’ that no matter how much time Martin stayed away from home, he would always come home to me.
She had been a young wife before, so she understood the challenges I was facing. So I could be assured that if I followed her advice, all would be well. And, of course, she didn’t allow me to tell my side of the story.
Martin came home very late, and very drunk. And from the next morning, he carried on as before. With some hesitation, I called my dad and told him all that had gone on.
‘Well, my daughter. I’m not going to say “I told you so”. I was only trying to protect you. So here’s what we’ll do. Continue doing the best you can, and try not to give him any excuse to harm you, but if things continue to deteriorate, I will take you back.
A couple of days later, my cousin Dinah arrived in Accra from Brussels, having completed her medical course. With Martin’s agreement, I went to Koforidua and spent a couple of days. I spent most of the time chatting about her experiences in the US, but we also discussed my relationship with Martin, and she endorsed Dad’s decision to take action if Martin’s behaviour did not change after two weeks Elaine informed Mom and Dad. We endorsed Dad’s decision to take action if there was no change in two weeks.
Dinah returned with me to Takoradi. Her plan was to spend a couple of weeks, and return to Accra to be posted. I called Paul Allotey, and asked if he would meet her for lunch and, if possible, show her some interesting spots. Delighted, he suggested that we meet at Royalty the next day.
I told Martin about it, to remove any possibility of future disagreement over ‘going out with men’.
‘It’s fine with me’, he said, ‘if, of all the people who could show your sister round this town, you chose a borla man. Doesn’t that indicate the kind of person you are?’
‘ First of all, Martin’, I’ve spoken to him a few times, and he comes across as a decent guy, so I think it is rather unfortunate that you are writing him off when you don’t know him’.
By Ekow de Heer
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