Features
Witches and family revolutions

It is now quite fashionable to collapse your own business and blame witches. You only have to sharpen a cutlass and chase your grandmother out of the house and everyone blames her for the financial virus that has infected you.
It is not quite certain, however, whether Satan should be held responsible for every misdeed of man. A pastor rapes an eight-year old girl and quickly blames Satan to save his neck, knowing that Mr Lucifer would not be around to defend himself.
A man deliberately takes four powerful quarters of local gin and goes directly to his mother-in-law to slap her on the eye. At the Sanhedrin, he blames Satan. “The devil made me do it, he’d grin like an idiot.
I think one of these days, Satan would have to appear on the scene in person with a horrifying face and declare: “As for this one, I don’t know anything about it. I am tired of being blamed for every bad thing. Henceforth, I’ll appear to defend myself. If possible I’ll bring along a demon who has a Master’s degree in Law, to act as my defence lawyer.”
We all know that the devil is not a straight-forward individual. At best he is as crooked as a snake suffering from diarrhoea. According to the Bible he was someone of noble birth until he misinterpreted, misquoted and misrepresented the heavenly motto “ORDER IS THE FIRST LAW IN HEAVEN”.
The devil in fact changed it to mean “CONFUSION IS THE FIRST LAW IN HEAVEN”. This was tantamount to staging a coup d’etat.
Although the devil pleaded not guilty, the trial was swift. There was no ‘I put it to you’ business, and a ready conviction saw the descent of the evil one from heaven to earth. Since then, he was supposed to be the cause of every bad thing on earth.
If there is a lorry accident as a result of wrongful overtaking, he is blamed for it. When a man is jilted by his girlfriend, the devil made her do it.
A man suffers from constipation and the devil is surely responsible for it. The devil must have put a “road block” in his rectum and cemented it.
I guess the day Jimmy Satan would be brought physically to a court or tribunal, the charges against him will be uncountable.
He knows it, so he won’t dare appear in the dock to listen to constipation charges. Even if he’d enjoy free legal aid, he won’t.
But let’s come down to this devil-blaming matter. Satan is surely destructive and red-eyed demons can cause havoc of unimaginable proportions.
However, is it reasonable for a man to blame the devil for his own carelessness or senselessness as in the case of a reckless driver getting maimed in an accident?
The reason why most people do not progress in life is that they are quick to blame their failures on others. A man who mismanages his business and the enterprise collapses on his head has no justification going to blame his grandmother for it. Not when he spent half the capital on women, and the profits on booze and takeaways.
As it were, some of our beliefs and superstitions are not helping us. When a typical Caucasian’s business is collapsing, he takes pen and paper and honestly lists the possible causes of his failing endeavours. If he can’t do it himself, he hires the services of a consultant. The business is, therefore, examined in all its forms through crevice, from all facets an angles.
It has nothing to do with witches flying at night, and at the end of it, the business rises up again. This is because the businessman has done some introspection and has got to know that he may have been misapplying his capital on a lousy woman. So he’s got to choose between saving his business or keeping the woman. The choice is entirely his and his grandmother has nothing to do with it.
A superstitious African would look at it differently. First, he doesn’t want to blame himself for his failings. Second, he has been indoctrinated to Revolutions doctrinated to believe that witches and demons can make and unmake.
Third, that old relatives are friendly in person but dangerous in spirit especially at night. And four, that there is a common witch behind the fall of every business, behind every incidence of poverty and behind every daily constipation.
So when he is not managing his business properly and is losing money, he begins imagining things. Instead of sitting down and calculating how much he has been milked by the waist-swinging lady in his extra-marital life, he’d start frowning at the old lady at home.
When she greets him, he’d growl, “Leave me alone, you witch! At night you won’t sleep. You’ll be flying from North to South. You’ll see!”
This is a prelude to the sharpening of cutlasses to launch a family revolution.
The papers report it every day. Young men are butchering their mothers, grandmothers, mothers-in-law, sisters-in-law for their poverty, their illnesses, whatever.
Witches can cause some of these things, but it would be fallacious to assume that they are responsible for all our woes when in eight out of 10 cases we should be blaming ourselves.
In any case, if you believe a witch is making you poor, why not go to Jesus instead of butchering your old lady? The battle against the devil is not a physical one.
It is not a heavyweight contest or a kenkey-weight brawl. Neither is it a cutlass palaver. It has to do with prayer and nothing else. So go to Jesus The Christ.
If you are a Muslim go to Allah. And surely go to Budha if you are a Buddhist. Whatever it is, stop butchering the old ladies!
This article was published
on Saturday, October 19, 1996
Merari Alomele’s
Features
The wonders of love…

A haircut I had about a week ago didn’t go down well with many. Someone quite close to my heart saw it, examined it critically and felt dizzy.
“What’s this?” she proceeded to ask me.
“An international hairdo,” I replied.
She was disgusted, in fact disappointed. The problem with the haircut is that the style is neither Punk, Tokyo Joe nor Show Your Back. If anything, it is a combination of all—and I liked it, for a change.
It was when I bounded downtown that someone called me and enquired whether I was no longer a journalist. He said I looked like a well-fed Warrant Officer.
“Class One or Class Two?” I asked.
Another studied my head as if he was studying physical geography and pronounced that I looked like a boxer who can throw dangerous punches. Still, someone was of the opinion that the haircut didn’t quite fit me, but admitted that I looked like a prosperous merchant.
Commendation
I remember some three months ago, I had a haircut that made two girls fall in love with me. In spite of the fact that the barber was not a graduate, the cut was such that they couldn’t help admiring it. One of them actually ‘checked out’ the style and commended the barber.
The other was more bent on the ‘love matter’ but I was too busy to give her any attention. LOVE!
I was reminded of this when I viewed a premier showing of the latest Sikaman film titled THE POWER OF LOVE. The film kept me thinking. Some of us have long forgotten about what it is like to be head-over-heels in love. When we were students, we had such experiences because there was nothing doing anyway.
We were either learning how stylishly to smoke ‘jot’ or how romantically to fall in love. Anyhow, I was intrigued by this latest movie because of the way love unlimited was portrayed on screen. It took my memory back many years to relive those youthful days when we felt we’d really die if jilted by our lovers.
The storyline of THE POWER OF LOVE is really an exciting one. The combination of love, treachery and intrigue made me feast my eyes intently on the screen, unbelieving the extent the force of love can reach.
Ama and Afua are good friends. But when it comes to matters of the heart, they have different tastes; Ama is content with only her boyfriend (a student) and Afua samples the bigwigs around town. Afua, not satisfied with the shots in town, wants Ama’s boyfriend Joe in addition. She lies to Joe that Ama has often been picked by a man on four-wheels, whereupon Joe dismisses Ama and takes on Afua.
Ama doesn’t realise that it is her best friend Afua who is destroying her relationship with Joe until she catches her having sex with him. She collapses and goes out of her mind from the broken heart. But before then, she had been made pregnant by Joe.
Having escaped from a psychiatric hospital, she roams town murmuring Joe’s name. Heavily pregnant now, she espies Joe boarding a mini bus and runs towards him. Joe, seeing her approaching, quickly disembarks and takes off.
Ama pursues him furiously, and he runs to his home where he finds his bosom friend Frank making love to Afua. He immediately realises the treachery of Afua who instigated him to leave Ama.
He intends leaving the home in disgust and meets mad Ama at the door and embraces her despite her madness. Instantly, she regains her sanity.
Love indeed heals the wounds of the mind and it is the greatest positive force in the world. Incidentally, the greatest negative force is hatred.
Greatest force
Now coming to talk about love, I reiterate it is the greatest force imaginable. That is why a man will butcher his rival to death if he catches him climbing his wife without asking permission; and a woman will go mad if jilted.
It is also for this reason that a young boy who is scared stiff of cemeteries and under normal circumstances would not dare go near one, will this time walk boldly through a cemetery at midnight if that is the only way to his lover’s abode.
The Bible describes love for our neighbours as the surest way to heaven: Love thy neighbour as thyself.
Unfortunately, what Ghanaians are more interested and skilful in is loving the opposite sex. Romance under the cover of darkness is what we understand love to be all about. When it comes to loving our fellow human beings, we are found wanting.
People hate others just because they are of another tribe and do not speak the same native language. Too much grudge-bearing that does not augur well for national development.
War in Liberia, carnage in Rwanda are the results of the absence of love for one’s fellow being. If everybody could express a little bit of love for his fellow being irrespective of tribe, race, politics or religion, Sikaman—and indeed, the world—will be a more habitable place.
This article was first published on Saturday, October 29, 1994
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Features
Monsieur’s daughter – (Part 7)
“Sir,” Ms. Odame said when David Asante answered the call, “my name is Victoria Odame. I’m a teacher at Research School in Koforidua. I would like to come and see you concerning a student called Sarah.”
“Okay, madam. I would be very glad to meet you. How can I make your trip easier?”
“I was going to join a bus to Accra.”
“Here’s what we will do. Take a taxi and ask them to bring you to Accra. I will speak to the driver, give him the directions, and pay him when you get here.”
The taxi stopped in front of the house. The gate opened, and the driver moved to the long driveway and stopped.
“What a beautiful house,” he said.
David and Adoma came out to meet them. Adoma paid the driver as David and Sarah stared at each other.
“Please come in and sit down,” Adoma invited. She served them water.
“You are welcome,” Adoma continued. “We have been waiting anxiously since you called this morning. So please, let’s hear you.”
Before she could open her mouth, Sarah rose, moved to David, hugged him, and sat on his lap. They both broke into tears. Adoma and Ms. Odame also broke into tears.
“Sorry, madam,” David said. “This whole episode has been a very difficult one. But let’s do the proper thing. Let’s hear you first, and I will also speak. I’m sure we need to answer some questions immediately.”
“Okay, sir. I have been taking an interest in Sarah because, although she’s brilliant academically, she seemed to be troubled. Following my discussions with her and some whispers I had been hearing, I went to Aboso Senior High School and spoke to your former colleague, Mr. Hanson. He told me that you were an exemplary teacher who was loved by all, and he also told me about the unfortunate events that caused you to leave for Germany. So I returned to Koforidua with the view to finding the appropriate means of helping to solve this problem.”
“Great. Ms. Odame, I have to thank you for finally helping us to solve this problem. Now, let me state the facts. This is what happened.
“Gladys and I met and got married whilst we were both teachers in the school. Some months into our marriage, she told me that she needed to spend some days with her parents, and I agreed.
“It turned out that she was actually spending time in a hotel with her ex-boyfriend, Simon. This happened again after Sarah was born. I got wind of this and told her that I was no longer interested in the marriage.
“I started preparing to travel to Germany. She pleaded for forgiveness, but I stood my ground. Then she told me that she would punish me for rejecting her.
“She came out later to say that Sarah was not my child, but Simon’s. She went and hid her somewhere, obviously expecting that I would fight to take my child. I was actually going to do that, but my parents advised me that it was almost impossible to win such a fight.
“They advised that, difficult as it sounded, I should leave the child with her because she would come back to me eventually. I have absolutely no problem taking care of you, Sarah. I am taking care of quite a number of kids who are not mine. So that is what happened. My hands were tied. I have been trying to find out how you are doing.
“I kept hearing that you were doing well at school. I also heard that Gladys and her husband were having problems, but I kept hoping that my daughter would at least be okay till it was possible for me to go for her.”
“Sarah, now you have met your dad. You will be free to—”
“I’m not going anywhere!” she declared as she held on to him.
“You don’t have to worry about that, Sarah,” Adoma said. “We have been looking forward to the day you come home. This is your home. Now, you have to meet your siblings.” She called Abrefi and Adaawa.
“Girls, we told you that you have a sister who would join us anytime. Now here she is.”
“Sarah?” Abrefi asked.
“Yes,” Adoma replied. The girls hugged her and took her away.
“Now,” David said, “I think it is time to call Madam Gladys.” He dialed the number.
“My name is David Asante. I’m here in my house with my daughter Sarah. I hear you have told her all sorts of crazy stories about me. I could make life very difficult for you, but I won’t.
“You are your own worst enemy. I don’t think you should be expecting her anytime soon. What do you say?”
Gladys stayed silent for over a minute, then cut the line.
“Food is ready,” Adoma announced. “Everybody, please come to the table.”
Sarah chatted excitedly with her siblings as Adoma and David spoke with Ms. Odame. She kept staring at her father.
“Now, Ms. Odame, after you have brought such joy into our home, should we allow you to go back to Koforidua today, or should we wait till we are ready to release you? I could call your husband and ask permission.
“And please don’t tell me you didn’t bring anything for an overnight stay. There are several supermarkets around here. We can fix that problem quickly.”
“I will beg you to release me. Now that I have been so warmly welcomed here, I already feel part of this home. Koforidua is not that far away, so I will visit often.”
“Well, let’s see what the kids have to say. Ladies, shall I release Ms. Odame to go back to Koforidua?”
“No!” they shouted, and all broke into laughter.
“Ms. Odame, I will have mercy on you. But we are going to do something to make it easy for you to visit us. My wife wants to show you something. Please follow her.”
Adoma led her to the driveway as the others followed. They stopped in front of the car.
“This is a Toyota Corolla 1600. It is very reliable and good on petrol consumption. We are giving this to you in appreciation of your help in getting our daughter back to us.
“And here in this envelope is a little contribution to help you with maintenance. And here in this other envelope is a gift to help with your children’s school fees.”
As she stood, stunned, and stared from the car to the envelopes, David put his hand around his family.
“Let’s leave her to take a look at her car. Ms. Odame, one of my drivers will drive you to Koforidua and leave your car with you. We are waiting inside.”
By Ekow de Heer
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