Illegal Mining Affecting Girls

Illegal mining in a needy district should blow boys' education into smithereens. But why is it dynamite for damsels too? 'Galamsey Boys' are youthful, loaded, walking neon lights. They bedazzle the girls to choose the procreative trimester over the academic one.

Education Failure. Yes Sir.

Teacher:                    Two plus two equals 4. Understood?

Pupils:                        Yes sir!

Teacher:                     Should I go over again?

Pupils:                        Yes sir!

Teacher:                     But all of you understood it?

Pupils:                        Yes sir!

Teacher:                    Computer.

Pupils:                        Yes sir!

Teacher:                     Skyscraper.

Pupils:                        Yes sir!

Teacher:                     Pathetic.

Pupils:                        Yes sir!

Teacher:                     Mo te m'asee? (Do you understand me?)

Pupils:                        Dabi (No!!!!!!)

Street Animal

Self-reproach is when you catch your thoughts not sparing a moment for the people who work in the streets. But how do you feel touched for the construction worker who’s savagely shovelling rocks and scoring hits on passing cars.

He looks up surprised at each cling and clang. The scowl on his ferret-face says how dare we steer our cars to hit his precious projectiles! How I wish a raptor or ‘saurus would drag him back into the cave he crawled out of this morning!

Bootlick Airlines

Cowering on a thirty-minute flight, meditating on how long it took for a light plane to bite the dust (in these days of mishap), I was squirming – and not just me – at the slimy gallons of apocryphal adulation the cabin crew poured all over a minister of State in the faux-glorified business class separated by a flimsy blue curtain. “Welcome, Honourable Minister, ladies and gentlemen.” “Have a pleasant flight, Honourable Minister...” “Goodbye, Honourable Minister...”

Flimsy Banku Buffets

Perched at the buffet saloon of a shiny hotel on a soggy Kumasi night, sampling senseless delights and wondering woolly whys the local chophouses don’t offer as-much-as-you-like banquets to he-who-goes-there.

The Mental Fence

When I was in primary school

And being smart was still cool

They'd group clever kids in one class

And  stragglers in the quicksand mass

The best they'd call Class Yellow or A
The worst class, D or Grey

They ran two tracks of intelligence

Separated by a mental fence

Class A reached the good high schools

To the rest, they gave hand tools

Nobody got a second chance

To outgrow the Childhood Trance

The Wobbly Foundation of the House at Ridge

(Picture borrowed from graphic.com.gh)

Don Quixote’s Battle

There is a contemporary affair raging on in Ghanaian politics which is quite quixotic to my mind. It is about the sale of real estate by the Lands Commission (of the Government of Ghana) to a former Minister of State. The property is located at Ridge – a gentrified neighbourhood.

The issue has taken on the badge of a battle between the ruling NDC and the main opposition NPP. Another measure is the seeming unremitting disfavour of some self-said devotees of the ruling NDC (and by weak extension the executive) for the judiciary. A third scope of the scrimmage is the insistence by some NPP adherents on an amoral application of the ‘law’ to give back Jake (the aggrieved Minister) the house which the government is loath to do.

This article is a deviation from my normal fare, and an attempt to appeal to Ghanaians to keep their eyes on the real issue and to resist the NDC-NPP cacophony that is clouding the perfidious asset-stripping that is bedevilling our country.

The Political Class

Every fourth year, since 1992, we have held elections. Three times have we changed presidents. At least five times, we have substituted many members of government. Two parties have shown realistic chances of winning, and have won at least twice. This year, NDC or NPP will win again. PPP has shown signs of making a first bleep on the radar for a third force. Whoever wins, it is the same ‘TV’d’ faces that will form the next government. It is this colossal, cross-party cabal of influential people which decides which scandals will cloud the civic conversation at any time. Let us call it the ‘Political Class’.

Dangerous Departure

The current rumpus exposes a dangerous departure from convention – dangerous to the Political Class, salubrious for the people. It emerged in the public domain, no doubt, from a personal score to settle. For as long as only God knows, there has been a scheme urban redevelopment, and it involves ‘redistributing’ antiquated State property to the Political Class and the para-Political Class. The prices are sometimes ridiculously low, but that is a separate conversation.

The principle has been tacitly established: on a regular basis, official residents of State houses can acquire those houses. So can others with the right information or connections. Some members of both the NPP and the NDC have benefitted from this principle.

So, this not-so-public ‘dibi na me’ndibi’ has now become the news because somebody went ‘personal’ against Jake, who was only following an established policy.

Side Attraction Distraction

There have been (perhaps deliberate) distractions from the main issue. Again, the main issue is asset-stripping by the Political Class. There have been media wars, court contests and cabinet repudiations. In my opinion, the racket about these events misses the main issue.

Many have been ‘red-herringed’ off the real scent. If every other Minister since independence had acquired their official residence, would the State have any more to house officials?

The main business of the State does not include construction of accommodation (though it might include facilitating same). Do Ghanaians want to see their taxes used to house the president and his men in hotels when State-owned houses run out?

Pots & Kettles, Law & Morality and Democracy

The pot-and-kettle arguments about morality and legality do not impress me. The Supreme Court has given its decision on the lawful observance of procedure in the acquisition (but not on its morality). The government wishes to look beyond the legal into the moral – the old law-and-morality argument. That is fine too.

The courts do not lay down administrative procedure for the Executive. They only look (by judicial review) to make sure the exercise of administrative power and discretion is fair and lawful. Therefore, if there is an established underlying principle (no matter how morally flawed) the curative duty is somebody else’s, not the court’s.

The morality argument impresses me. I just wish it could be pursued without adding this to the list of matters in which the government takes a posture of jousting with the judges.

If the house at Ridge was not unlawfully acquired, the cabinet has made a decision not to sell. I have tried to wrap my mind around the repercussions. In the main, I do not see a flagrant violation of the authority of the Supreme Court (although there may be disrespect). Instead, I see a government making a stand on high moral ground and risking a private lawsuit for breach of contract or specific performance (an order to perform the terms of the contract to sell the house).

Most importantly, I see a bleeding democracy. We should not accept the immorality that is asset-stripping. We should not accept the executive finding ‘convenient’ means around the Judiciary (or worse affiliates of the party in power threatening the judiciary as has happened in the not-too-far-off past). We should not praise the NDC’s position, if it is merely to score political points. We should exalt the NDC’s position if they are saying “We have been tacitly complicit in this. Now, we realise that it is wrong and must not continue it”. That is a position I could stand in the sun for five hours in December to defend with my thumb.

New Political Principles

Shall we then make a new compact between Ghanaians and the Political Class? Shall it be a continuing document we can all add to and subtract from?

The first principle could be “Let there be no more asset-stripping”. The second might be “Political appointees cannot acquire any assets they controlled or were associated with on the job”. The third principle may be “Let there not just be the actual absence of conflict of interest or minimisation of corruption. Let it be seen that there is none”.

Let all the acts of the Political Class be characterised by fellow feeling and respect for the people. They will not sit down until all the assets are stripped. We should pray that they react by speaking the same words the spokespersons of the Political Class obfuscate the issues in the media every day. But, if the masses do not have words (by reason of unfortunately low – or no – education), they do have hands: connect the dots for yourself.

The house at Ridge is our democracy. Let us be reminded of the wobbly foundations it yet stands on. Let us be reminded of the work and recommitment we need to put into it. What principles would you like to hold the Political Class to?

Non-Street Beggars in the City of Accra

Look, foreign governments don’t post a Santa-for-all-seasons at JFK or Heathrow or Schiphol or Frankfurt to shower sweet toys and treasure on travellers. It’s the same camera, watch, phone, shoes, or frippery they ‘rock’ back at home. So all those people in Ghana always cadging visitors for gifts, PLEASE STOP IT!

Praise & Worship...& Contagion

Quick start. Music soaring. Voices swelling. Atmosphere psychedelic. Quick draw. Handkerchiefs swaying. Microbes sailing. Nostrils inhaling. I'd rather stay in bed.

BlogCamp 2012 - Ghana Rising

Online porn is the quarry of the bird-dog youth of today! Clueless carol of some society speakers. Not true! Imagine my sweet surprise on seeing so many still-growing minds with yards of yen for social medial relevance at BlogCamp 2012; relevance as content creators and catchers too. Ghana's rising the right way - led by the youth. Well done to the organisers.

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Too Old to Hold an OD

I was trading bagatelles with a concupiscent confidante about being middle-aged and unmarried when she got a phone call. Earlier that day, a bank she works at had refused a man an overdraft.

What was the reason? He was over seventy! They would not say this, but they fear he could drop off at anytime, clearly. It matters little his clean credit history or bold bank balance.

So, while we were trifle-flirting-fretting over being nearly too old to be unmarried, a prosperous senior citizen was too old to snag an OD.

It’s Not Too Much Talking; It’s Too Little Voting

Some people say there is too much talk in Ghana. They reckon more action and less talk is the economic elixir we require. I agree that too many people pretend to be political, economic and social experts in the media (including online social media). I disagree, however, that Ghanaians talk too much. The basic meaning of democracy – as I understand it – is the sounding of all views before choosing the most popular.

If TV, radio, print and online media are filled with the ‘voice of the people’, there is a good chance that decisions would be the choice of the people, and failure would be viewed philosophically and not vi et armis. I shift my position a little. The inexpert experts should hush and let the vox populi be broadcast.

Having said that talk is good, talk is not enough. It would be a catastrophe if we did not talk at all. It would be a shame if we talked and talked and nothing happened. A child in primary school, I read a story of a world of creatures resident in a ball of animal fur or something like that. This world was unseen to the ‘normal’ world and condemned to be destroyed. A campaign team was sent around this tiny world to urge the creatures to make an almighty racket. Maybe it could be saved if they could prove that life existed in the ball of fur. Voice and cymbal, drum and hands – they made the din with anything they found. But the animals were not convinced that life resided in the ball of fur. Things got critical. Then the creatures saw the tiniest of their kind. It was hiding behind a flake of dandruff. It would not join in the noise. It did not believe it could make a difference. At the end, it was convinced to shout at the top of its voice, and the animals heard the din. Their world was saved.

It would be a senseless shame if we all spoke up but failed to do the one most important policy-affecting act. VOTE! And it would be sadder still if one could not vote because they did not register. We all know the shortfall of votes that took Ghana to a second round in the 2008 elections, and the number that made the difference finally. How many did not register? How many did not vote? Could they have made a difference for one party or another? Imagine the cost to you (as a taxpayer) that we had two (some say three) elections, instead of one, to choose a leader!

I will not say that the abstaining wise deserve the rule of the foolish but civic. But what a bummer it would be if two abstainers out of every ten could sway the elections by doing nothing beyond the civic right to speak. Many do not feel too patriotic, and I understand their reasons. But when you vote, you vote, first, for yourself; not for Ghana.

The voters registration is on. It is only of secondary importance that the process is biometric rather than something else. Be responsible for your future (and maybe Ghana’s). If I have convinced you – if I needed to – please go out and register. If I failed, then we will fail.

Five Favourite Forget-Me-Nots

Grandfather's Old Law Book

The ancient, no, Jurassic, Jurisprudence book that belonged to my grandfather. He’d wanted to a lawyer. He abandoned school with eyesight problems and a thirst to enter politics against an evolving dictator at the time. He became a magistrate, but never a lawyer. When I pick that book, he speaks to me. He starts, “Panyin Senior Brother.” That’s what he called me. He's smiling down at me right now.

Varicoloured, Old Bed Sheet

The many-motif strip of cloth my mother gave to me in ’98, when I was going to the university. It saw tears and wet dreams for coquettish college girls and served me well in my law-limited sleep. I keep it as a cover cloth now, and it will never retire from my bed.

Bold, Blue Bath Bucket

Ten-litre pail with a lovely black handle. Faithful companion when the showers turned traitor. Now benched as a laundry boy, it’s still not too little to give me a quick body dousing.

Blue, Plastic-Strap Swatch from Primary School

My first Swatch, and mother of many more. I can’t say it rendered me precise, but it was a long-lasting friendship.

Black, Sleek, Scientific Calculator

Daddy bought this gizmo months after we “broke the neck of this Apartheid” in South Africa. He bought it in Johannesburg. It was seventy-something Rands. A long-distance cousin I only saw once visited for three hours. He must have arrived back in Koforidua with a new toy.

Cast-Away Hat in the City of Accra

A well-worn, brown hat perched on the bald cusp of the Spintex Road. I saw it just before a trotro cut in, in a half-whisker before me, and bow-legged the hat. I wondered if it sailed off its owner's suddenly-naked head or if, in typical thug-driving, a trotro whisked him from under the suddenly-perchless hat. It looked so lonely among the people and cars.

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Happy 90th Greeting Cards

It simply had to say 'Get well soon'. Not one did. Upside-down, back-to-front, hand-soiled, crumpled cards, the stupid shop didn't have any get-well-soons. It made the pain worse that there was a card for a 90th birthday. Are there more nonagenarians than invalids in the city of Accra?

Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone

Our Kids Are Smart; They Just Have Shitty Teachers

“If you can read this, thank a teacher.” That is my earliest memory of a saying. Well, there are others. “An apple a day keeps the doctor away.” That one was rubbish in my gangrenous grammar. Were Apple and Day best friends? How could they work together to keep the doctor away? What was the doctor trying to get to? You get the point.

Let them go right ahead. A farming settlement outside Accra with exam-flunking kids snarls at the local teachers. Next, they threaten to lynch them, and issue a worrying writ to quit town. Be my guest. Sink deeper in your educational cesspool right there. At least you had some teachers.

Girondin

Beneath his starlit eyes

All passions burn so cool

Smiles a lot, slow to speak

Mellow voice, mellifluous

He is a tone of brawn and braw

But he’s naked to the bone

He wins his hearts in serenades

And a smooth je ne sais quoi

Girondin is cast in steel

That no fire can hope to melt

His mystery flows beneath the floe

A halo crowns him like a charm

He stalks the wildest fantasies

And stirs the songbirds to a tune

He’s on, he’s off, he’s flittering

Who can hold bold Girondin?

(S)Pin(n)ing

I did not know, the time we met
That it would end this way
I'd not have sung this long duet
Or walked to meet halfway


I did not know true love could die
Unlike in fairy tales
I would have sliced mine like a pie
And boxed a piece with nails


I do not know the way from here
Or if I want to go
Today, the sun did not appear
Tomorrow, it will show

Silence

It is the music of the trees

In the drone of the balmy breeze

It is the stretching of the hills

And the tears the sky sadly spills

Thunderclap in breaking hearts

The unseen tail of poison darts

It is the picture of the sea

The still before the storm we see

It is the depth of the deep black hole

The massive ice caps in each Pole

It is the cosmic dance of stars

And the sounds of life on Mars

The great allure of muted minds

The need to see behind the blinds

The presence of stark loneliness

The blank before each ‘I confess’.

Finis

It rose and then it glowed

Was hot and enragé

Turned cold and blazed again

It grew and flew away

It struck a light and shone

Was swept up in a swirl

Tailspinning in a trice

It mellowed and refined

It set and gave a sigh

Was far from growing old

The time had come to go

It crept away to die.