Thursday, February 28, 2013
Wednesday, February 20, 2013
Ghana's Brand-New Bastille
Electricity, water, fuel, crime, traffic jams, corruption. Right now, Ghana feels like a big, brand-new Bastille.
Thursday, February 14, 2013
Tuesday, February 5, 2013
Growing Old in the City of Accra
Dashing and hunching through the trenches of ‘37’, a soldier hops off
a moving truck and almost scythes down a two-rider scooter. A driver and his
puerile passenger disembark and force-push their cart of a van through the
narrow slits between cars onto the pavements. And an old man and woman snail
across three lanes five metres before the zebra crossing. They trundle along hand-in-hand,
smiling at each other, locked in some riveting powwow, ignoring jolting jalopy,
wayward warrant officer and bemused blogger. Oh, how I loved them!
Monday, January 14, 2013
The Tribute-Prince
The Denkyira
State held sway over the towns and peoples surrounding it. That was most of
southern Ghana today. It had subdued the Akan-speaking clan-towns for miles in
all directions. As a sign of its dominance, Denkyira required periodic tribute
from the defeated clan-towns. The Oyoko clan which had settled around Kumase
was required to send a tribute of a young male royal to serve at the court of
the Dekyira king, Boa Amponsem, at the capital of Denkyira, Abankesieso.
One
particular tribute was an Oyoko prince: tall, handsome, lean-muscled and
quick-witted. He showed early signs of military genius and quickly endeared
himself to the warlike king, who treated him like a son... almost. However, the
young man was not free to come and go as he pleased because he was still a kind
of slave. He was the toast of all at the court - both men and women.
One day, the
tribute-prince succumbed to the power of his charm over the women of the court
and (not knowing his place) spent the night with Ako Abenaa Bansoa, the King's
sister. Abenaa became pregnant. In accordance with the law, the ‘offender’ had
to be put to death. But he was a man of lofty fate, and his spirit would not
give up easily. He fled to the kingdom of Akwamu where he was given refuge by King
Ansah Sasraku. On several occasions, King Boa Amponsem sent people to King
Ansah Sasraku to demand the return of the fugitive tribute-prince, but the
Akwamu king refused. Although Akwamu was a powerful, warlike kingdom, Denkyira
was undoubtedly superior in power. Akwamu sheltered the prince at great risk of
war. But the war did not happen.
The tribute-prince
was dearly loved by the Akwamu king who had him drafted into the army. He
learnt the disciplines of strategy and tactics (and stratagem), and the complex
war formation of the Akwamu army. After many years, the tribute-prince wished
to return home. He had grand designs brewing in his head and in his heart. In
Akwamu, he was neither a tribute nor a slave. Therefore, King Ansah Sasraku not
only permitted him to leave, but also gave him 300 men from Akwamu's elite
forces. The men were tasked to ensure that the prince arrived safely, and
remained safe upon arrival, at Kumase.
With little
incident, the prince's party arrived ‘home’. He formed a strong bond with a
priest of unrivalled manipulative, hypnotic and mental power. They set about uniting
the Oyoko clan with the other clans through coaxing, manipulation and passion.
A new State was born – Asante. When Asante was ready, it marched a colossal
army against Denkyira. King Boa Amponsem had long died and been succeeded by
his 'son' Ntim Gyakari. In the Battle of Feyiase, the prince and his priest
friend struck a blow for independence by killing Ntim Gyakari and routing the
Denkyira army by using the Akwamu-style military formation.
The free Asante State was born. It would soon become a massive empire.
The name of the tribute-prince was Osei Tutu. In a dark, romantic twist of the
tale, some historical accounts hold that the slain Denkyira king, Ntim Gyakari,
was the very son Osei Tutu had had with princess of Denkyira, Ako Abenaa
Bansoa.
Thursday, January 10, 2013
Brain Bogey
Near sinking Swanzy Arcade at 5 pm, when British Accra dwellers were streaming back towards the crowded coastline, we saw an office girl standing in the trotro line. Common-clothed in drab brown, we would have driven by with blinkers on had I not caught her entire forefinger 'pitchforked' deep up her nose...maybe she fishing for bogey in her brain.
Friday, January 4, 2013
Injunction
Two brothers are jousting over
who ‘owns’ a chair. There are other chairs in the room, but they both want ‘this’
chair. An injunction is taking the cushion off the contested chair so that
nobody can sit on it until mummy determines who ‘owns’ the chair.
Wednesday, December 5, 2012
Axe Man on the Loose
This man has been selling these axes, no tomahawks, on the High Street for weeks now. He suspects/knows he is doing something wrong so he usually clutches them very close to his body. Is it that no cop has seen him? This was taken today (48 hours before the general elections).
Tuesday, December 4, 2012
Saturday, November 10, 2012
Amankwatia, Gallant General of Asante
Chief of Bantama and General of the army of
Asantehene, Kofi Karikari (misspelt Koffee KalKalli* by Major-General Garnet
Wolseley) Amankwatia was hailed as a great military strategist and deeply
feared by the vassal States of Asante and the free States surrounding the
empire.
Research into historical accounts mention
an Amankwatia from as early as 1715, who led an Asante army to wipe out an
Aowin army in the Asante_Aowin war. Another Amankwatia is thought to have led
an Asante army in an indecisive victory over the Akyem and Akwapem in 1814.
Amankwatia (the Bantamahene) designed,
planned and executed the last great stand of the Asante at the village of
Amoaful against the advancing British Army of Major-General Garnet Wolseley in
the Third Anglo-Ashanti War. The Battle of Amoaful itself did not last much
more than 24 hours on 31 January 1874.
The British won (and the Asante lost) the
Battle of Amoaful. Some (perhaps questionable) British accounts have it that the
biggest havoc in the British ranks was caused by bad air (malaria) and yellow
fever, but in the Battle of Amoaful every fourth British soldier was hit by the
heavy Asante fusillade.
You see, the Asante chose forest cover and
ridges overlooking bogs (through which the British had to wade) as their battle
stands. Amankwatia is credited with such clever calculation. What advantage the
British had in heavy armament and superior rifles the Asante countered with far
superior numbers (no wonder between 2000 and 3000 of them were either injured
or killed). The British soldiers for a long time came under heavy gunfire from people
they could not see.
After the defeat of the Asante, many chiefs
(generals) were counted among the dead, including Amankwatia. Although Wolseley
was happy to refer to King Koffee Kalkalli as a “wily savage”, he allowed his
fellow general Amankwatia the following tribute: “The great Chief Amanquatia
was among the killed, and the King of Mampon was wounded, while many other
chiefs bit the dust. Admirable skill was shown in the position selected by
Amanquatia, and the determination and generalship he displayed in the defence,
fully bore out his reputation as an able tactician and gallant soldier.”
*To be fair, Wolseley was likely misled by
locals who interchanged the sound of L and R liberally.
Friday, November 9, 2012
Wednesday, October 31, 2012
The Presidential Debate
A
presidential debate
We
watched with breath abate
By
just before midnight
We’d
found the leading light
We'd confirmed a certain two
Were
just as we knew
As
for the other bloke
Oh
what an utter joke
Sunday, October 28, 2012
A Reason Not To Shake Hands
Pretty woman in my rear view; in the spotless, silver Corolla; digging deeply in your nostrils; checking out what you produce. You're the reason I don't look back often enough. When the traffic moved along, it took you ten seconds to note; you were balling up your goo.
Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone
Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone
Saturday, October 27, 2012
Open Barbecue in the City of Accra
In broad daylight, last Friday, on the ceremonial street at animated Nima, Birdie and I saw a group of muscled men singeing a whole cow-carcass with a blow torch and scorching the pavement black.
Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone
Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone
Thursday, October 25, 2012
Vacuity!!!
2012! It bewilders me, and I cannot say
which vexes me more – the superstitious teachers or the benighted varmint. The
ones have zilch to teach because they need a lamp too. The others are a
stupendously sorry sight: ignorant, petty, perishing, future-less.
Wednesday, October 24, 2012
How I Stumbled Upon Blogging
In 2008, Accra was
a jaded jamboree. I preferred to float in bed and fantasise about far-flung frolicsome
places. I had happened on ‘personal websites’ without knowing their sexy name -
blog. Then, my friend, Sandra, introduced me her blog. I was besotted three times over. A poet in
hibernation, I dusted off my skills and became a seeker of ‘second sight’: that
hallowed ‘hang’ to see extraordinary sights in everyday scenes. To experience
and describe Accra’s rich, deep and colourful layers of sights, sounds, smells
and tastes in a unique way. Blogging has given me a novel, vibrant city that’s all my very
own.
Tuesday, October 23, 2012
The Fluid Traffic Lights in the City of Accra
I've heard it said about prisons, mental-health institutions and toilets. Now I add traffic lights. You can tell how civilised a country is by how its drivers mind the traffic lights (and traffic circles).
Five or six years ago, a friend and I saw a Nigerian businessman do a jaw-drop when visiting Accra for the first time. "They actually obey the lights?" He asked. He said the lights were useless décor back in his country. We had a sneaky suspicion that he was self-deprecating too hard.
That kind Nigerian gentleman; he visited five years too soon. Every morning at the Regimanuel traffic lights on the Spintex Road, I barely hang on to dear life after three 'Hail Marys' and four near misses.
Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone
Five or six years ago, a friend and I saw a Nigerian businessman do a jaw-drop when visiting Accra for the first time. "They actually obey the lights?" He asked. He said the lights were useless décor back in his country. We had a sneaky suspicion that he was self-deprecating too hard.
That kind Nigerian gentleman; he visited five years too soon. Every morning at the Regimanuel traffic lights on the Spintex Road, I barely hang on to dear life after three 'Hail Marys' and four near misses.
Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone
Sunday, October 21, 2012
Racing with Cyclists in the City of Accra
My heart turns cartwheels
every time I see a cyclist’s thirty-second madness. Pumping pedals to race your
car, they’re in the lead for twenty seconds. Then you’re level...edge past... whiz ahead. Ten seconds scrape by; they surrender; admission of no catch-up chance.
It’s the human spirit in the race of life.
Saturday, October 20, 2012
The Age of Innocence
The Age of Innocence is gone. We buy late-night Kelewele at 5pm, and do dawn-jogging at 7am. Twenty of us at a pub are no match for 4 gunmen. Saturday night-crawling is a far-off, silver-screen fantasy. Security is merely a word we teach four-year-olds.
Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone
Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone
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