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
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.”
