Honouring the Honourables

Finally, the MC appeared but only to say that some matters "beyond our control" had emerged. He craved the indulgence of the hall full of not less than a 1000 for a little more time before beginning the program. The event was already 40minutes behind schedule and the various “sponsors”, not the paying audience were filling in the time with all manner of messages.
 

Another 20 minutes and the MC returned to announce the beginning of the program, but first we needed to acknowledge the presence of some “important personalities among us”. It was a tall list of “notable” public officers from the past and present, known actors and musicians otherwise called celebrities and a number of media bloated figures. Names were called out, credentials laid out and everyone else asked to acknowledge the “important personalities” with a “round of applause”. 

For doing what, I cannot tell; perhaps for paying the entrance fee to a public event and being present to enjoy the program just like me. Not surprising my name was not mentioned.

Anyway, after parading the “dignitaries”, the MC was kind enough to thank everyone for their patience and inform us that the reason for the wait was over, the guest star of the show had arrived.

 

Elsewhere:

The host walks in and out of the meeting room, sweat beads on his forehead. Something must be amiss; but what? I look around and I see that most people that matter (as far I am concerned) are present; the organizers and host, the audience, the high table has only one empty chair. What more do we need?

Thankfully, some 30minutes after the meeting was to have started the Chairman clears his throat and sets the ball rolling. He introduces those on the high table, walks us through the program and invites the first speaker to the podium for his presentation.

It’s 10minutes into the speaker’s presentation and he is making some very interesting point when the host comes in to whisper in the Chair’s ears. The Chair clears his throat again and interrupts the speaker. 

“Ladies and gentlemen”, he says, “the guest of honour has just arrived. Can we welcome him with a round of applause?”

The ensuing includes first, getting the “guest of honour” to his seat which involves re-arranging seats at the high table and shepherding the new arrival through handshakes and exchanges of pleasantries with the “smiling and eager to greet the big man” present. Second is bringing the just arrived and late personality up to speed with proceedings so far- r-r-r-r-r- rewind.

The speaker; is waiting to return to his presentation and the rest of the audience ... well, they wait too or go blazes.

Today The Drums Beat!

Electricity was quite unstable today and the church’s generator was experiencing challenges. The organist was  unable to provide the usual keyboard lead. It turns out that was a good thing for all of us. Choristers quickly reached for the good old African drums and other very interesting instruments and got into their element. In what seemed to be a natural response, the choirmaster started off with a local song and the whole church erupted into continuous joyous praise which Father had difficulty interrupting.  

As if to herald what was to come later, I saw two huge drums in a church this morning on my way to church. My mind quickly went back to the days when I attended church with my grandmother. Drumbeats could be heard long before we got to the church; tum...tum..tum and I never could wait to get there. Christ’s Little Band and the Singing band always had about 45 minutes of praise worship accompanied with drums and other local instruments as people streamed in and got settled. There were hardly any organs or electronic keyboards those days. The old shuffled their feet and swayed their bodies backwards, to the front and sideways. The youthful and stronger bodied clapped, wriggled their waists, waved their hands and moved their bodies through all manner of contortions.

I couldn’t wait for collection time which was also another opportunity for the singing band to treat us to many more songs to which the church would respond gladly with dancing. I learnt loads of songs in the local dialect during these praise worship sessions and sang out as loud as I possibly could. It was the best part of church.

Today the songs, drums, dancing, all played out in church. The students were doing their church version of Azonto and everyone was taking their time to get back to their seats. I am told it's called Christozonto. The women waved their cover cloths. Even the usually stiff gentlemen clapped and sung. There was jumping, sliding, hopping, twisting and turning.

We sang;

“me si me dan wo botan so, na me ne yesu be tena” – “ I will build my house on a mountain top and I will live there with God...” 

And “da yehowa ne nemaa no be twa epo no, ewurusi beba Isreal, O Isreal eni be gye”, that is “the day God will cross the sea with his children, Israel will rejoice and be glad”

Also, “gye yen akyedi ma enso weni, gye o gye, ma enso weni”; translated, “receive our gifts and may it be pleasing to you”. 

And “abonsam shoot wa shoot no bi, o kick wa kick no bi, abonsam sro yesu din”, which is "when the devil kicks you kick hom back, when he shoots at you, do same!"

To be fair, the church has in recent years done a lot to bring the service closer to the people.  Many of our prayers have been turned into song and hymns have been substited  with local gospel songs. Even some traditionally Latin prayers and songs have found their local Twi, Ga and Ewe substitutes. Instead of a dreary “Amen” at the end of a prayer, we sing “amen, amen it shall be so” or amen, amen blessings and glory, wisdom thanksgiving and honour, power and might be unto our God forever and ever amen”

When we get into things in our native colours, it’s more meaningful, colourful and enjoyable. What can I say? I thoroughly enjoyed myself at church today.

Jesus Did Whip The Pharisees Didn’t He?

I have been missing Father Amos* lately because methinks it’s about time the general rebuke by the priesthood to congregations was backed with more targeted and decisive action.  The “judgement day” message should be left to “sins” done in the dark while those committed publicly and in church are met with swift punishment. After all Jesus provided a good example with the Pharisees who were selling in the synagogue!

Father Amos* was much loved, feared and despised by the parish; he returned all these sentiments in good measure by the way. Every Sunday afternoon, our house would be filled with laughter over his most recent act or utterances at mass. He was the priest who refused a woman communion and left her standing in front of the congregation as he went back to continue celebrating mass. The woman is said to have done something which as far as he was concerned didn’t merit her being admitted to the sacrament on that day as expected. Like everyone else, the woman thought, “surely, Father would not give everyone else communion and leave me out?” Well, Father walked right past her and the church was in shock!

Personally, I loved Father Amos* very much. He was as real as is human; he drank whisky, chased cats about the house, and got palm soup into his whiskers. He was a man who did not mince his words. When he got pissed with people, he showed it in words and deeds. 

I grew up in a catholic home, attended catechism, took my first communion way before I entered secondary school and attended confessions almost religiously and always with great unease. My sins consisted mainly of things such as losing my temper with a sibling or school mate; plucking a rose bud from a neighbour’s garden without asking and using words like “silly” or “fool”. These were grave sins indeed and not to be expected from a catholic kid such as moi whose parents belonged to the Ladies and Knights of Marshal and whose home the parish priests visited once too often to eat and debate with my father.

Basically I had no doubts about what was and is appropriate in the Catholic Church. Which is simply to say, I developed some pretty frigid standards; sometimes meaningless, sometimes bothersome even for myself and yet at all times working for my good.

 As a catholic who has enjoyed the relatively simple ways of catholic ceremony, particularly regarding how we present ourselves at mass, celebrate marriages or indeed keep the mass unaffected by “side attractions”, I am challenged by some of the things we get up to in church these days.

Long-winded speeches, announcements and promotion and selling of goods usually done after the benediction and recession of priests are increasingly now done before.  Come to think of it, selling of goods only happened in the Catholic Church on harvest days, yearly.  Times probably have necessitated these happenings and frankly these are only mildly irritating.

What gets my goat are the females I see with breasts threatening to pop out of their clothes and dresses reaching only just beneath their bottoms. Granted there are only a few cases I have seen so far but that could only be the beginning of a breast popping, armpits showing contest if not addressed. Now to say people dressed like that look ridiculous even on the streets is entirely my opinion and hardly of relevance to them.  

“Indecently” attired as they are, (and that’s obviously by my weird standards) these persons walk confidently to the altar to receive communion; and they get served! Why a practice that desecrates what is arguably the most important sacrament in the Catholic Church- the sacrament of the Eucharist, is allowed to happen is my challenge.

And so I miss Father Amos*; he would certainly have saved his bread and left these people shame-faced in front of parishioners! And to make sure the message went down straight he would eat up all the left over communion, drink up the wine left and take his time to clean the vessels right before our eyes.

A friend told me that people who dress “inappropriately” to his church are routinely requested by ushers to make themselves less visible by sitting in the back pews. Essentially, the message is “we don’t want to see you like this”. I think they probably found a good modern day alternative to Jesus’ whip.

On Location

I always make it a point to sit in the spot where my eyes have the broadest view and myself inconspicuous, when I am out. That way I miss almost nothing, even when I seem not to be looking!   

So it was that I was sitting at one of my favourite places, about to enjoy one of my favourite meals and savouring the pleasures of a mildly sunny early weekend afternoon and engaging in some aimless chit chat. As usual I sat upstairs, just by the balustrade so I could cast my eyes about the street, car park and watch other diners come in or leave the restaurant. It was early afternoon on a Sunday so all was calm and the only sounds were the low tempo music from the bar, the muffled voices of diners and occasional sounds from vehicles or passersby on the street.

Suddenly a sharp female voice pierced through the peaceful atmosphere, from somewhere below and across the street; “aani ashiwo-e-e, a-shiw, o-o-oh a-shiw ...” Another female voice joined in the chant and my eyes quickly darted towards the voices and started roaming the environs frantically to locate the scene of what I thought was to be a definitely promising brawl on a saintly Sunday in this usually quiet and sufficiently classy neighbourhood. I knew the Twi expression well enough. It is used frequently in mockery of an adversary in a quarrel and most closely translates; “yes you've been burnt, you've been burnt well and good ...” Similar to, “you got served, tee hee!”

So naturally my ears immediately cocked up, eyes widened and a smile begun to spread across my face in anticipation of a flow of choice invectives I would myself never let fall from my lips. My hands blindly searched my bag for my camera. Free entertainment was about to unravel before my very eyes

From my vantage position, I saw the two women. They were not at each other’s throats thankfully; rather they were ganged up against an older male in traditional cloth who was doing his best, though to little effect, to return the verbal assaults. The women who were sitting under a small palm tree rose to full height as the exchanges heated up and started shoving the man between them with their hands and large backsides and pushing their heavy chests in his face. “fa bo me, fa bo me, a-a-ah” i.e “ hit me with it, hit me with it...”, they said in between other things.

In a twinkle, one of the women, the one I recognized from numerous televised local dramas tossed the contents of a drinking glass in the man’s face. They continued the taunt; “e-eh a-shiw, fri ha ko”. The man wisely started backing off while still wagging his fingers at the women, muttering some feeble threats and promising a comeback. The women laughed, stuck their tongues at the man, gave themselves a fives up and settled back in their seats to continue their business before the rude interruption; small talk over drinks, from the look of things.  

I went back to my food but before I could make 3 trips to my mouth I heard the same voices repeating the same taunt; “ashiwo e-e, a-shiw, o-o-oh a-shiw ...” It was then that I saw the shotgun microphone hovering above the women.

3 more takes of this and the company of 3 were soon seen happily trading banter, laughing and patting each other on the back. It seems this scene was done and dusted and I was only beginning to get into my food.

The setting was a compound that seems to have been a popular local bar which had seen much better days. No bigger than the size of a basket ball court; it was bordered with a string of 3 or 4 containers, a gate, and a wall some 20meters long. The wall had recently been painted with cheap orange and white paint, while the containers were dressed in black and white paint. In this space were some seats gathered together in the centre on a platform which must have been the bandstand. On the seats, some persons slept or chatted away, surprisingly unconcerned with the activity around them. The little performer was pacing about and once every while, she sat down, picked up her mirror and powdered her face; probably awaiting her act.

The two women who recently dispatched a certain wretched elderly man were soon helping themselves with food from a food warmer in one corner of the compound.
The camera man had moved on to the next scene in which the disagreeable elderly man who just got drenched in some “spirits” was animatedly engaged. The location for this scene was the front of the container shops, barely six steps away from the earlier location.

Interesting, I thought. I never imagined the filming of a drama, call it movie could happen just next door, all in one compound. Local ingenuity at play, someone remarked.

 

Well, whatever the outcome of this one, I do hope to catch my scene one more time on TV. I sure prefer these to the South American tele-novella and LAFA ridden TV series on our screens.

The Truth Shall Out

 

In the early 1940s it is said that a favored mode of identification for prisoners of the Holocaust was tattooing. Prisoners were marked with special metal stamps on the chest and indelible ink smeared into the still bleeding wounds. Later the tattoos were done with a single needle on the left forearm of the prisoner. Those prisoners condemned to the gallows did not go through this identification process; I guess there was no point wasting ink and effort if they were off to die.

I have to say if I was a prisoner then, I would have howled and pleaded like nobody’s business just to go to the gallows so I couldn’t possibly be advocating that such inhumane practices be visited on any prisoner. Fortunately though those dark days are long gone and prisoners can look forward to more dignifying identification procedures like say, thumb printing; taking a “castle style” shaving of the head, no cost incurred; posing for a mug shot; and indeed more recently simply pressing fingers to a machine which reads off personalized prints. In fact since 9/11 even dignitaries, the rich, business tycoons, the high and mighty, all of whom take themselves a tad too seriously have had no choice but to deliver their finger prints to some machine if they were to do what they do most – travel. And what’s my trouble? Simply, identification.

The biometric registration of some 13, 400 prisoners (by an April 2012 count) lodging in Ghanaian prisons was suspended and only recently resumed but chances are that the majority of these people are unlikely, indeed will not be registered due to anxieties about their “real” identities. Now that’s funny.

Many of the prisoners are said to have entered fake names and information about themselves at the time of incarceration so after all the excitement and frenzied preparations to register as voters in the upcoming December polls, they are suddenly in no hurry to register for fear of prosecution. To register is to be “obliged” to disclose their “real” identities to the state. A small matter that could be resolved with a presidential pardon if biometric registration of the inmates was thought to be important for a variety of reasons I would not even bore myself to enumerate. 

I thought it was precisely because of the need to collect unalterable, unchanging, non-transferable information about people– which to my mind does not include what people claim to be their names, place of birth, relations, where they live and so on and so forth - that the biometric registration became significant in the first place. Otherwise citizens and many others have been providing personal information supported by a variety of “authentic” documents for a really long time now. Why then does it matter if prisoner A says he’s called Ata (and even provides 2 partners in crime to vouch that) when indeed prisoner A is known as Apeto. The truth will out soon enough, and the truth is the biometric information and picture to match!

We started off with the national identification process which to all intents and purposes is a fiasco. That process did not have the benefit of biometric gadgets. Now that there are biometric equipment to capture the bona fide identity of persons, we are about to lose the opportunity because the exercise is tied to a 1-day voting event in which law breakers (by definition) are expected to provide authentic information. Terrific.

I think the collection of biometric information on all Ghanaians and residents should be an extension of the national identification exercise. Which means prisoners get through the process too whether they care to vote or not; after all they are not headed for the gallows. 

I’ll be very sore if the hundreds of prisoners, likely to receive presidential pardon in a few months, come out without leaving their prints. 

And while we are at it, our easily excitable brothers and sisters in psychiatric care should likely fall in line too. I doubt they’ll concern themselves with names, relations and addresses and Lord knows where I may meet a few when they are on vacation or have time out! 

Come to think of it, probably all prisons and police stations must have the biometric equipment as a matter of course.

"The Trouble With Us"

 I went book shopping this weekend, looking to find a specific something I need; I ended up as always looking in other directions! Among the books I came away with is Chinua Achebe’s “The Trouble with Nigeria”. 

It’s a little book of some 63 pages which I read in 2 hours once I got home. The book was published in 1983 and though it speaks of Nigeria at that time and before, I felt I was reading about my own country. As I read I kept thinking the book should have been titled “The trouble with Us”.

The book is an admonition and a call to action. It’s about all the things “wrong” with our society. There’s a reminder to the middle classes and so-called educated about their complicity in nation-wrecking and responsibility for nation salvaging. It’s also a reminder that there’s still hope and points to lessons yet to be learned. Achebe puts the blame “simply and squarely” on the failure of leadership and while I agree that there’s much to say about leadership and its failures, I cannot help a strong feeling that we all share in that blame.

It would be nice to know what Achebe thinks today, about the things he speaks about in the chapters of his book - Corruption, Tribalism, Indiscipline, False image of Ourselves, Leadership, Social Injustice and the Cult of Mediocrity ... - and their toll on Nigeria (by 1983). 

I am even more interested to know about our own assessment of whether our lessons have been learned and whether indeed we even identify with Achebe’s picture of Nigeria almost 30 years back!

But while I wait, I thought I would point the book to anyone who would like to read it, especially everyone. Alternatively read a review and still read the book anyway!

Let me whet the appetite with some bits from the book;

“... national habits are a different matter; we resign ourselves to them at our peril” –page 2

“why do the good among us seem so helpless while the worst are full of vile energy?” - page 2

“... I believe that although our condition is critical, and getting worse by the day, we still do have a majority, albeit dormant, of self-controlled citizens” – page 28

“as we were driving through Ankwa we heard a siren and performed the appropriate motions of mild panic and pulled up. Three police vehicles- a jeep, a car and a lorry sped by in the opposite direction. From the side of the lorry a policeman was pissing on to the road and the halted traffic.” – page 35 

‘one of the penalties of exalted power is loneliness. Harnessed to the trappings of protocol and blockaded by a buffer of grinning courtiers and sycophants, even a good and intelligent leader will gradually begin to forget what the real world looks like” – page 37

“we have been “blessed” with a succession of leaders who are said to possess impeccable personal integrity but unfortunately are surrounded by sharks and crooks. ...it has always seemed to me that the test of integrity is its blunt refusal to be compromised” – page 42

“..you have told us that you want our votes so that you can serve us. If we get killed while you are getting the vote, who then will you serve?” – page 51

“in the specific matter of elections we have deprived ourselves of our potential power over politicians by falling prey to ethnicity and other divisive bogeys they conjure up and harness to their band-wagon”- page 52

“while the electorate is thus emasculated by such instigated divisions, the politician will link up even with his tribal enemy once they get to the legislature ...... Witness the marvelous cooperation with which our National Assembly took over accommodation provided for civil servants on Victoria Island; how quickly they pass bills to increase their emoluments, ...”- page 52

Ring any bells?