On Eating Rice with a Spoon

I am freedom’s fiancé; pied, assorted, motley, sundry kinds of freedom. I believe people are free to march on their heads instead of feet; fart fifteen frivolous times every fine day; banquet on a bowl full of Fufu and Fanta and drink up the soup chilled from a bottle; wear a gruff goat rope for a belt. I believe in fulsome, fetterless and fanciful servings of the flavours of freedom. But please, philistine friend, don’t eat rice with a spoon! At home, at work, eating out, Villein, please don’t do it!

Picture credit - dreamstime.com

No Love At All in the City of Accra

Really, apart from hanging out, it’s been a very long time since I saw anybody in Accra do anything because they simply love it – and I’m not talking about work. So, what are people doing in which the payout is ... well, a smile.

The Son Who Wanted a Car

A son badly wanted a car

On his coming birthday

He found sly ways to hint his Pa

Whose wealth was off display

The birthday came; it surely did

The Son, he got a bible

And a hearty dinner of squid

He felt like Cain, not Abel

A year after the Son’s letdown

He went to see his Pa

And accosted him with a frown

His harsh words left a scar

The old man fell down, and he died

He couldn’t bear the words

And after all the tears had dried

It all then turned absurd

Found stuck inside the Holy Book

Were keys to a new car

If only the Son did look

He'd have both car and Pa

Looking Hard at Maids – Are They Slaves?

This story is harrowing but not out of this world. Domestic servants (or maids, in Ghana) have been with us since time immemorial. African children have always been taken to live and work with their aunts and uncles and parents’ friends. After independence and the rise of the African elite, maids in rural Ghana would go and live with stranger-families in the cities without pay with the expectation that she would grow up into an Awuraba (or Gentlewoman). It is now difficult to find a girl who would travel to the city to live with and work for a family without pay, work from dawn until midnight or not insist on days off. I once got into an impassioned argument with a Ghanaian boy whose girlfriend was a temporary student girl from America. I barracked him because I thought he was selling out for calling it modern-day slavery. Now, I am ready to change my position.

Date Rape in Ghana

I’ve read somewhere that most rape is committed by a familiar and very few by total strangers. I’ve never heard a real date-rape account told by anybody I know, but I have heard some female friends over the years tell me about near-rape traps they tripped into. Now, I’m wondering how overwhelming or underwhelming the incidence of date rape is.

Too many young girls I have spoken to are easily star-struck and appear to lose their head and heart around famous people. I can think of precious few A-List stars in Ghana: a few musicians (Kojo, Lumba, Amakye Dede), a few sportsmen (Pele, Essien, Appiah maybe), a few diplomats with obvious names, more than a few business persons, etc etc. So why do you bloody let a nothing small-time straggler (dabbling as an actor or musician) get into your head and date-rape you? But it’s not the girl's fault.

People are free to feel giddy about other people, mice, sports, depraved North African presidents or English football. THERE IS NO EXCUSE TO RAPE A GIRL, EVEN IF SHE THREW HERSELF AT YOU!

Does anybody know about any date rape in Ghana?

p.s.: Anti-Rhythm achieved its 40,000th visit yesterday. Thank you everybody for coming around.

Job Fairs in the City of Accra

God, I loved this weekend. I attended two job fairs – one for undergrads and the other for post-grads. It warmed the cockles of my heart to speak to young people who wanted to think and choose carefully on the job market. Their lecturers are learning that it is best to let the industry tell the student what skills they need to demonstrate to be employable. I did not mind being sun-beaten when our nation’s future shone as brightly.

Accra is not Ghana

So my friend, Yaa, asked me what to do in the City of Accra if one was not into churches, eateries or nightclubs. I couldn’t say the National Theatre because it has no year-round programme. I couldn’t say the Accra mall because I consider it one big inconvenience. I couldn’t say the beach because they get cleaner as you drive away from Accra. All I could tell her was “Accra is not Ghana”.

Radio School

Radio trumps competing media on following in Ghana and has not been assailed any by the internet revolution. So, could there be a radio station fixating on youth-education? Would they be able cover their overheads and bank some extra takings? Just thinking aloud and continuing to doubt formal education more every day.

Summer School Dreams

I’m dreaming of a summer school for 13 y.o.’s to 21 y.o.’s. It won’t teach Math & English & Geography & Econ. It will leave that for the failed system to do. It will offer the chance to unlock the problem-solving knack that’s latent in everyone. The syllabus is problems – real-life problems. The task is to make them go away by practice, practice, practice...best-known practices. Hopefully the attendees go away with nation-changing nous.

Wrong Education in Schools in Ghana

If we require the World Bank to tell us that we are administering purposeless education to our youth, then maybe I should stop my crying crusade for an educational revolution and mind my own business.

Osmosis, concatenation, algorithm, logarithm, subrogation, amortization, Bovine Spongiform Encephalopathy, intra fauces terra! We know what they all mean. We don’t know how they work. We are mis-educated.

When A Man Bites A Dog

I’ve seen firsthand how we disrespect teachers as a nation. My parents are former teachers. But when striking teachers splash students with bags of water to disrupt a planned programme, I next expect to see a man bite a dog.

The Shame on the Streets of Accra & Other Cities

Wondering how anybody who has hogged any vague vestige of political power in paralytic Ghana at any time over the past 20 yawning years can dandy-drive through the city streets and fail to feel like a spectacular success at nothing.

Hello, Call Me in 5 Hours, I’m Driving Home from Work

Road Accidents. There are too many of them on our streets. Mostly inter-city and in semi-urban Ghana, but too many nonetheless. Enter a new law. Don’t talk and drive. All-round brilliance in Ghana once again. But it is not quite a new law. It is only now being enforced now.

There are only minor brushes we call accidents in the cities. The idea behind the law is good, but it is rubbish economically speaking. We spend 3 or more hours simply commuting from home 10 kilometres away from work. Let me not tell you how much is lost in money terms.

AND YOU WANT ME TO PULL OUT OF THE TRAFFIC QUEUE TO PICK A CALL AND THEN FIGHT BACK TO GET IN, RISKING AN ACCIDENT ANYWAY, SO I TAKE 5 HOURS TO GET TO WORK AND BACK HOME?

GENIUS, won’t you rather solve the road traffic problem first? Are we happy that we all work at maybe 20% productivity?

African Girl in African Dress on a Ridge Sidewalk

Stout African girl sashaying down a rainy Ridge sidewalk in her African dress exploding with colours. Guavas, lemons, melons, sunflowers and lilies sprout about on the glamorous print. An off-matching canary belt clasps her medium girth and promotes her parabolic posterior more than she pretends to know.

Apapa Kama Sutra – There Was No Sex Before Camera Phones!

So a Junior High School boy and girl had a table-top tryst, and the boy folly-filmed it on his camera phone. Big donkey deal. Then, he went bananas and blue-toothed the clip to all the boys in the hood. Big deal. Boys will be boys. Then there was a crazy, chain reaction. Education authorities banned mobiles phones. As if the poor phones caused the sex. As if you can only have sex if you need a camera phone to have sex. Therefore if there were no camera phones, there would be no teen sex. Brilliant! Now the school has expelled the girl. In her private pleasure, she seems to have humiliated the school! Excellent thinking all-round. Now we can all forget about the development we dream of. Our educators know nothing! If I were a camera phone in Ghana right now, I would be very, very offended.

It Takes One Generation

A UN police commander just said on Al Jazeera that they are training the local police in Timor L’Este to take over law and order duties. He said it took one generation to achieve such a thing.

This brought my mind to the Ghanaian police and the changes it needs right here right now. It should also take one generation, no? One generation should it take to shake off the mentality it acquired post-colonially, and everything else. I'm talking about the bribery, the poorly investigated cases and the bullying.

All education, training, regeneration should take at least one generation to change things developmentally. How long is a Ghanaian generation? Twenty-five years? Maybe thirty. We best start finding that transformational education now.

“Cocaine Ghana”, Ghanaian Cocaine, Ghana & Cocaine

Cocaine and Ghana are easy to link. I cannot tell you when this began, but it has been helped in no small way by the current breed of politicians. I used “breed” deliberately (think of it). It does not matter in which government our security system became lax or in which period the State was suspected even of sponsoring the trade. So when our elected MPs spend the taxes tortured out of us empty-barrelling about whether it is Cocaine-NPP or Cocaine-NDC, then I’m asking for my wasted vote back with interest. 

Paying Crude-Oil Tithes to Ghana’s Western Region

Battle lines over revenue. Ghana. Ten regions. Oil in Western Region. Western Region chiefs want ten percent. Politicians not giving. Chiefs angry. If Western gets ten percent, do other nine regions get ten each too?

Snow Ploughs & Fractured Syllabi in Africa

A curious, colourful tale is spun about 1960s-Ghana. The facts are diverse and sometimes do not agree. Nobody has proved that it happened, but nobody has denied it too. I am going to tell you why I am about to tell you the story. Then, I will tell you the story itself. 

You already know that my pet topic is educating our young people – the practical, usable, developmental type that they are not getting. Well, the story is an analogy for our kayoed school syllabi not just in Ghana but many other African countries.

In the 1960s, the government was very committed to farming. Vast swathes of lush land were set aside for State farms all over the country. The government did not want to dump labourers on the land to till away like serfs. The country was still fresh from independence from British rule, and the government wanted to treat its people nice.

The government flew local experts to (I think it was) Czechoslovakia (remember that country?) to study from their own collectivised farms. Our experts were impressed with everything they saw. The preparation of the land, the sowing in neat, geometric rows, the tractors, detachable trailers, combine-harvesters; everything was agricultural heaven.

Our experts thanked their gracious hosts and resolved to come back and practise what they had learned in Ghana. Before they came, they ordered some of the wonderful equipment they had seen on the Czech farms.

A few months later, back in Ghana, the machinery arrived. Oh joy! They were trucked to the State farms all over the country and quickly put to work. BUT THE TRACTORS WOULD NOT WORK! It baffled the local experts because they had seen this same equipment on Eastern European farms.

The story does not end well. They did not live happily ever after. What our ‘experts’ had seen were not tractors. No! They were huge SNOW PLOUGHS! Our people had seen snow ploughs in temperate Czechoslovakia and imported them to equatorial Ghana.

Think back to my analogy about our school syllabi. Do you not see glaringly sad similarities?

(Picture credit - escocorp.com)

BlackBerry Call Card

My funny cousin, Nani, just told me something scant believable (by me). A man prints his BlackBerry PIN on his call card! This need of people to be ‘seen’ and contacted. Smh.