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| Ghana's Seat of Government |
Approximately
10 years back
A noisy group all in denim trousers
cut to knee length, slippers and fading T-shirts. They entered the restaurant
with an air of familiarity, strutted around looking for a table and roughly dragged
the chairs to sit when they found a spot. The restaurant owner or manager came
out to chit chat for a few minutes and their food was already on the way. I was
eating at one of the growing number of spice infested restaurants at the port
city nearby so the group seemed not so out of place. They ate their rice quickly
with sticks and bare hands and wiped their foreheads and mouths with their
arms. I excused them; these looked like seafarers and they would be gone by
daybreak, I thought.
4 years
ago
I came upon
the intriguing sight of a lone light skinned male with short, shiny but bristly
hair, busily setting up shop at 6am as I reached the traffic lights on the main
road. Even the koko (local porridge) seller was only just preparing her
fire. His small weather beaten white car was parked on the side of the road.
Its boot, opened to the traffic displayed his wares - electric irons and
kettles. His location showed he knew the city well. The busy Spintex Road
runs through a light industrial area littered with estate homes, factories and various
enterprises. Many of the growing middle class live along this road. The man
moved meticulously and quickly as he dusted the goodies in the car boot.
Oriental, I figured as I went past him. Something awful must have happened to
him. He won’t be here long, I thought. I drove off and forgot about him till
now.
A year ago
I finally
accepted that Dumso (the all powerful whose favourite pastime is to
switch our electricity on and off at will) was here to stay so I went shopping
for a generator. The search for a relatively low capacity, fuel efficient, truly
silent original make took me to an enclosed parcel of land about 2 acres big in
the city centre; inconspicuous until the rusty metal gates opened to admit a
visitor. I drove some 50 metres from the gate to a clearing in the middle of
the weedy space where a large metal container and a small house tucked at its side
were located. Among the three young men hanging about was my contact.
The
container housed some generators so I figured this was a warehouse but I was
told it was the showroom of the company, enterprise, or whatever was going on
there. “In a month we will have what you want” said the contact. “We stock only
genuine KIPOR machines and we are the main distributors of genuine KIPOR
generators in this country”, he continued. Just in that moment, 2 Chinese males
came out of the adjoining small house. One carried a hot cup of tea. The pair
sat down in the porch of the little house, lit cigarettes and began chattering as
if to give credence to the contact’s assurances. I think more likely to keep an
eye on business. I couldn’t quite figure
out the set-up but I wondered if this alliance was the source of many small
generators on sale along the city’s roads. Perhaps a onetime opportunist venture
not meant to last, I thought.
Along
the way and in between
They
constructed roads and built glass edifices with grants from their governments.
In the evenings, they sat in neighbourhood pubs and laughed at jokes with the
locals - our benefactors. Advertisements on where to find acupuncture services
and ginseng products started showing up in the newspapers.
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| AU Building Under Construction |
Soon they
were running restaurants from rented houses located in quiet residential areas.
The locals wait on patrons and cook; the proprietors stay silent in the inner office or
behind the counter. Theirs is to prepare the bill, receive the money and open
the door to let you out with a well rehearsed thank you. But the food served in
these restaurants taste nothing like those I remember from the Ambassador and
Continental hotels in my childhood days. I was a kid then but my friends who travel
confirm that food from these restaurants cannot be compared to the real thing.
To explain my friends ask me to imagine myself setting up a restaurant that
serves one of our native dishes in a far away country. What would my customers
know?
Anyway the restaurant business got
chocked with locals, Indians, Lebanese, Nigerians, all serving assorted fried
rice in addition to their native specialties. That was okay because we made middle income status,
we found oil, mining continued and more lucrative openings emerged for those
who dared.
Now
They are
leaving in droves! Their government has asked our government to send them back
home in a humane manner. But why do we have to send them back when they could
as well do as they did coming in – by themselves? We are not known to chase the
visitor out who came knocking even at the back door. Besides, they have been
our friends and benefactors have they not? Their relatives back home say we
have turned on them. But why, if that is true have we done that?
A few weeks
ago our government deported close to 200 foreigners. It was reported that they
were illegal miners, some of whom had turned on our people with guns. Many of our
friends were among those that left. Barely a week ago, hundreds of them were
being processed at the airport to leave the country. On TV I saw many of them
queue to turn themselves in for deportation.
Fascinating turn of events; when did
these hundreds arrive and how? If we had known about their arrival would we not
have given them a fitting welcome as is our tradition? Or perhaps we did. And why
are they leaving so suddenly, in such huge numbers and in such a hurry? We never
complained about their presence so why now and why them? Have many other
peoples from far and near not lived with us for even longer and our people in
other lands?
Maybe it’s not about them. Maybe it’s
about something they did. Something even people like us could not contain.
