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