Just Griping

I am guilty of loafing about on Facebook at the expense of my employer sometimes. At such times all I want to do is find out what I may have missed, what’s going on out there that needs knowing. Like perhaps who said something silly on radio; since I don’t do much listening myself or who died; since obituaries are fast gaining space on Facebook (I hope newspaper publishers and TV stations are taking note given the experience of email takeovers of much of the earnings of the likes of Ghana Post) and then I acknowledge messages and maybe write something silly or totally irrelevant myself; like this post.

  

The LIKE button comes in handy at such times. You know what I mean, “interesting but can’t stop to say anything” so.... “LIKE” or just plain “don’t know what to say” so ....”LIKE” and sometimes, “there’s really nothing to this but here’s a chance to holla at you” so..... “LIKE”. Indeed many other times all the reaction needed towards something is either an acknowledgement or an indication that one associates or does not associate with it.

The Poke buttons, well, I go easy on those ones simply because I experience a slight guilt trip anytime I imagine the pain I could be inflicting on people I call my friends. However, they make a pretty useful “what’s up?” or “hola there” sort of thing. Facebook language is something I am still getting used to. LMAO for example; what on earth is that? It took me a while to understand Lol and I am still not sure whether it means “Laugh out Loud” as someone told me or “Lots of Love” as another told me or both at will. I guess I will have to return to the subject of facebook-speak some other day.

Back to the LIKE button which is the subject of my grumbling; clearly I very much appreciate its presence. It’s just that I want, need more.  
To begin with, the LIKE button could represent different reactions for me as already observed. But it’s ambiguity does not disturb me – actually that works for me. It’s the fact that it has no alternative. While “share” and “comment” are relatively neutral by way of being non-committal or providing the platform for one to take a particular stance, “LIKE” is not. LIKE positively and undeniably demands a “positive” stance.  

Why my distress? I am an obstinate straight forward, no sudden turns, as is where is sort of person. In practice that means when I say “No” I positively mean negative. When I say “Yes” it means affirmative. When it’s a canoe, it most definitely won’t turn into a ship. It follows then that when I “Like” something, it pleases me and when I “Dislike” something, it displeases me.

So obviously I have a challenge on my Facebook “passing-throughs”. There is no dislike button on Facebook that I know. When I positively dislike something I have to do the next best thing which is remain silent. Perhaps a universal sensitivity to general human sensibility suggests that remaining silent may be a sensible thing to do, but I feel different. I prefer to let it be known when I positively do not like something; otherwise how else would it be known?

For example, a few days after I accepted his “friendship”, a childhood friend published a sexist poster and tagged me to it; I shunted him immediately (“de-friend” in facebook speak). Silence was not enough for my dislike of the material that time. Okay that may have been a bit on the extreme, but that’s exactly what I mean. There was no quick dislike button to put the message across! 

I posted a story some while ago on the brutal treatment of women in some parts of our world. I “liked” the story (i.e. appreciated the report) even though I found its message disgusting and the plight of the women unjust. Sharing that story on Facebook was my way of spreading the unjust situation that confronted many women and also hopefully marshalling condemnation of the situation. However I agonized a bit as I shared the story because the only way people would associate with the very same feelings I had about it was to “LIKE” it.

This Facebook experience with the “LIKE” button is just an illustration of our general tendencies towards feedback. Oftentimes feedback is labelled as positive or negative. Positive when it is pleasant, negative when it is unpleasant. And since “negative” feedback is also labelled “criticism”, we would rather not; and now I am deprived of a Dislike button. 

I think that feedback of “negative” sentiment is as important as feedback of a positive feeling. For eg, when I dress up and ask for an opinion, I want to hear that I look fabulous, sexy or dreadful if that’s what the true sentiment is. Not “oh you are okay”. What’s that? “Okay”. By the way I have determined from the general usage of “okay” that it means, “Not good enough” so next time you are tempted to say something is “okay”, please just say. “it’s not good enough”. Someone will get the chance to improve something.

As far as I am concerned feedback is always positive even when the content is not pleasant or the manner in which it is dished out is problematic because it is supposed to be the reflection of the true nature of one’s view on any particular matter.  That feedback then should be clear and unambiguous to be useful to whomever is receiving it.

So now where is that “sucks” button?

The Reality in Reality Shows

Reality shows have been around for a while now. Essentially a bunch of people “act out” “real” situations in real time. I think it goes like this; a situation is created that becomes the reality of participants in a show. The participants respond to the situation as they would “normally”  and their actions in response to the situation is the show.

Right, that was only an attempt to appreciate the expression better for myself. I find the concept of reality shows a tad elusive being a little slow upstairs. First off, the reality thing- is it about real life, or that there’s no script or no staging or that the audience is watching the show live? The “show” is pretty straight forward. It’s on TV so it’s a show.  It is when the “reality” joins the “show” that I get conflicted but I guess that’s the way to get a good sense of what reality shows “really” are?

Now while the show goes on, the rest of us are emotionally drawn into the journey of participants as they scheme, writhe and wriggle in the slippery labyrinth of the human dynamics that evolves from the common interest that also divides them.

The nature of reality shows tends to demand high expectations of entertainment and intrigue for target audiences who need to remain engaged and to participate in the show. So be they money making ventures that come with a prize tag; a project in corporate social responsibility or a need to project a celebrity’s fortunes, the innuendos set forth by designers of the show are always adequately matched by the craftiness of participants, depending on what is at stake.

Many of the shows hold true to the intrigues and entertainment. Big Brother Africa has quickly become noted for conniving alliances, manipulations, sex bargains and trading, plain old gossip, back stabbing... all the headline issues that will arise if a $100k were to be up for grabs anywhere. BBA belongs to the purely money making venture shows which are built around the capacity to survive human travails and make no excuses for niceties. 

For celebrity shows like The Salt n Pepa Show, which I totally love there is no price tag except viewer showings and ratings. Clearly celebrities want to endear themselves to their fans and seek to show themselves as real people; not the crack pots they pretend to be. I don’t feel their reality hitting me in the shows but hey I don’t live the life of a celebrity!

Then there are the talent search types where there’s quite a variety; Vodafon Icon, Project Fame, Talented Kids and so on and so frigin forth. Their real message is probably “Gh’s not got Talent”. Compare for example the American Idol, Nigerian idol and Gh Idols.

One of them which seems to have defied the “reality” in reality shows and still managed to take it to even greater heights hit our screens a couple of years back. The Pulpit it is called. True to its name, it’s all to do with what happens at the pulpit except that the show’s target participants are 12 to 16 yr olds who in real life are hardly in the pulpit business. I wonder why the many novice pastors are not the targets of the show. The organizers are however following the catch phrase “catch ‘em young”. In their own words; the show is [designed to groom and prepare young aspiring preachers and prospective teachers of the gospel, giving them the platform to build confidence and also unearth their God given talents.
Proverbs 22:6 says it all “Train up a child in the way he should go and when he is old, he will not depart from it’’. The pulpit is made up of teenagers within the ages of 12 to 16 to mount the pulpit to showcase their charisma and preach the word of God.]

2011 contestants of the Pulpit Show

In my layman’s language that translates to; “train up a child how to put up an act and he will cling to it with his/ her dear life”.

In the show, well rehearsed contestants have mastered “the art of preaching”; they regurgitate bible verses back and forth and best of all play out all the verbal and physical spirit- filled expressions. “Did I hear somebody say amen?...Somebody Shout...Ha...llelu...Lift up your hands and say amen...Give the Lord a clap offering......(the audience provides all the appropriate responses)

In the meantime, the wannabe pastors (actually wannabe winners of some prizes) pace from one end of the podium to another, bang the pulpit, stop and suddenly point their fingers towards the audience like Oral Robert’s “something good is going to happen to you!” ... all that is in the works. The “actors” are great mimics of their seasoned role model bishops and chief priests.  

The reality that seems to be eluding many commentators on this matter is simply this; yes the era of “a calling”, whatever that meant, is so so passé.  Preaching is a deliberate choice people make, not the “Eli Eli...here am I” type of conversation with the unseen voice. The Pulpit simply brings that reality home.

A story was told me once by a priest who had to endure a group of people who figured that a spot behind his apartment was a good place to learn to speak in “tongues” at night.

Sheribaba sheribaba baba baba baba. Now that is what I call a reality show!

 akuyaafriyie@gmail.com

In the Silence of our Hearts

Most events or occasions in Ghana begin with a prayer of sorts. A marriage, family meetings and gatherings, parties, journeys. Most often than not, the event would be somewhat underway (greetings and pleasantries done or on-going; water and drinks served; finger foods being passed around ...) so the prayer really marks the beginning of formalities.

When important guests are present or a critical mass is achieved, there’s the usual “May I have your attention please. Shall we begin with a prayer”? Alternatively, “shall we be upstanding”; this usually means we are about to pray. In traditional settings the call to prayer would be somewhat different-quieter and more sombre but still very much the same rite.

At the start of the event a god will be invoked through other beings, things or demigods and requests for good fortune and thanksgivings will be poured out. At the end it will be a prayer for “travelling mercies” and more thanksgivings.

In any of these situations, guests would respectfully comply with the rituals of the host, whatever they may be. For example, I was at the launch of a clothing line some years back. It was a cocktail which begun only after guests had spent an hour walking "aimlessly" about the shop. I guess that must have been the idea. When the guests were finally rounded up for an opening prayer, we were treated to a 20 minute long prayer by the host’s “prayer consultant”. Guests who couldn’t help but be “upstanding” kept raising their heads at each pause after the first 5 minutes of the prayer thinking it would be over. I contented myself with keeping a keen eye on my purse and watching out for any underhand dealings that might occur about the praying mob. An attempt by a seeming crazy woman to tear off my necklace during prayer time at a funeral sometime in history is still fresh in my mind. Besides the woman leading the prayers had some rather interesting body movements as she prayed.  

That said, what happens when the turf is neutral? Like say a state function, business meeting, and meetings of various associations or training programs? Well, at state functions we get to do Christian, Islamic and traditional prayers generally, and when the president so graciously decides to shorten the praying segment, we just do the Christian. By the way, yes the state is colourless when it comes to religion. It is neither Christian, Islamic, Baha’i nor Aladura. We are just a god-fearing bunch, even though if you asked me, I would say I have my doubts. The rest of the time, i.e. business meetings and the like, mostly the time factor is of essence so the Christian prayer suffices and everyone else is deemed to be covered.

I was rather taken aback therefore when the president’s wish to shorten rather lengthy prayer sessions (and that’s what I think he was trying to do) which are really a repetition of the same requests and thanksgivings to the same god except in different languages and with different antics, earned him some backlash. Prominent voices including those from the clergy suggested his Christianity smelled fundamentalist. Many called especially for the recognition and re-instatement of traditional prayers during state functions. Some well-known figure even threatened the wrath of the gods who he was certain were displeased with their abandonment. Incidentally, there are indeed numerous traditional gods and debates about which one is most powerful than the other can end in fisticuffs. There are personal gods, ethnic and family gods;  all reaching to One Omnipotent God. The earth and sky gods are somewhere inbetween and likely to be common to all the ethnic groups. 

So it was that on a trip with work colleagues not long ago we started our journey with a prayer. All souls were dedicated; vehicle was firmly placed in His hands including the driving. We arrived at our destination safely. Before the return journey begun, the same prayer warrior who did the honours earlier was about to do the rededications when another colleague raised objection. This colleague brought to attention the fact that a Christian prayer was said at the beginning of our journey coming in and it was only fair and right that we say a Muslim prayer on the return journey. True it had been a Christian prayer- the requests to God were made through Jesus Christ and included no other rituals except the sign of the cross on a few foreheads. The group quickly agreed with the protester, feeling very much ashamed for failing to recognize the group’s diversity earlier. That was a group of about 5 to 1 of only two of the God fearing factions.

The conversations in all of these typical scenarios, makes no mention of the non god fearing or non believers. Neither are non Christians and non Muslims mentioned. First it is assumed that everyone believes in God; second, it is assumed that all those who believe in God or a god want to say a prayer together whenever there is a gathering and third everyone is Christian, Muslim or traditionalist.

Whatever the assumptions, I am all for short prayers during state events, if we must pray (particularly after my cocktail prayer experience) and doing away with the “and me too, and me too” business. That's simply because very soon we won’t be able to deal with the few more “believers” sects (other than the 3 we know so well) who will be chanting “how about us” when they find their voices.   

So then suppose shorter prayers was a national objective and we stuck by our all inclusiveness mantra, we could still deploy the tried and tested “elimination by elimination" strategy and let the traditional prayer hold sway. Remember tradition embraces us all and therefore  binds us together. Also it is generally agreed that the traditional prayer  does ultimately end with “God” and its rituals represent our Ghanaian-ness whichever corner of the funny sack- shaped country we come from.

Suppose however that we went by the non-exclusion clause; we would be looking at 2 to 3 hour opening and closing prayers at functions. This will likely be a challenge for many a stout god fearing senior citizen on the dais. In any case our idea of non-exclusion as earlier mentioned does not take cognisance of the “no-religion-no-praying practitioner” groups.

I ...... am ......thinking, a minute's silence, in which all and sundry call on Whomever, Whatever, No One, in the silence of their hearts.

akuyaafriyie@gmail.com

“Oh Taste and See”

A sweet woman I know who owns a shop once tried to get me to buy the sachet water she was selling. Toffee-nosed as I am I had asked for a small bottle of water but she had none in stock. Pointing to one of the variety of sachet water brands she had, she said; “fa wei. Eye de papa”. What she meant by this terrible transcription of the Twi language was this; “take this one. It’s very sweet”, alternatively “it tastes good”. That particular brand of water was very nice according to her and she carried on telling me just how sweet and different it was from the others. Just like comparing Fufu from bush canteen and Fufu from some other eating place.

The whole concept of “sweet” or good tasting water was, well a teeny weensy bit bizarre in my view but I hastily overlooked the comment as a marketing ploy and rather than get into a debate with her about what my primary school teacher taught me, I declared I was not thirsty anymore.

When my teacher said that water is colourless (transparent), tasteless and has no smell I felt no need to verify that teaching because at the time, there was no need. It simply had no taste and that was precisely the reason why I did not like to take my medication with water and pleaded for “caca cola” instead! But it may be better not to take the characteristics of water for granted. Turns out there is some logic to water being labelled “pure water” on the streets and the invitation to treat says it all.

akuyaafriyie@gmail.com

Flaunt it if you’ve got it

The first chimes of the Methodist Church bells in the big commercial town in which Grandma lived was only her cue to get her bath ready on Sundays. Her headgear always consisted of 3 scarves. The first tied up her hair so the hair would stay in place; the second provided the foundation for whatever style was on for the day; and the third... well that was a sight only to be held at first hand. Naturally, we were always late to church. The priest and singing bands would have settled down after the procession and first praises segment. Even Christ’s Little Band would have quietened down by the time we reached the church.

Grandma was held in high esteem in the church and had a seat reserved right in the front row of pews. As a rule, we always entered through the wide back entrance properly positioned in the centre. Turns out the distances from the side entrances, 2 on either side in front and 2 on either side mid section of the church were too close to her seat. All eyes turned back to behold us as we entered each Sunday. The priest paused and there was silence; except the ko.........ko..........ko.........ko of granny’s stilettos and the kum, kum, kum of my “guarantee” shoes otherwise known as block heels.

Grandma was always compelled to restrain me from frolicking off un-majestically to my seat with a grip on my hand. This particular activity made her cross because apart from showing that I had retained none of her painstakingly delivered lessons in royal sauntering, my behaviour often threatened to destroy her well composed demeanour. Nose in air, head upright, shoulders straight, tummy tucked in and a look of slight disdain about her as she floated to her place. When we finally reached our seats and after Grandma had taken the pains to wipe off any imaginary dust particles left by the cleaner’s rather “unclean” rag, we settled in for the sermon (30 minutes gone) and all went back to normal. Not quite really; the buzz usually continued and it was clear grandma’s presence was a distraction more suited for a high society event.   

Grandma was a show off, no doubt about it, and why not? She felt she had “arrived”; the only one among her peers married to an educated man and an educationist for that matter, a successful trader herself, and 2 daughters all of whom had gone through university even though she never saw the four corners of a classroom herself; she had more than “arrived”. The church ritual was only one of the many ways she got the message across.

[To “arrive” is to attain a level of achievement

determined by one’s own sense of self actualization.

 It is known to induce mindboggling antics of various proportions]

Grandma’s credentials may have matched her times but would most certainly not stand up to any sort of “arrival” in our day. The stakes are increasingly upped. For example it is no more enough to have a degree; the basic is a second degree or better still MBA. A car is normal; a 4/4 is average unless it’s a Touareg or something in that range.

The great thing is, this sense of self actualization is a very personal experience (albeit to be manifest for the public good) so different levels are permitted.  So then, what reaaly catches my fancy is not so much what is being celebrated but how the what is celebrated.

Say, celebrating adolescent years with the tallest “Punk” or “Grace Jones” haircut. Dude you are gee! Or, announcing after school status or the acquisition of a “new” weather beaten car by revving and screeching around your neighbourhood or other public places. Charlie you are more o!

The working classes i.e. adult, business leaders, career types have a much wider range of attention-grabbers. Fidgeting with the “latest” models of mobile phones while discussing its features or giving up human interaction for conversations between computer tablets in public places. Electronically locking, unlocking, and locking their cars at least 5 times after walking a few paces away from the car and having loud conversations over the phone about meeting up at the latest hangout. Other times taking root in front of the plebeians for the most part of a live stage performance as they record the act with iPads, camcorders, what have you. Eii you fit flex!  

There is also the intriguing trend of personalized car numbers. These are truly brow-raising given the diversity in the types and conditions of vehicles they label. I mean, whereas they look quite in their place (notwithstanding ridiculous labels like FRESH PRINCE 1) on snazzy BMs and Touregs etc., I have wondered what kind of “arrival” occasions their presence on vehicles that my old Honda would outshine with ease.  Anyway, that gives way to labels like AKUYA 1 so I am not complaining!   My good friend will say "I fit die!"

But none of these contemporary show offs had managed in my view to beat Grandma’s more sophisticated performances until recently. I sat lazing in the bistro of a well-known hotel, enjoying the ambience and occasionally eavesdropping on some really interesting conversations (actually I could not help hearing them with a little straining of my ears), smiling smugly to myself and beginning to feel a gradual sense of my own “arrival” coming over me. A sudden change in the general calmness around me turned my attention to some activity of much interest.

The smell of his cigar preceded him, followed closely by the smoke, then the guffaws. After a little while, the tips of his shinny, heavy, ankle length boots. He stopped at the top of the stairs presumably to survey the terrain of his intended physical assault. From where I was sitting I could not see his face yet but I could almost swear I heard the music... you know like in cowboy movies ... Tanana tana nana-a-a. Then the shadow slowly reveals the man from the feet up. Cigar in the right and a snigger around the left end of his mouth, he let out a few puffs and thumped down the stairs, each step sending some shock waves through the hall.

He had on a wide cowboy hat, a T-shirt, khaki shorts almost down to his ankles and white socks. As he swung through the glass doors into the open air area, I noticed he had what I later found out to be his name embroidered on the pockets of his khaki shorts, “YAWO”. Now, that’s admirable personal branding at what 50 plus? Something that could be useful for Ghana’s branding intentions at 55 I should think.  

Anyway, to cut a longish story short, all eyes were on the new guest. All else stopped. My cappuccino was late. The buzzzzz was on.

I must say Grandma had style! But this was a show stopper granny would have approved

akuyaafriyie@gmail.com

Animal Farm

When my son returned from school a few years back agonizing about the lack of a Head of Family in our home and suggested I had some explaining to do, I was understandably quite peeved. Off course I knew the origins of that comment. We or I had given up our “head” a couple of years back. Now to "lose one’s head" has dire consequences so I did not take the matter lightly. I set about to find out what other information had been provided that would allow me to launch a fitting attack on the female traitor of a tutor!

His teacher had laid out quite clearly that a man is the head of the family...um because the Bible said so and because traditionally it is understood so. I have no qualms with that so long as the head as expected made room for the brains and other necessaries usually to be found in it, and doubly too otherwise what would be the difference between my head and the other. There was no talk about what the head’s job was, nor was there any talk about where the tail was to be found and what its role could be in the family. That was left to observations at home and since there was no “head” to be found at home in this case, a practical challenge arose. And thus was the basis of my son’s anguish.

Personally I thought (still do), head, tail or middle section the family is made up of humans who may be males, females, hermaphrodites or whatever else science has classified. They all do their bit albeit within the constraints of biology and society’s expectations to get the family going. I know there are some tinkerings a-going in the biology department but the primary differentiation is still intact. All Ps belong in one group and all Vs belong in the other.

My son was too young for that conversation anyhow so rather, I pointed out to him that the way I saw it, there were actually two heads in our home, his and mine. I also provided a rather sophisticated figurative explanation of what the head was supposed to represent. Since I was firmly in that seat, I also felt justified to take on the title, in this instance quite necessary. So mommy is the head of our family.

I think it went down well at the time because he nodded in a wise way. Subsequently I took further steps to remove my son from the grips of the school in which his still developing sense of self and belonging was seriously threatened. 

My mind went back to this experience recently as the International Women’s Day (IWD) was celebrated and the usual and necessary calls for women empowerment were again ringing loud. This time there were also reviews of how far we had come; many more girls are in school, there are women of worth holding top positions in society etc. etc. etc., which means there has been some progress in the strive for male female equality. I agree.

Affirmative Action has contributed to this progress with the push for girl child education, non-abuse of women, quota in political office, interstate law and so on and so forth. Many examples exist to attest to improving circumstances of women. The “what a man can do a woman can do better” chant which belonged to the Beijing/ Equality campaigns also did its bit. Frankly I never was comfortable with that chant. I think it is absurd; why would I want to piss over the toilet bowl let alone perfect that act? Okay that was a joke (in all seriousness). Off course women are as intelligent and as devious as men, if not more, but some people have taken that chant to mean, “if a man can have multiple partners, so can I sort of thing. That may be consistent with the general chant of equality and capability, but no doubt un-empowering I should think.  

The continued calls for “more to be done” however point to the continuing imbalance in gender relations in our society. More education, top jobs, widened career options etc have not changed much the sense of self worth or the place of the woman in the family. The family incidentally is accepted as the core of society so it’s a big deal. Thus the seeming need for women to have to prove themselves to be at par with men continues. And it’s all largely the fault of the “head of family” thing, say I. What next then?  

One way to approach this empowerment (of mind) issue and perhaps the first is to scrap the “head”, “tail” teachings. This is school, education, scholarship not an opportunity to deepen a sense of superiority or inferiority between genders. Even the churches have failed to get their followers to appreciate what the “head” really means. Only feeble pleas for sensitivity, understanding and love for the woman so as to ensure “complete submission” to the man persist. http://islamqa.info/en/ref/930 and www.openbible.info/topics/head_of_household are two examples. This teaching however is also outside of school where it is more challenging to tackle but possible in family settings where children experience no discrimination of the sexes.

There is also the matter of the country’s laws/constitution and how they push for equality of the genders positively.  After all, a turf war can only begin with what is allowed or available and what is not. In my lay person, perhaps naive view there seems a fundamental conflict, inadvertent maybe, in how our laws project this imbalance. Indeed if I was as audacious as I pretend to be, I may have made some contribution on the matter to the constitutional review process. Unfortunately I am no lawyer (in case that is necessary) and the respected few I spoke to about this, including gender activist lawyers only gave me that “yeah, this is a difficult subject” sad smile. So, I am on my own in this challenge.

A summary of provisions from the constitution is where I start;

-          The constitution guarantees the protection and preservation of fundamental human rights and freedoms. (necessarily)

-          All persons are equal before the law. (I should presume so)

-          The laws of Ghana comprise among others rules of customary law which are the rules of custom applicable to particular communities in Ghana. (understandable but problematic)

-          All customary practices which dehumanize or are injurious to the physical or mental well-being of a person are prohibited (good show!)

-          A person is not to be discriminated against on grounds of gender, race, colour, ethnic origin, religion, creed or social or economic status. Discrimination means to be given different treatment whereby persons of one description or other as mentioned are subject to “disabilities or restrictions” that are not extended to other persons. (well said)

So in plain English, all persons are the same in relation to the laws of my country and should expect to be treated same; no discrimination. Also, all practices that undermine the wellbeing of any person are disallowed.

Why then do our laws (family) uphold the practice of potentially polygamous unions by way of customary law marriages?  Off course one can argue that the women can exercise the same right, yes? No, that rule is based on custom which does not allow the reverse. What clearer indication of one not exactly equal to one do we need?

So question: is this rule discriminatory or not? Is this rule injurious to the well-being of an identified group or not? I think yes on both counts. It is injurious not only psychologically and physically to the woman but also economically and socially. Worse still, it hurts the whole family and society when in one breath all are equal and in another, some are more equal. 

How does that figure?

akuyaafriyie@gmail.com

Gunning for President

The motherland is gearing up for elections so promises of a Betterer Ghana, Free Education at all stages for all, Jobs for all and of School Tankase and plans to change portions of our constitution are about.

I figure now that the coast is clear for declarations of both level-headed and doubtful aspirations, all in gargantuan proportions (ye-e-s, had to get it out of the way) of the type relating to making the world a better place, I should make my intentions known.

I mean to make a pitch for president unless of course the law of my land makes a turnabout, which is not entirely unlikely. But that kind of thing usually happens when the end of the road is so conspicuously and most definitely nigh, on paper that is. And since that is not exactly the case out here yet, here’s what I offer.

Um, before that ... my plans are rather modest and since I have a feeling I will be tolerated no more than a year at best, also rather brief. Besides I am quite certain the Chief Project Monitoring Executive’s job will be redundant in the near future; so to the point.

                                                                               

If I am president:

1.          I will have no spokespersons. It's rather tiring having to clarify myself repeatedly and clarify or justify other people’s utterances disguised as mine.

2.          Any countryman or woman of sound mind heard referring to the motherland as the gateway to Africa will pay a hefty fine. While we may take pride in being the most fertile destination for castoffs or the most cooperative sibling when it comes to facilitating access to family inheritance, we couldn’t possibly be seen bragging about that. 

 

3.          An elite group akin to the celebrated Seals who paid the terrorist an unwelcome visit will be established within a month of my presidency. Black Seals, they will be called. Their only targets would be Presidents who develop a phobia for front door exits and their job would simply be to give the sluggish presidents a quick and painless trip to nothingness. This presidential escort’s job comes with lifetime immunity. 

4.          Eligible presidential candidates would have permanent home addresses (as in liveable, living there, owning it sort of thing). While every effort will be made to house retiring presidents (if they so wish) and to make them comfortable for as long as they live, properties made available for their use will remain properties of the state. And that’s that. Case close.

5.          A public officer who uses or has to use the expression “we need to” or variants of it, twice on the same matter will be summarily dismissed. Obviously no progress would have been made in the space of time between the two statements.  It’s tough enough not to have a plan the first time.

6.          Jubilee House (now Flagstaff House) will live up to its name. It will be the joint for retirees where they will be treated to 3 square meals a day and music of their times all day. The senior citizens will spend their time playing Council of State, Oware and doing whatever else pleases them. They will also guide visitors around the museum which would be relocated there. All sitting presidents and ministers would be required to visit The House at least once a month; that should help keep them in line.

7.          The concept of Friday Wear as a day to go African would be scrapped. What does it mean to be African, live in Africa and have need to dedicate a day on which to wear African? There’s something nuts about it. Invitations to events that require guests to be in “formal wear” i.e. suited will be forbidden.

8.          The term international will also be used sparingly and only in relation to international affairs and relations. "Locally international" entities will no longer be recognized. The false impression easily gets to our heads.

9.          No educational establishment would be allowed to register names that include incorrect spellings of words that already exist in the languages we use and for which no more grammatical considerations are required. The informal ways of the entertainment and mobile texting worlds has no place in education. Last time I checked "kollege" had yet to arrive.

10.      All schools; public, private, whatever else in between would study the following subjects compulsorily at the primary level. History of the motherland; where we are coming from and I don’t mean the sky story. The Motherlands Territory, i.e. what is ours or rather what is left of what was ours that we must defend. Social Skills; the ways we relate to each other on the motherland so we don’t confuse “hi” with any of the motherland’s expressions. Schools claiming to be running foreign curricula would not be exempted. Naturally these subjects would include tours around the motherland supported by the tourism ministry with coerced input from industry players. What? They should be doing this already! Also all learners should have toured at least 3 regions by the end of upper primary to know the motherland, its peoples, culture and terrain. Okay this is a tough one but still.
       By the way, schools with no playgrounds will be closed down. Football pitches will not count for playgrounds.

Gosh, did I promise to be brief? This sort of thing gets easily out of hand, doesn’t it? Now I see how my forerunners get carried away. Ten is a tidy number anyway so I will keep my promise and end here. Before I get off though, one final thing;

                                             

There will be no presidential commissions or parliamentary committees to consider any of the above. Too much of everything is bad as is often said and that includes... you know, consultations and the like.

Now, let's see..... bother! I’ll never make president with this anyway so what’s the fretting about.

The Crossroads

 I lurk the streets, which accounts for my obsession with the road. However I will do myself the favour and declare that this will be my last soliloquy about it. Right now I can’t help but comment on road intersections.

I usually stop at an intersection, hitherto junction and wait for the opportune moment or some indication that it is okay to poke my nose (really that of my car) into the road. I have always imagined that’s the way to go most of the time. My nose by the way could use and indeed does threaten to get past the windscreen a good many times; that is if I am to see around the party of sign posts at junctions but I will leave the matter of sign posts for another day.

There’s been a slight change in my behaviour at junctions in recent times. At junctions these days, I keep inching forwards and forwards and then ... dash! Off course I have no intention to graduate to the game of “I got to the junction, didn’t watch who was coming, but didn’t forget to stick my mid finger at the person behind me who almost rammed my behind!”  That is a Formula One move I would much rather not try as its only objective seems to be to taunt the brakes of oncoming vehicles. Trends in vehicle importations and scenes at the DVLA (Driver and Vehicle Licensing Authority) make it a rather dodgy venture.  

Easing into traffic from a junction can be stressful for any sane person and I am imagining my very self to be one such person. There seems a rationale totally beyond my comprehension that prompts the Ghanaian motorist, who being a safe distance away from a junction,  would instinctively speed up to it just when a  fellow road user (usually me) is about getting into the road from the junction. Commercial drivers do it, women, old and young do it. The younger women usually in sunglasses of amazing sizes and shapes, take on a stern, stiff posture that can only mean, “Don’t you even try”. The men in their starched chequered shirts, speaking on their BBs unceasingly and paying little attention to the traffic that is usually amassing behind them do it! And since we are to do as the Romans when in Rome, our guests seem to have caught the bug big time. Always and only when I am seen trying to get in the road from a junction. Many times when I notice the frantic efforts of a driver to stick the glue on me at a junction, I stop mid way to allow the vehicle to go by. As if by clockwork, the driver would stop and insist that I get in the road. Mmm unbelievable.            

Junction experiences are to die for, really. A driver comes by and rather than using the opportunity that presents itself to allow me to ease onto the road, keeps staring at me like, “eyes right” or left as it may be and all the while slowly passing by anyway, still staring. Or this; an    angel actually slows down for me to enter the road and Smart Alek manoeuvres from behind to overtake the angel, making it impossible for me to take advantage of the rare thoughtfulness of a kindred spirit. And here’s another; I am waiting to join a road at a junction, another driver drives round my blind side and to add salt to injury (I have to say I have a dislike for this expression and its injurious effects) begins to urge me on to “go, go, go”. Now really, science has yet to endow me with the power to see through metal and humans.  Little wonder the ingenious natives have found the perfect antidote – simply enter the road at top speed without a care. If you have the nerve which many of my compatriots seem to have, it works! Well, enough times otherwise it’s the expected – tyres screeching, tail lights popping out, bad-tempered invectives, and we all go our un-merry way.

So then most junctions seem to need the services of traffic wardens, whether or not they are blessed with working traffic lights and whether or not on a major road. In truth, traffic lights seem to have lost their touch anyway. They neither get vehicles to stop nor do they make them move on. When the lights turn red, the stream of cars keep moving and sometimes never stop till the lights turn green again for the same side. Traffic wardens sometimes have to place themselves in front of moving vehicles to force them to stop. On the other hand some drivers take their naps at the traffic light. When it’s time to move, it’s another few minutes before they move.

A quick note about traffic wardens; they come in different shades- luminous green or yellow vested ones whose credentials as traffic managers are questionable; our usual uniformed compatriots and their yellow shirted assistants, whose job descriptions are unstable but much clearer in places where troskies abound, and then the others wielding palm branches who have the keenest sense and capacity for street chaos management. I prefer the latter for obvious reasons.

The situation makes me think the traffic warden’s job is one to watch on the job market; deadly but rewarding. Plus we make some savings on traffic light installations and improve unemployment figures simultaneously perhaps? Just saying.

akuyaafriyie@gmail.com

Your Right of Way or Mine



I happen to be of the view that, on the road it is pretty easy to tell when it’s my right of way and when it is not, or so my common (or not so common) sense lets me think. That view is being severely challenged.



I am driving along on MY SIDE of the road. By the way, we do drive on the right in Ghana, do we not? So as I was saying, I am driving on MY SIDE of the road, taking care not to drive in the middle even though I could very well follow the good examples about me. Here comes a vehicle from the opposite direction on MY SIDE of the road. Could that mean that driver is driving on the left hand side of the road? At any rate I slow down and open my eyes a little wider – just to be sure.  The vehicle keeps coming at me with appreciable haste and so I fast forward to the “now and at the hour of our death” part of the Hail Mary. See, I take my Catholicity seriously. The driver swerves to the right just in the nick of time and wags a finger at me; that was the Artful Dodger on the dusty road near my home!

Now, shift to that very important bit of road I call the tunnel road.  This tunnel road I am told was originally a passage for cows around the time of independence. The cows don’t use it anymore; they completed their rite of passage onto main roads decades back. Anyway the tunnel road happens to be an integral part of Ghana’s regular road network and an indispensable national asset now. Only a single lane of cars can get through it at a time. However the frenzied activity preceding entry into the tunnel threatens to miraculously transform the tunnel into a 4-lane route daily and is only contained with strenuous exertions by charity boys. Like the dusty road near my home, it’s never any one’s right of way except the police who in their rush hours manage to trumpet a clearance from whichever direction; giving the lucky side the benefit of a hot pursuit. 

Tema Motorway



 It is my considered view that the famous Motorway (the first one) is just the sort of thing to deal with artful dodgers and tunnel crashers. I mean roads with at least 20 metres of space between the two opposing sides, preferably populated by thorny shrubs or dug out into vehicle swallowing troughs.  On such roads, the only possible mischief left to drivers is to stick to their lanes whether at 20kph, 50kph or 120kph. Never mind the reminder that the inner lane is a fast lane. But I digress. Point is if I had been driving on the Motorway, only spiritual conveyance would have made it possible for the likes of the Dodger to come charging at me on MY SIDE of the road let alone wag a finger at me! Unfortunately the new George Walker Bush Motorway, fine as it is, does not quite take after that or its own name. What’s with that name anyway? 



Walker Bush Motorway



It goes without saying that I quite like roads to keep straight and vehicles to do same. I mean we all stay in our lanes and keep at it till we get to our destinations. Needless to say policy makers think differently and contemporary engineers are readily at hand to deliver a variety of artistic contortions. I have to agree with them. Such a thing is practically impossible, so increasingly we have multiple lane roads, flyovers and quite a few round-about types, not meant for sight-seeing though. These innovations have a way of persuading even the most litigant motorist to consensus. And that’s where my misery begins. Whose way it is, is always a game of whose right it is – where rights accrue to the fittest.