What a difference a road makes

My old man bought his house in Teshie-Nungua back in 1970. Back in those days, Teshie-Nungua was the original Domeabra, where only those who really cared about you, dared to make the journey to visit you. However being only 15km from the Centre, it was not really that far. I started driving to Teshie-Nungua back in 1983. In those days, we used to live in Labone  and Teshie-Nungua was only a 20 minute drive away from Teshie-Nungua. It was an interesting drive, where one would drive, past the coastline dotted with the canoes of the fishermen, then over the bridge across the Kpeshie Lagoon, past the shooting range where the images of past leaders being tied to the stake and executed, would flash briefly through my mind. Finally the drive would take one through the fishing town of Teshie, and then finally into the "Estate" as it was then called.

Back to the present and to the subject matter. In recent times, a drive to Teshie-Nungua was synonymous with a drive through hell. Traffic would begin as far as La Palm and stretch all the way to the shooting range. The 20 minute journey now took a minimum of an hour. And to compound it all, hawkers darted in and out of cars, while mosquitoes generated by the stagnant waters of the Kpeshie lagoon, clamoured to have a go at depriving you of a few sips of blood.In a desperate bid to escape the traffic, we would resort to bush roads. These would reward our bravery with huge bills for repairing damaged vehicular suspension components. We couldn’t organise parties and invite our friends over because they would politely refer to the traffic.

Well it has all changed. A project to widen the road into a 6 lane highway has been partly completed. One day after my usual rounds in town, I visited my classmate Wakefield Ackuaku in Osu and hung around until 8pm. With apprehension, I pointed the car in the direction of Teshie-Nungua and floored the pedal. As I approached La Beach hotel I wondered why there was no traffic. I crossed the Bridge over the Kpeshie and sped towards the Military Academy. Still no traffic. I begun to wonder whether something was wrong. As I sped past the Military academy the road suddenly widened and road markings suddenly appeared on the road. It was a brand new road and I just sped along it without any traffic in sight.

There was something surreal about it all. In 12 years of horrible traffic along that road, there simply was none.I remember asking myself . ."was that all it took?" A portion of a road, partially complete, could make such a huge difference to traffic and to the general well being of commuters to that part of town. Thats how bad things had become.I remember feeling sad. If only our leaders would focus on doing what they are supposed to do, the quality of our lives would improve dramatically. The road is not even finished and yet is making a huge difference. That’s how bads thing are. Or were.

Going home never felt so good, getting home never felt so cool . . . God bless Ghana.

The gradual end of the Aviation era in Ghana

London Heathrow is one of the busiest, if not the busiest Airport on Planet Earth. On one of my flights into Heathrow on Ghana Airways, we were asked to circle over London until it was our turn to land. After circling over London for a while, we begun our descent. The aircraft suddenly made a steep bank to the left, leveled out and after a while executed a similar maneuver. The pretty lady next to me grabbed my arm and held tight.  I prayed for many more such turns. There was a mathematical precision to the banking of the aircraft, almost as if it had been calculated to fly exactly along the perimeter of an imaginary rectangle in the sky. After yet another sharp mathematical turn, the buildings comprising Heathrow airport, whizzed by through the small window. Until the reverse thrust kicked in, we didn’t even realize that we had landed. Inexplicably, we broke into spontaneous applause.

This as usual, was a textbook landing by Captain Kofi Ampomah, the first pilot from the Asikuma-Odoben-Brakwa district. He also happened to be one of the first four Ghanaians who qualified as commercial pilot before Ghana’s independence in 1957. We Bremanese can proudly claim to have made an impact on the Ghanaian Aviation Scene. Not only did Captain Ampomah inspire other male Bremanese boys to become Pilots, he also inspired a lady from Breman Asikuma, Miss Joanna Dickson to become one of the first three Ghanaian female Pilots.

Captain Ampomah learnt how to fly from the best British Pilots. He was by nature a perfectionist and this, coupled with the rigorous training by his instructors resulted in arguably, one of the best commercial pilots ever. Long before the advent of computer controlled flight, he had learnt to navigate a plane by using the position of the stars. This knowledge came in handy on a flight where his instrumentation failed. To the amazement of the younger pilots, and without batting an eyelid, he coolly navigated the plane to its destination using the stars.

Captain Ampomah, together with the other three aviation pioneers, Captain Agyare, Captain Dorkenoo and Captain Sam, institutionalized a tradition of excellence in flight that lasted throughout the tenure of Ghana Airways. This was indubitably evinced in Ghana Airways’s trademark smooth landings. Indeed if a Ghana Airways pilot executed a rough landing, he would be the object of laughter and jokes for a considerable period of time. When Ghana Airways was cruelly and systematically destroyed by Ghanaians, other airlines quickly snapped up our Pilots.

Ghana Airways ruled the West Coast of Africa. As soon as Ghanaians killed the venerable institution, a vacuum was created and numerous airlines sprang up to fill the vacuum. Imagine Legon or KNUST being shut down forever because it had amassed debts due to politician’s children and relatives being educated for free over decades. That is what Ghanaians did to Ghana Airways.

Captain Ampomah’s mind was always in overdrive. He was always willing to share his vast repository of knowledge. He always invited passengers into the cockpit for a tour. Ghana Airways pilots were an institution, an aviation resource that given the chance could have transformed Ghana into the hub of aviation for West Africa. Indeed watching the proceedings at Captain Ampomah’s funeral, I reflected sadly at how much aviation knowledge and experience was locked up in that wooden coffin bearing his mortal remains.

Ghana could have leveraged the vast knowledge and experience of Captain Ampomah and his colleagues to create an Aviation Centre of Excellence for the West African Region. Captain Ampomah and his colleagues could have been lecturers or Aviation Professors. It could have become the hub of an aviation education and possibly, industry in Ghana and West Africa.

But alas, we, as a nation have allowed the crucial body of knowledge and experience called Ghana Airways to implode and gradually dissipate. So watching Kwaku Sikahene Ampomah taking his father’s mortal remains away to be laid to rest, I could not help feeling that not only was Captain Ampomah being laid to rest but a significant part of Ghana’s aviation resource was being interred forever.

Ghanaians are a nation of talkers and not doers. We must begin to appreciate our resources and leverage them to become institutions. We will never realize our full potential until we begin to do so.

Captain Ampomah may have gone but his legacy lives on in the hearts of all Bremanese and quite a few Ghanaians. We will forever be proud of him, his achievements and his contribution to Breman in particular and Ghana in general.

Captain Ampomah is on his last flight. And we pray that he executes one of his smooth landings in Heaven.

Wikileaks and all that is wrong with Ghanaians and our self esteem Part II

At the entrance to the British High Commissioners Residence, I joined the queue of elegant looking and elegantly clad human beings. I stole a couple of glances to my left and right and noticed some very high profile Ghanaian Politicians and foreign diplomats. Everybody had their noses in the air so I quickly reverted to DWFA. There was a polite security detail at the gate verifying credentials. This was an orderly queue, unlike the queue at my favorite waakye joint, where queue jumping was the order of the day. Soon it was my turn at security. My invitation card was examined, compared with a guest and I was politely ushered into the compound. I was greeted by a smiling British Diplomat who pointed me in a particular direction. It struck me that this was the first British diplomat that I had seen smiling. Most diplomats had serious looks at best, barely disguised contemptuous looks at worst, when going about their usual business in Ghana.

The sounds of bagpipes greeted my rural ears. I rounded a bend in the pavement and saw a bona fide Scotsman, complete with kilt, seriously blowing on his bagpipes. Kwasi broni all the way from Bronikrom, standing there and playing music for me. Charlie it felt good. I rounded another bend and the reception unfolded before my eyes. It was taking place on the carefully manicured lawn and it was full of dignitaries both local (like me) and foreign ( like some of those I entered with). I looked around trying to find someone I knew. Zilch!! A waiter materialized from thin air with a tray laden with champagne. He offered me one. In my most imperious manner, I took a glass took a sip and looked around. I spotted President Kuffuor amongst the crowd. This was the first time in my miserable life I had seen him. He looked taller and more elegant in the flesh. Charlie this was my kinda crowd.

“Hello Sir”. I turned around and saw a dapper looking British Defence Official, resplendent in his army uniform, greeting two fellow Ghanaians next to me. “Oh hi” was the response from them with dazzlingly obsequious smiles. They launched into an animated conversation. It was obvious that they knew themselves very well and had a lot to discuss. With the benefit of retrospection, I wonder now whether the defence official was professionally extracting as much fodder for his weekly cables back to London.

To cut a long story short, because I was nobody, I got nobody to talk to that evening. Looking back, it was probably a blessing. By the time I walked onto that lawn, the ambience and atmosphere had elevated my ego and self esteem to previously unattained levels. And as one’s ego is boosted, his ability to think soberly and rationally would have diminished. If a diplomat had approached me and asked me questions, I would have answered all his questions and even asked if he could ask more questions for me to answer. If he didn’t have any more questions, I would have volunteered more information anyway.

After my experience, I now understand why our leaders and elite have unwittingly kept diplomats busy. Each and every one of them is only human. As humans, our senses ( all five of them, as well as the common one ) are easily dulled by drink and food. Their ego’s are slowly manipulated to a point where they find ourselves in a situation not unlike those of hostages afflicted with the Stockholm Situation, where they find ourselves sympathizing, empathizing and even assisting their captors.

So my admonishment to fellow Ghanaians is not to castigate those exposed by Wikileaks. If we understand them and the way they operate under certain conditions, we will begin to understand why they sang like melodious canaries.

Long live Julian Assange aka Aunty Julie. May God protect you.

Wikileaks and all that is wrong with Ghanaians and our self esteem Part I

Good ol Julian Assange. I honestly wonder how we would have wallowed in blissful ignorance if Julian Assange had chosen not to publish Wikileaks. I wonder what the radio stations and print media would have been discussing this morning, if the current tranche of Wikileaks had not been released. And last but not the least, I wonder whether the good fellows in our Intelligence community are as surprised as we the proletariat are, at the current revelations.

Amazing as it might sound, I am not surprised. At all. Most of the information that found it’s way onto Wikileaks via the diplomatic embassies, was gleaned from informal interaction with our leaders and us Ghanaians. Human beings and especially the Ghanaian elite love to move in exalted circles. There is nothing like an invitation to a diplomatic event, dinner or reception to give our elite the feeling that they have literally arrived on the social scene. The atmosphere and food at such events gradually weakens the guard of any invitee, to the extent that by the time a diplomat turns up, glass in hand to ostensibly, chat politely, one is ready to divulge any information to further prolong or reward the sense of importance and belonging.

I attended my first Diplomatic event at the age of 10 in 1977. It was the Silver Jubilee of Queen Elizabeth and the British Embassy organized an afternoon event in the garden of the residence of the British Ambassador. Being the archetypal Fante man, I headed for the pastries and I remember vividly the excellent scones I had at that event. They tasted so exquisitely nice that if any British embassy official had sauntered over to me and asked me innocent sounding questions about any aspect of my life, I would have happily volunteered the information while stuffing the scones in my mouth.

Fast forward to a couple of years ago when I was invited to a reception at the British High Commissioners Residence. I remember the sense of importance that flooded through my being, when the posh looking invitation was handed over to me. I, Kobina Ebo from Breman Asikuma, had been invited to a dinner at the residence of the British High Commissioner. To avoid losing the invitation, I hid it in the glove compartment of my car. I then looked for my whitest flowing African gown, took it to the laundry to ensure that it was gleaming white on that big day.

Come the evening of the event and I left work prematurely to struggle home through the abdominal Teshie Traffic. I had a quick shower, jumped into my diplomatic gown and headed back to Cantonments. It was dark by the time I got to the roundabout by the Togolese Embassy and I couldn’t help noticing numerous security operatives directing traffic. I also noticed many beautiful women standing by the roadside but they weren’t directing traffic. I dare say they were contributing to the traffic. They were all in mini skirts and they were night workers who were hoping that they could make it as post reception dessert for some big wig or Diplomat.

I drove past all the gleaming vehicles, found a place to park and took my prized invitation out of my glove compartment. I got out of the car, brushed my gown down and with invitation in hand walked towards the gate of the High Commissioners residence. At the gate a long line of gleaming vehicles were slowly disgorging their occupants. I made a mental note to ensure that I would get a driver and hopefully a nice long black car to bring me to the next event.

Wonders would never cease. I Kobina Ebo, from Breman Asikuma, in my flowing white gown, about to enter the residence of the British High Commissioner in Ghana