President Mills’ Death - Troubling Matters

So it’s been a week since the old man kicked the bucket. Messages of goodwill, solidarity, condolences have been pouring in from all over. Today I am in full mourning clothes to mark the 7^th day after the passing of Asomdwehene (the king of peace) as he was nicknamed. The 7^th day celebration of a person’s passing is an important event in many parts of Ghana and the president’s lineage is no different.

It struck me that the presidency of Professor Mills was always surrounded by many questions; not only in terms of doubts or uncertainties but also just straight questions about just what’s going on with one thing or the other.

So there were many questions: will the former charismatic leader of the ruling National Democratic Congress (NDC) be in control? Is Mills sick or not? Did Mills know about the gargantuan money payment? Did the president sack the government official? Who is president of Ghana and who is in charge of affairs?

Answers to these questions were not easily available although I must be quick to say that to the last question the late president provided an answer so quick and direct, it disarmed everyone.

In the wake of the president’s death the questions linger on;

Who will be the vice president and running mate for president Mahama was one of the first ones? Hopefully the matter will be settled today as it seems president Mahama may be submitting his nomination to parliament today. Everyone is waiting, too anxiously I should say. I don’t know what difference that would make now but I hope it will not be that person I don’t want.

Where will he be buried? Indigents of the late president’s hometown are insisting they want the son of their land returned to be buried in Ekumfi Otuam from where he hails. Government officials had earlier and on different occasions announced or suggested the seat of government, Flagstaff House and the Nkrumah mausoleum. Later, a representative of the late president’s family insisted that the burial would be in Accra, not his hometown! A well known lawyer, chief and “traditionalist” argued it’s the family’s preserve to decide the burial place. The government is in close consultations with the family but there are two sides to the family issue and the Ekumfi Otuam side is unhappy. So where will the late president be buried? We wait on the funeral committee that’s been set up.

The call of the late president’s people carried with it another question that has been on the minds of many. What (or who) killed the president? Even though it’s general knowledge that the late president was managing a cancer and probably a few other complications, there is yet to be known the details of an autopsy, if there is to be one that is. The cry of the people of Otuam when they insisted, in their grief that the body of the president be brought home was that; first they wanted to see for themselves if he was dead, really. That’s easy the good Professor would have given them a call already if he was not. Second, they want to know if he died a natural death or there was a “hand” in his death.  The constant unpleasant remarks directed at the late president have been pointed to as having a possible “hand” in his death. In the meantime, I heard this morning someone intimating that actually the late president “got the cancer when he became president”. Mmm read more here.
 

A related question of how many funerals should be held popped up not quite 2 days ago. A group has suggested that all regions in Ghana hold simultaneous funerals for the late president. This surprised me but I know death has a way with my people. How many funerals? Like how many bodies do we have? Not sure, not sure at all.

   

Now what can be said about the dead and indeed about our president? Mr. Rawlings the former president; the challenging, exciting and often times mildly embarrassing subject in our politics provides a clue with what we would rather not hear. First he goes to say the “unwise” thing then as if to backtrack on his apology to the late president’s family subsequently, he writes the “spoilt brat’s” thing.  Mr. Rawlings seemed to be in deep thought as he sat to write his thoughts in the book of condolences, I have no doubt the outcome is a reflection of the highest consideration of things he has to say and must say!

Mr. Rawlings signing the book of condolences

Here are his first words on the death:

[“It was quite a shock to both me and my wife but IT WAS NOT UNEXPECDTED BECAUSE HE’S BEEN BATTLING WITH CANCER FOR QUITE A WHILE NOW, you know, but this is certainly the wrong time for him to go considering that WE HAVE ELECTIONS, you know, AROUND THE CORNER IN DECEMBER.  ....quite frankly I think HAD HE BEEN ADVISED AND DONE SOMETHING WISER, YOU KNOW, EARLIER ON, HE COULD PROBABLY HAVE SURVIVED, YOU KNOW, FOR, I DON’T KNOW, FOR ANOTHER SIX – SEVEN MONTH YES, ]

Mr. Rawlings’ words and that of a few other close confidants of the late president have also got others thinking; would/ could the president have lived a few more months, perhaps till after the elections, if .....? I guess there were some who were betting on that, if only for a politically tidier end. But I will never know will I?

Ghana's President Dies

 Ghana's president, John Atta Mills died July 24, 2012 and the vice, John Dramani Mahama was sworn in as president same day.

John Atta Mills

                          

                                            

John Dramani Mahama

                                                              
                                      








There's quite a bit in the media about the death and events surrounding, naturally. The new president was visibly distraught during the swearing in and for once the whole house of parliament was silent. The two Johns had worked well together; never seen a pair like that in my years of consciousness.
But days before the death it is said that the "hawks" were already encircling the vice presidential seat. I am so sad. Just so sad.

A Place To Lay Me Head

She wakes with a start not knowing what made her spring off her pillow clasping her ears with her two hands and grimacing. She had not been dreaming.

As she comes to her senses; loud music and the voice of an excited MC announcing the arrival of guests to a function is distinct. The idea of an idle Saturday morning in bed quickly leaves her so she gets out of bed and paces about her two-room apartment. The noise is nothing new she reflects, in fact she has grown quite used to the nuisance over the years but this morning it’s louder than usual. She wonders if a rally of one of the political parties is underway in the township nearby. It’s election year and the country goes to the polls in 5 months. After a few minutes of pacing she steps outside her gates and looks about her, trying to determine the direction of the unwelcome racket and what it could be about. That’s when she sees her neighbor walking towards her. She notices an air of resignation about him. He looks up at her as he approaches with a knowing smile and says, “The market woman is launching a product. I think it’s some juice”

He lives 3 streets away from her in their “estates” of about 80 houses and the “market woman” is his next-door neighbor. So they stand on the street in front of her house and chat about life in their “gated community”.

The people in a house on his street have been brushing their teeth and pissing in the gutters in front of the houses, he tells her. “There are 9 of them in that house!” “Well, the other day the man in that house crossed the street from his house and pissed on the wall of that other house”, she counters. As she spoke, she pointed to the house of the lanky fellow who “they” say is a teacher. They both shake their heads in wonder. He suggests that perhaps the pissing folk want to save their water. You see, water never runs in their neighborhood so the people who live there buy water for all their household needs from water tankers at GHC25 per every 400 gallons. Flushing the water closet is considered a luxury.

“So why is a product launch happening in a residential area?” she asks, returning to her immediate distress. “Well, she came knocking at our doors to inform us last night” he says. “But at least the noise could be toned down?” There is silence.

“Have you noticed that the potholes on the streets are being filled?” goes the neighbor, trying to change the discomfiting subject of his noise making neighbor. He is one of the executives of the neighborhood residents association. She responds in the affirmative. A young man had been filling the potholes with stuff collected from the gutters. As if to explain, he tells her that the construction company that built the estate is not about to do anything about the roads so they have to do it themselves.

They talk about the fact that barely a week ago the CEO of the company had received an award for excellence in the housing industry; the second such award in recent times for a company that is known to be one of the best for shabbiness.

They also talk about the tussle between some residents in the estates and the local authorities on property rates they pay based on the “A Class” categorization of their area. The authorities hold that the area is to become an “A Class” residential area in the future. The residents cannot imagine it happening in their lifetime. Anyway, this year officials from the local assembly are yet to come to collect property rates. The local authority had announced in the dailies earlier in the year that the official responsible for their area was no more an employee of the authority. “Probably he has run away with our money”, she surmises.  

They part company; she thinking quickly about a reason to get her away from home for some hours and he, wondering if and how the market scene could be approached.  

Don’t Be Such A Cry Baby, Papa

It’s no secret that Mothers’ Day outshines any other day celebrations so far; not International Water Day, International Day of the Child, St. Valentine’s Day and the so many other days set aside to celebrate significant issues, moments and people comes close. I never really thought anything about this state of affairs, believing it was quite understandable that in the business of parenting, mothers were more likely to receive recognition from their children and society generally in my parts. Perhaps that’s the bias of the woman and mother that I am.

But some men have taken the matter rather personally. I overheard a discussion on radio by some males about the big bang Fathers’ Day celebrations they intend setting off yearly to “match” Mothers’ Day celebrations. They plan to make sure the day is given as much and more visibility and prominence as that accorded the day of mothers. The conversation reflected the displeasure of the men about the relatively low key celebration of Fathers’ Day as compared to that of Mothers’ Day.

During the “call in” segment of the radio program as has become customary on our media landscape, many males called in. In fact only males called in; all of them quite peeved about what they perceived to be “bad treatment” meted out to them by the faceless one and undoubtedly with the unspoken connivance of mothers.

One caller in his angst suggested “after all the men can celebrate their day better because the money that goes into mother’s day celebrations comes from men”. Another suggested, “Women can’t even have children if we men don’t go to them”. Sheesh, I can’t even bring myself to be upset with this.

Okay, here goes.

Kiddo: Dear Daddy, Papa, Poppy, Da, you know you are the best thing that ever happened to me. You took care of all (?) my needs. I am so grateful and I love you, oh so terribly much. I could never show you how much......There! Feel better? What’s up with this turf war anyway, hm?

Dads are awesome. Mine was, well much of the time! I guess the only trouble is there just aren’t as many awesome dads as there are moms; for now anyway. I can only urge fathers to close the gap where it exists.

The Thing That Gnaws At Me

Could I be right, 

This thing I am thinking?

Could this be all; 

This life I have seen?

Could there be more;  

This yearning of mine?

If only the noise would go away,

Then I should hear it.

If only it wasn’t so dark,

Then I would see it.

If only I might find it,

Surely, then I would embrace it?

Flagship Banking

The other day I turned up an hour earlier than I should have at one of the Accra branches of the bank that “serves you better”. Apparently business started at 8.30am. I needed a bank draft from that particular branch, an institution that has trust issues relating to its officials and receipts in general had declared so I waited.

In the period I waited, not less than 15 people came by to use the bank's ATM right outside the entrance to the banking hall. It was obvious none of the 15 had any ATM joy because each retrieved their ATM cards from the machine and re-slotted at least twice, shook their heads, turned to walk away, stopped to look again at the machine then huffed away or joined the waiting ranks. In the meantime the numbers of people waiting to access banking services increased steadily; huddling in little groups of twos and threes under the few trees on the compound or on the stairs to the banking hall. Serves us right for getting here too early I thought.

At about 8.15am when I looked through the glass doors leading to the banking hall, I saw what pleased me very much. The bank officials were briskly moving around the hall; they seemed to be setting up the place for business. Just about then and as if on cue, the waiting masses suddenly surged towards the doors, stepping over each other to find standing space. I did not bother; frankly I couldn’t see myself in my crispy little black dress, smashed into all that sweat and flesh first thing on a Monday morning at the door of a bank as if to take advantage of one of those drop-down sales windows of “opportunity”. There were some 30 people pressing to the glass doors and still others trying to make their way to the front of the pack!

My expectation that the doors were about to swing open were quickly dashed anyway. Just 5 minutes to the advertised opening of the bank, a man was seen pacing up and down the room holding what looked like a heavy bible; he was obviously chanting something and all the bank staff were clapping, raising their arms and mouthing some things I could not hear, and swinging from side to side with eyes shut. At 8.40am the group could be seen and heard with a little straining of the ears, animatedly singing and clapping. A praise and worship meeting was in session!

So sometime later (movie style), after the rush entry by the masses, I entered the hot, sardine packed banking hall. I knew I wasn’t going to make it through the “normal” channels; the scene was too daunting even to describe. Many different queues each winding back and forth and ending somewhere outside the hall; sweating officials reaching out to take forms from whichever customer was able to shove theirs into their hands; people speaking all at the same time at officers at their desks .... not possible. Thankfully here was a cheery little security man who gave the bewildered stranger (me) a hand for only a fiver.

Awesome Service

Shame on me for thinking good service didn’t exist in my environs. Now check this, I went to get myself electricity units at the sales point. I gave the money and card to the sales girl. She slot my card in the machine, then looked up and said to me; “why don’t you wait and buy the units tomorrow”. Say what? 

I am buying credit and she was refusing to sell? Her reason was that I was about to purchase electricity credits twice in the same month which meant I would receive 100 units less than my usual take for the same amount of money. I mean, last time I bought electricity units was June 2 and here I was meaning to buy some more on June 29 simply because I knew in a matter of days I would run out of credit. Rather than thank me for my patronage and probably urge me to buy more with a rebate, the “system” was about to sell me 170units of electricity instead of about 271 units at the same cost! That’s stealing, plain and simple. 

“That’s how the system works”, she said, “I hope you have enough units for the day. Just come back tomorrow by 2pm”. And she gave me back my money and card. Well, well, well, I couldn’t believe she was being so nice. I don’t know what moved her to this commendable act but I am certainly not complaining and I am not going to spoil the experience with the reminder that the “system” is ... no, I won’t. Thankfully I had enough credit to run on so a day’s wait was nothing compared to losing 100 units of electricity. In fact I still have not bought any yet.

Is that awesome service or what?

Sneak Peak of The Obama Industry

Available in all leading retail shops in GH

serenely located only 10 minutes drive from Kotoka Airport

towards GH central. hopefully looks nothing like you see

speaks for itself

OBAMA SELLS!