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.