Ghanaians. Fair Weather Friends?

This morning, going through my news feed on Facebook, I came across the picture of Asamoah Gyan above. It's layout and wording projected connotations of the sort, normally associated with obituaries in our dailies. It was a joke to some, but I wondered how I would have felt if I was Asamoah-Gyan or a member of Asamoah-Gyan's family. In fact it is not funny at all.

Some Ghanaians remind me of a story involving a contractor friend of mine married to a lovely woman. When the contracts were flowing, my friend was bringing money home, spoiling the family with gifts as well as the essentials of life. Everything went well and his wife was the most loving of wives. However when the contracts were scarce, the gifts dried up, the essentials of life reduced to the barest minimum and his wife became a monster to live with.

Instead of being supportive and encouraging in the lean times, the wife called him all sorts of names, ranted at the lack of his manhood for not being able to support the lifestyle that they had become accustomed to. You can imagine what it would be like to be in the shoes of this gentleman. Precisely when he needed encouragement and support from those he toiled for, he was getting vehement abuse and his very self esteem and self worth was being attacked by those he fought for. That must be how Asamoah Gyan must be feeling this morning. That must be how the Black Stars must be feeling this morning.

In drawing parallels between this analogy and real life, Ghana’s Black Stars are the contractor, and the Ghanaians, the ungrateful fair weather wife. During any campaign or tournament, when all is going well, we cheer them on. But as soon as the tables turn, our support, our love turns sour. We heap unbelievable invective on the Black Stars, precisely when they need support and encouragement the most. The invective is so venomenous that it sometimes spreads to their families. This character permeates other aspects of Ghanaian life.

Our Black Stars do all the hard work. They train, day in and day out, for tournaments. They undergo strenuous physical exercise to prepare their bodies and minds for tournaments. Out of those who loudly castigate the Black Stars for losing, how many of them spend an hour or more training physically? How many of them even sit down for a dedicated focussed hour every day, to think or prepare for their jobs? Before any tournament, millions of unqualified armchair coaches are already, loudly analyzing, criticizing, chastising and dissecting the composition of the team, as well as the character and competence of various members and aspects of our team. It is no wonder that Michael Essien and Kevin Prince Boateng resigned from the National team to focus on their personal careers. Sitting behind their radios or iPads this morning and listening to the abuse being piled upon Asamoah-Gyan, they must feel finally and totally vindicated by their decision. As I speak, a wise old man, in an "I told you so" manner, laments about the lack of strikers in the Ghanaian squad. I wonder what his comments were when Asamoah Gyan was striking consistently for Sunderland.

Asamoah-Gyan missed a penalty in the World Cup and Ghana lost out. The vocal Ghanaian minority heaped abuse and vitriol on the poor boy and virtually hounded him out of the country. I remember his poor mother, so traumatised, imploring on them to lay off her son. The vitriol was simply redirected at the poor woman. Steve Bruce, sitting across the Mediterranean and the English Channel, saw something that Ghana refused to see. He paid millions of dollars to bring the reviled Asamoah Gyan into Sunderland and gave him the encouragement and support, we Ghanaians had denied him. Asamoah Gyan went on to excel for Sunderland. And all of a sudden Ghanaians had forgotten that he was a villain and were following Sunderland matches and cheering anytime “our boy scored”.

Like footballers, the cream of Ghanaian expertise, talent and competence, ply their trade outside the country. The Ghanaian system nurtures them to a point and then simply does not recognize, reward or appreciate their talent and expertise. They are left with no choice but to travel outside where their expertise and talents are recognized, rewarded and appreciated. Occasionally, the homing instinct brings them home in an effort to visit family or give back to Ghana. We Ghanaians, as a people and as a system, from granting them visa’s, through Kotoka International Airport, out and about in town and finally in our homes, make every effort to make their lives miserable and extract money from them until we can take no more. And then chastise them for being too chisel or too known.

Ghanaians think God is only for Ghanaians. We talk almost blasphemously about God being a Ghanaian. But if we go back to the Bible, God or Allah is a God, not only for Ghana, but for all of creation. The Zambians are as much Gods children, as we Ghanaians think we are. We will never understand Gods ways. We will never understand why God didn’t allow us to beat the Zambians and move on to the finals. But if I was to hazard a guess, God knew how ungrateful and unsupportive we would be, if the Black Stars didn’t make it to the finals. So he allowed the Zambians through.

In every cloud there is a silver lining. A lesser person would have committed suicide if he had missed that penalty at the World Cup. Asamoah-Gyan, instead, forged ahead in life and in his career. He excelled at Sunderland and his bank balance is now excelling from far away Abu Dhabi. Ghana-Zambia was only a blip in his career and in his life. He will bounce back to move on to greater heights.

Likewise the Black Stars should and will regroup mentally and strategically and prepare to qualify for the World Cup in Brazil. I am sure that there are valuable lessons that they can learn from this tournament and especially from their defeat to Zambia. This defeat should motivate them to lift their game and to ensure that they qualify for the World Cup in Brazil.

Hopefully on the 13^th of July, 2014, in Brazil, when Asamoah-Gyan finally lifts the World Cup for Ghana, Ghanaians will look back on the Ghana - Zambia match and realize in retrospect, that it was not a defeat.

It was simply a blessing in disguise.

We are all Woyomes

Hello Ghanaians. I am sure that if Alfred Agbesi Woyome was paid 1 Cedi for every single mention of his name by Ghanaians, he could have, legally and morally, made more than whatever sum of money that he was purported to have been paid.

Over the past couple of weeks, Ghanaians from every corner of Ghana, and indeed the diaspora, have discussed at length, the circumstances and issues, surrounding the payments alleged to have been made to the esteemed gentleman. But to me, it’s a simple case of double standards at work nationally. Most of us discuss the log in Woyome’s eye, but ignore the specks in their very own eyes, pardon the twist if you may. To my simple mind, Alfred Agbesi Woyome hasn’t done any worse than what the average Ghanaian routinely does.

That is to benefit from the taxpayers largesse without necessarily working for it or deserving it.

Everybody in Ghana is asking exactly what quantum of work Alfred Agbesi Woyome put in, to warrant such a huge sum of money being shelled out to him. The irony of it is that, some of those asking that very question publicly, are people who routinely benefit from the taxpayer without necessarily putting in the concomitant amount of work.

Allow me to explain. Since the days of Kwame Nkrumah, the average Ghanaian mindset has slowly but surely been conditioned to expect something for nothing. The Ghanaian Government paid for people to go to school, the Ghanaian Government paid for people to go to University, the Ghanaian government paid for those graduates to pursue Graduate and post graduate programs abroad. The Ghanaian government guaranteed them jobs. The Ghanaian government paid for trips abroad, the Ghanaian government gave them houses, the Ghanaian government gave them cars, fuelled them and paid for drivers to chauffeur them around. The list goes on and on but basically an entire generation of Ghanaian middle to upper class functionaries have grown up, with their mindsets conditioned to expect certain perks from the government, as a basic human right. To those who might counter with the argument that such people work and as such deserve such perks, I put it categorically to them that the perks are simply disproportionate for the amount of work that those people put in or the value that such people create. I dare say that for such people, the amount of money taken from our GDP to support them far outweighs their contribution to Ghana’s GDP. Britain, with a GDP 65 times that of Ghana, does not give it’s Ministers Land Cruisers to ride in, neither does the UK taxpayer give their Ministers the option the purchase the government houses that they live in.

At the very top of the government pyramid, the same mentality prevails. A Presidential commission, legally constituted and populated by Presidential appointees, determines an overly generous package of retirement benefits for our ex Presidents. From houses, offices, flights, hotel accommodation abroad, staff and even vehicles, everything is paid for by the government of Ghana. I hereby ask the question again? Whatever work they put into their roles, is it commensurate with the benefits that they are slated to receive post retirement? Take a look at the United States and the United Kingdom. Even with their vastly larger resources, they are not as generous as we are when they are allocating state resources for the luxurious upkeep of their former Heads of States.

Further down the social ladder, those in the public sector, have the same Woyomic mentality. These government employees are paid every month to deliver on their jobs and render a service. They clamour to clamber upon the Single Spine bandwagon but still deem it their inalienable right to demand money from the public for the very services they are paid to render. To my simple mind, this is basically money they are not entitled to, have not worked for but are demanding and receiving.

So the next time you hear or see someone castigating Alfred Agbesi Woyome remember where he works and the perks he enjoys by virtue of where he works. And make your mind up accordingly.

That is assuming that you yourself are not a Woyome.

Institutionalizing Compassion and Professionalism into Health Care

The old man who inspired this article ( head bowed )

Two days ago, I attended a funeral of a friend’s father. After several hours at the funeral, it was time to leave, so our grateful friend, a Ghanaian Doctor based in the United States, accompanied us out of the funeral grounds. At the car park, as the seven of us indulged in some pre departure small talk, we heard a loud thud. We turned towards the source of the thud and saw an old man, clad in funeral attire, lying prone in the dust beside a bench he had obviously fallen off.

Within one tenths of a second, my brain had processed the entire scene and come to the conclusion that the man must have been drunk. I turned away from the scene to continue the conversation. But not the Doctor. He took one look at the scene and walked over to the man lying in the dust. Shamed into action, I followed him. As I got to the scene, the Doctor was struggling to lift the old man into an upright position. I joined him and we seated the gentleman back on the bench. The Doctor started asking questions . . .”Are you alright?”, “ Do you have a headache?”, “Has this happened to you before”, “Are you on medication?”. For a split second, I thought I was participating in a real life episode of Grey’s Anatomy. The old man initially dazed did not answer but when he did, a gust of “fuse” burst out of his mouth and into our nostrils. As if to confirm what our noses had already told us, he declared that he was only drunk and that there was nothing to worry about. With that we wiped the dust off his face and clothes and with obvious reluctance the Doctor walked away, followed by myself.

The entire episode did not take more than five minutes but those five minutes highlighted and underlined the glaring difference in Medical Care, Medical ethics and patients rights between Ghana and the United States. Most Ghanaians have stories to tell about the lack of compassion and professionalism, exhibited by Ghanaian Health Professionals towards their clients, i.e patients. Many a Ghanaian has a story to tell of friends, relatives and loved ones who have died avoidable deaths in Ghanaian hospitals. In most of these situations, a slight dose of professionalism and compassion would have saved Ghanaian lives.

Ghana trains many Doctors, some of whom stay in the country to work, others who emigrate to other countries to practice their medicine? I have always wondered why, the same Ghanaian Doctors, excel out there and are more compassionate and in many cases, more professional than the colleagues they left behind in Ghana? My Doctor friend had been trained in Ghana by those, and together with those who currently man our health system. He left for the United States 10 years ago and obviously had entered a system that had institutionalized compassion and care. By working within the American Medical system and doing what the “Romans” did, professionalism and compassion had been imbued in him. It was second nature, almost reflex for him to react the way he did, irrespective of geographical location. The saddest aspect for me was the fact that if he came back to Ghana to work in our health care system, this work ethic would slowly evaporate and he would become as ______________ as the health care professionals here in Ghana. I leave you, the reader to fill the blanks as you see fit.

My hypothesis is that the framework that exists out there, has institutionalized compassion and respect for patients rights in a manner that simply does not exist here in Ghana. We need to replicate this framework here.

What is this framework? Basically United States Congressional law protects and ensures the right to quality medical care and the right to informed consent. These laws essentially provide patients with rights and enjoins Health care providers to guarantee those rights. The first Hospital Patients Bill of rights was drafted in 1973 and must be posted in the corridors of accredited hospitals in the US. It includes 12 basic rights, namely:

1. A patient has the right to considerate and respectful care.

2. A patient has the right to receive complete information from a physician about a patient's diagnosis, treatment plan, and prognosis.

3. A patient has the right to obtain information about the specific nature of a proposed treatment or procedure, a disclosure of the risks involved, and information about medical alternatives.

4. A patient has the right to refuse treatment and to be informed of the medical consequences.

5. A patient has the right to privacy during discussion of one's medical condition and while undergoing medical care.

6. A patient has the right to expect all records related to medical care will be kept confidential.

7. A patient has the right to expect that reasonable efforts will be made to respond to the patient's request for services, and that the patient will not be transferred to another medical facility without advising the patient of the need to be transferred and without ensuring that the new facility will accept transfer of the patient.

8. A patient has the right to obtain information about the relationships amongst care providers in the hospital and related medical and educational institutions. This is designed to protect patients from conflicting interests that might affect quality of care.

9. A patient has the right to obtain information about human experimentation and research that might affect treatment or care, and to refuse to take part in such experimentation and research.

10. A patient has the right to expect reasonable continuity of care. This is meant to assure the patient that, for example, diagnoses will be followed up with continued treatment.

11. A patient has the right to examine and receive an explanation of the hospital bill.

12. A patient has the right to be informed of hospital rules and regulations that apply to patient conduct.

These rights, combined with:

• The Hippocratic Oath

• American Medical Association Principles of Ethics

• American Nurses Association Code

• Federal Emergency Medical Treatment and Active Labor act 1989

• Patient Self Determination Act

• Medical Malpractice Precedents established in courts

have combined to ensure that the highest standard of medical care is given to each and every patient in the United States. Basically US Law and Medical ethics require a Health Professional to provide comprehensive treatment to a patient who is presented at a medical facility and/ or find another medical professional who can. Anything less than that and you could be open to a Negligence or Medical Malpractice lawsuit. I submit that there is nothing like this to inculcate professionalism and compassion into any Health Professional.

If Ghana could replicate to an appreciable extent, the above framework, customized to our peculiar context, we could create the foundation for a total revamp of our health care system. Recognition by health professionals, that patients have rights, can transform the Doctor-Patient relationship from an authoritative and paternalistic one to one where the quality of medical care is enhanced and both sides form a partnership to achieve the goal of universal health care.

To the average Ghanaian Health Professional, all this will be scoffed at and regarded as being too "book long", inapplicable and unnecessary. But this framework, with enforcement, provides benefits to both patients and hospitals. It guarantees the patient quality and appropriate health care and ensures that in the long term, with enforcement, the health profession and professionals deliver on their objectives as well as the Hippocratic Oath.

It is my hope, that somehow,the Executive and Parliament of Ghana will establish a legal framework emanating from our Law of Tort, to create the necessary foundation from which to build a healthy Ghana. We owe it to our friends, relatives and loved ones, who died avoidable deaths.

There will always be a loser

Ironing my clothes this morning, I heard a radio presenter announce that Man City’s Coach, Robert Mancini, had complained bitterly about the refereeing of the Chelsea – Man City match. According to the report, Mancini remonstrated passionately, citing as examples, a series of questionable decisions by referee Mark Clattenburg, that resulted in Chelsea’s unexpected win.

 

Subconsciously, to relieve me from the tedium of ironing, I slipped into a daydream, where Robert Mancini and Man City fans, declared themselves the winners of the game and streamed onto the Stamford Bridge pitch to celebrate. Chelsea fans outraged, converged on the field to protest the unilateral declaration of winning by Robert Mancini. The referee sensing danger, escaped into the Chelsea fans but outraged Man City fans followed him into the Chelsea fans and dragged him out. Violence ensued between both sides and with TV cameras focused on the unfolding events, the whole of the soccer world, paused momentarily to follow events on their TV’s, PC’s, iPads and mobile phones. There were even fans in the stands filming and streaming the proceedings live with their iPad2’s . . . . . . . . . .

Inflamed by the violence on the pitch, fans of both clubs, poured out on the streets of the United Kingdom, to protest and declare themselves winners of the game. This led to running battles and the Police were called in. As tends to happen in fluid situations like this, the Police had to resort to using overpowering force to subdue the violence. Injuries were sustained, and images of bloodied supporters were broadcast live to a global audience. Politicians, footballers and coaches from other clubs and countries waded into the imbroglio, some taking the side of Mancini and casting aspersions on the referee and his conduct of the match. They encouraged Mancini to remain on the streets to fight for his rights and accused the Police of using undue violence against the Man City fans.

The situation looked like it was deteriorating uncontrollably until Rrrrrrrrrrrrrring!! My mobile phone rang. My mom regular as clockwork, had called to check on her son. Well he was so fine, he was daydreaming. Her son quickly snapped back to reality but the daydream or rather daymare had been so vivid, it had seemed real. Thankfully it had not been reality. I reflected on it and the incongruity of it all jumped up and out at me. It was simply ridiculous to visualize Roberto Mancini declaring himself winner of the soccer match. It was even more ridiculous to imagine Mancini and Man City storming angrily and self-righteously to the nearest courtroom to lodge a lawsuit against the English FA. Rules were rules and no matter how unfair the rules or certain refereeing decisions were, the rules of the game had to be followed. And followed they always were. Because it was just a game of football. I repeat, it was just a game of football. There was simply no point risking life and limb to protest what might have seemed an unfair decision.

Last year, during the World Cup, Ghana and Africa narrowly missed out on creating soccer history. An individual, whose name I cannot bring myself to mention, used his hand to prevent Ghana from scoring a goal. Irrespective of the emotions surrounding that incident, unfair as the circumstances surrounding them were, Ghana and Uruguay respected the rules of the game. We moved on. Nobody was physically hurt. Yes emotions were ruffled and pride was lost but not a limb nor life was lost. And that for me, was the most important thing.Emotions, ego's and pride are like foam mattresses. They might get bruised, dented or trampled upon but given time, they regain their former state. This regrettably is not the case with physical injury or death.

Steering this monologue to the topic of elections on our beloved continent, it is with similar incredulity that peaceful and progressive peoples throughout the world observe Africa and its politics. Just like soccer matches are used to determine winners and losers, elections are democracy’s method of determining the winners from the losers. There are rules governing democracy and elections, just as rules exist governing soccer, that all participants have to abide by. Elections are held every so often and just like soccer matches, they are never perfect. Mistakes are made, by politicians, voters and electoral officials alike. Certain decisions by those overseeing elections are taken. But unlike soccer, it is slowly becoming fashionable to disregard the rules governing elections and the decisions of the electoral referees.

An interesting aspect of elections worldwide recently has been that, results of elections are always close. This suggests there will always be teeming hordes behind the winner and equally teeming hordes behind the loser. And once there is no overwhelming majority, in the election results or in the numbers of supporters on one side or the other, the tendency is for these situations to drag on. Difficult as it sometimes is, we must all collectively learn to accept the results of elections as announced or determined by electoral referees. Whatever spirit or mindset that enables us to accept the results of soccer matches, and trudge home or back to our daily lives, either happy or sad, we must employ towards election results.

Dr Afari-Gyan is Ghana’s and possibly, Africa’s most experienced political referee. Judging by the copious quantities and questionable quality of the rhetoric as well as demagoguery in circulation, Ghana has possibly one of the most anticipated and most contested political soccer matches in less than 12 months time. There will be rules governing that political soccer match. We must all start psyching ourselves to participate in that match, in the spirit of the game. We must all start psyching ourselves to respect the rules of the game and accept the results of that match, irrespective of who wins or who loses.

At the end of it all, it will be just a game. Just like Chelsea and Man City was just another game, Election 2012 will just be another election in the Premier League of Ghana's political history. There will only be one winner if we respect the rules of the game. There will only be one loser if we don’t respect the rules of the game.

That winner or that loser will be the Republic of Ghana.

The Parallel Economy

Last Thursday, in the balmy humidity of my cocoa farm, with only my thoughts  for company, I turned on the radio. In far away Accra, the Minister of Finance was reading the budget for the next fiscal.

Big impressive figures rolled off his tongue about our economy and I am sure that if I lived outside Ghana, I would have been impressed. Very impressed. The problem was that after 44 years here on earth, listening to his many predecessors from the NPP, PNDC, previous governments and previous decades, I couldn’t help wondering how totally detached the figures were from the economy I participated in.

You see, I have always been convinced that in Ghana we have had a two track economy. In other words a two tier economy. One economy for the rich few and the other economy for the poor many. I happened to belong to the bottom tier economy. Driving under the Tetteh Quarshie overpass, it hit me that the top tier economy was like a railroad of wealth, suspended above and well out of the reach of us in the bottom tier economy. We in the bottom economy could see the money circulating on the tracks above but try as we could, we could not participate in that economy. Occasionally, those on the railroad above us, would throw us a few scraps from the economy above and we would scramble for the scraps below.For me, poor but educated cocoa farmer from Breman Asikuma, the most important thing was that the impressive figures reeling off the Ministers tongue applied to the economy upstairs. GDP growth, reduction in inflation . . that couldn’t apply to us down here.

Lemme explain why. My cocoa trees nestle under the protective shade of numerous plantain trees. My cocoa of course get captured by the suits in Accra because I get paid with an Akuafo Cheque. Cocoa feeds the economy on the railtracks above so it was too important not to capture. Not so for the plantain under whose shade my cocoa nestles. Periodically I harvest my plantain and haul it to the roadside. On nominated days, trucks come from Accra, Assin Fosu, Swedru and Akyim Oda to purchase my plantain. I am paid cash for my plantain. The buyers do not issue a receipt, neither do they request an invoice for my plantain. There are millions of other farmers like me, repeating the same transaction for various food items, plantain, yams, cassava, tomatoes, garden eggs. I wonder how on earth these transactions can be captured accurately or even estimated accurately by those in suits or political suits in Accra. They can’t because these foodstuffs are part of the parallel economy running at ground level.

My Uncle in Germany sent me a Benz bus to use as a passenger bus between Asikuma and Mankessim. However this vehicle plies the route between my house and the workshop far more than it does the route to Mankessim. I spend a fortune buying parts and paying the fitter. The fitter does not give me an invoice and neither does he issue receipts. I multiply my Benz bus by the many passenger buses out there in Ghana and wonder how on earth these transactions could be captured or estimated by the suits or political suits sitting in their air conditioned offices and Land Cruisers in Accra. They can’t because these spare parts and fitters fees are part of the parallel economy running at ground level.

I nearly forgot to add that when the Benz bus was on its way to Ghana, my uncle sent me some Deutschemarks to use to pay for duty and clearing when it landed. He sent it through someone flying in, so I travelled to Accra and went to the Airport. As soon as I picked up the money, I walked down to the Airport roundabout and changed it into cedis. No receipt, no invoice, just pure cash. Come and capture this transaction Mr Economist. You can’t because it is part of the parallel economy. Meanwhile travel to South Africa and see if you can change a single dollar without producing your passport. Come to Cow Lane in Accra and the volumes of forex traded there will stun the suits.

I think if you have survived to this point in my monologue, then you are beginning to get my point. There is simply a category, a whole load of economic transactions that run parallel to the formal economy of this country. The suits are aware of this and I am sure that with the best intentions, they try to factor it into their calculations of the Gross Domestic Product and Inflation et al. But they can’t.

If we were in a court of law, their submissions or postulations would be thrown out of court for lack of hard evidence. In a similar but less drastic vein, I, the humble cocoa farmer from Breman Asikuma, will accept the budget from the esteemed Finance Minister, with a pinch of salt from the Songhor lagoon. Because when it comes to the parallel economy, they are simply not part of it. We are.

The Discriminatory Mindset

It takes a certain mindset to be able to tell someone that he or she cannot be a member of a club because it is reserved only for Caucasians.

The human mind is a very interesting and malleable creation. It is a bit like a computer. Basically what one allows in, determines what will come out. Basically, Garbage in, Garbage out. Every human being is born with the mental equivalent of a clean slate. As we grow, our mindsets are gradually moulded by our interaction with the outside world. Our parents, our peers, our society, our culture, our education and especially our experiences all come together to give each of us a unique mindset to call our own.

Mental garbage can be acquired gradually over a long period of time or quickly after an intensive session of garbage acquisition. It could very well be that the fishmonger was not racist. But I am quite certain that his mindset contained some discriminatory garbage. It could very well be, that it was acquired well before he entered this country and married his Ghanaian wife. It could also be that he acquired it via the fast track route. This could have been through lavish doses of the typically subservient behavior that the majority of Ghanaians tend to exhibit towards our Caucasian brothers. He could also have acquired it just by sitting back and observing how we Ghanaians go about our daily life and the task of building our country.

Well the restaurant has been shut down. Shockwaves will hopefully have been sent through similar establishments and service providers throughout the capital and the country. It is time to turn the lens introspectively on ourselves as a society and examine whether similar mindsets, exist in minds throughout the country, black or white.

Amongst us Ghanaians, similar discriminatory mental garbage can be acquired gradually, culturally and traditionally. It is a common to observe tradesmen, folks from the village and employees, leave their shoes and sandals at the door and enter the house barefoot. In the unlikely event that one forgets to do this, he or she is quickly reminded to leave their shoes outside.

It is also a common Ghanaian practice not to allow our drivers or employees into our houses or living rooms for a second longer than it is absolutely necessary. It is anathema to find a driver or house help, in their Masters living room, watching TV with them. It is very rare to find house helps, imported from the rural areas, eating the same food and enjoying the same treatment or privileges as their employers children. Don’t be fooled for a second. It is the same discriminatory mindset at work here.

Subconsciously to the perpetrator, the driver or house help is simply not a member of the household even though he or she might be a part of it in so many ways. Thus they do not qualify. It might not be white against black, it is black on black but that does not make it any less reprehensible. Countless other examples of the discriminatory mindset but it is pointless to enumerate them all. We can however, safely conclude that the discriminatory mindset doesn’t discriminate when it comes to which type of mind to inhabit. It could be Italian but it could also very well be Ghanaian.

It came as quite a shock when we discovered that the discriminatory statement was not a criminal offence. It is thus imperative to discuss legislation that can be passed to ensure the discriminatory mindset is expunged from all minds, African, Middle Eastern, Asian or Caucasian.

We need to draw our legislators eyes to the South African Promotion of Equality and Prevention of Unfair Discrimination Act, 2000 .It is a comprehensive anti-discrimination law enacted by the Parliament of South Africa. It expands on the anti-discrimination provisions of the equality clause (section 9) of the Bill of Rights in the Constitution of South Africa, prohibiting unfair discrimination by the government, private organizations and individuals. It also forbids hate speech and harassment. The act specifically lists race, gender, sex, pregnancy, marital status, ethnic or social origin, colour, sexual orientation, age, disability, religion, conscience, belief, culture, language and birth as "prohibited grounds" for discrimination, but also provides that discrimination on other grounds can be unfair if it has similar effects on dignity or equality. I would however recommend that the sexual orientation bit be removed from our implementation of such a law.

I would suggest that our legislators go one step further and criminalise any contravention of the above law with stiff penalties. We should then implement it with the same vigour with which we argue on radio stations every day about housing for ex Presidents.

And to those visiting our shores from far yonder, who hide that discriminatory mindset behind condescending smiles. Don’t think for one second, that this article seeks to absolve or play down the reprehensibility of that sort of mindset or behavior. It is reprehensible and will not be tolerated. When it comes to matters like this, we will unite together as Ghanaians and Blacks and deal with you accordingly and legally.

I rest my case

The total Wrongness of Ghanaian Society

One thing which Islam, Judaism and Christianity agree on, is the story of, or facts surrounding the rise, the rot and the eventual demise of Sodom and Gomorrah. In a  nutshell, the ancient biblical city of Sodom and Gomorrah descended into so much moral wrongdoing that it eventually paid the ultimate price. In so many respects, our country Ghana, reminds me of the story of Sodom and Gomorrah. This article is about the state of affairs a society finds itself in when it descends into a total morass of wrongdoing. Like I believe Ghana has.

A close friend’s car was rammed by a truck. Both parties reported to the nearest Police Station. Both cars were detained over the weekend because of the ostensible lack of a testing officer. On Monday the truck is gone. Pressed for an explanation, the cops say a testing officer was found on Sunday to test the truck so it had been released to its owners.

A relative sells something to somebody in good faith on credit. Full payment is not made so it proceeds to court. Court rules in favour of relative. Questionable appeal is made to another court. It is granted. Legal loopholes being exploited by the wrong people for the wrong ends.

Twice, CCTV cameras capture an employee entering his employer’s office after working hours, ransacking the office and pocketing various sums of monies found. Suspects spends a few days behind bars at the nearest police stations and then are bailed by their relatives. End of cases.

2 respected banks are called upon on separate occasions to honor performance bonds for non-performance during a project. They go through the motions of bureaucracy and there is a delay. Then out of the blue, the contractors go to court and place an injunction on the release of the performance bond. Further legal action and wrangling. Justice delayed is justice denied. Question is, who in the bank leaked to the contractors, that the performance bonds were being called upon?

All Land Cruiser owners in Ghana are de facto Ministers. So while the citizenr, inch forward patiently in traffic, they speed past, lights blinking on the opposite side of the road and against the flow of the oncoming traffic. Any brave idiot puts on his indicators and he will breeze past all of us. We are only trying to be law abiding. And the saddest thing is that they get away with it. That only serves to emboldens other ill disciplined drivers.

Increasingly, friends complain about being stopped by Policemen on the highway for speeding. They all  complain about strange speeds indicated on the radar guns that are at variance with the speeds there were actually doing. Then a speeding big shot encounters some Policemen who flag him down. He demonstrates a little “who born dog” and all Policemen are hauled to Accra for a good dressing down. The populace sit back confused because all sides are wrong, We can’t take sides.

The common thread through all this, is that the law and laid down procedures are exploited to achieve the wrong ends. Right becomes wrong and wrong becomes right. Innocents become victims and the guilty become innocents. In almost every aspect and facet of Ghanaian society, the wrong thing is done. And they are done “according to the law”. The pervasiveness of wrongdoing is such that criticism of a single act, becomes a criticism of the entire society. Like an immune system the entire society comes together to attack and consume whoever dares to criticize or correct it’s wrongs.

Just like a car, people, procedures, laws and societal mechanisms have to work the way they are designed to. A car or airplane is basically an amalgamation of many component parts, working the way they are designed to, and always in unison. Any deviation from the norm and warning signals are sent to the Pilot or driver. Prompt action to correct any deviant part or behavior and the vehicle gets to its destination on time and in one piece. Continuously ignoring the warning signals leads to delays at best or entire crashes at worst.       

Similarly, in a society, little acts of wrongdoing cumulatively generate a boiling cauldron of resentment that simmers just below the veneer of society. A trigger, however miniscule, ignites this resentment and it bubbles over into a mighty tsunami of upheaval.  On Friday the 17^th of December 2010, less than a year ago, a frustrated young fruit seller called Muhammad Bouazizi set fire to himself. He died 18 days later on the 4^th of January this year. That singular act of immolation, triggered a sequence of events that ended or disrupted the lives and lifestyles of countless citizens in Tunisia, Egypt, Yemen, Libya and Syria.

We sit in Ghana and pass comments like “God loves Ghana”, “God must be a Ghanaian” et al. And then continue the cumulative wrongdoing without compunction. Who knows what or who our Muhammad Bouazizi will be and when?

Make we dey there.

What is a border

Just before one drives into my hometown Breman Asikuma, on the right side of the road from Nyakrom, my wife and I own some land, 200 metres into the hilly countryside. This is where we plan to build our retirement home when the children have flown the coop.

I remember clearly the day the land was demarcated and sold to us. We met the owner of the property by the roadside and walked, through somebody’s plantain farm and emerged onto a clearing looking down into a shallow valley. He looked around and asked us how much we had paid. He then pointed to the bottom of the valley. That become one border of our property. He then looked far across and pointed out a palm tree. That become the second corner of our property. A last look and yet another tree assumed the duties of the third corner of our property. Of course where we stood automatically become a corner as well. We all smiled, shook hands and walked off the property, leaving somebody to place pillars in each of the four corners.

127 years ago, in the city of Berlin, on a slightly larger scale, a similar process took place. The continent of Africa was partitioned into various territories under the various European colonial powers. America was invited but for some reason declined to take part. Like us in present day Breman Asikuma, the colonial powers used certain geographical features as well as economic considerations, to arbitrarily divide Africa up amongst themselves.

Our country Ghana is breathtakingly beautiful. A couple of weekends ago I had to drive 300 kilometres north to a little village called Pampawie. I had never been up that part of the country and I couldn’t help admiring the beautiful scenery as I drove through the Volta Region. I also couldn’t help noticing the beautiful green mountain range that, for most of the drive, formed my eastern horizon. And it set me thinking. The Colonial Powers, sitting around the conference table, 127 years ago in Berlin, with a relief map of West Africa spread out before them, must have used geographical features to divide our land up amongst themselves.

In the western part of Ghana, the river Tano flows from Techiman and empties 400km later, into the Aby Lagoon in Côte d'Ivoire. At the Ghanaian town of Fawmang, where it meets a thick forest, the Tano River represents the last few kilometres of the international land boundary between Ghana and Côte d'Ivoire.

I wonder how present day Ghana would have looked and fared if Germany and France had better negotiators than the British at the Berlin Conference. The Germans would have negotiated that the Volta River would form the eastern border of Ghana and the French could have ensured that the Tano River would be the western border of Ghana. I can imagine the British bargaining and extending the border from the Volta river to the mountain range that formed the beautiful cloud capped eastern horizon on my drive up that part of the country. And likewise to the West, pushing the border from the Tano river to the dense forests that now form most the border with Côte d'Ivoire.

I am sure that most of the negotiators, had probably never visited the beautiful continent of Africa. But as a result of their meeting, tribes, clans, families, and peoples were divided into different countries. Further down the century, with different political and administrative setups by the colonial powers, they developed different second languages, different mindsets, different philosophies, work ethics and value sets. Thankfully though, languages and cultures to a large extent have survived the 127 years since the Berlin Conference.

Which brings me back to the question that comprised the subject matter of this article. What is a border? In my humble opinion, a border is not just an imaginary line drawn on a political map. A border is an imaginary distinction in the minds of millions of peoples of common African Ancestry as a result of the Berlin Conference. An imaginary limit, an imaginary restriction, an imaginary constraint and possibly worst of all, an imaginary horizon placed in the minds of millions of Africans, that has managed to survive 127 years and possibly quite a few more.

On the 5^th of March 1957 AD, when the Gold Coast became Ghana, Kwame Nkrumah declared that the independence of Ghana was meaningless unless it was linked up with the total liberation of the African continent. Kwame Nkrumah was light years ahead of his time. Somehow he managed to discern that the greatest obstacle to Africa’s emancipation and progress was the imaginary border/horizon implanted in our collective mindset by decades and centuries of colonialism.

My remix of Kwame Nkrumah’s famous saying would be . . . “The Independence of Ghana is meaningless until the total liberation of African minds is achieved".

I can visualize Kwame Nkrumah up there in heaven, nodding his head and smiling in approval.

Candle in the wind . . . . .

14 years ago, sitting alone in my flat in London, the news broke that Princess Diana had died in a car crash in Paris. I remember the saturation in the TV coverage of her death and I remember very well quietly shedding a tear or two . . . it was just a very sad event and atmosphere.


Into the charged emotional mix, Elton John released his Candle in the Wind song and I remember thinking to myself that it was getting a bit too much, what with songs and tings being released into the whole shebang. Already, even without the song, man wan cry already sef. Well to cut a long story short, I never bothered with the lyrics of the song or bothered to understand the significance of the title of the song, until today. Why???? Because I have had a horrible week . . .a weekus horribilis to paraphrase Her Royal Majesty the Queen of England. In the space of a week, several deaths have hit me big time. 


States
My good friend and the epitome of a perfect suave gentleman, Robert Blay aka Statesman was stabbed in the throat in the early hours of the morning a week ago. He managed to drive himself to the Tema General hospital, park his car, and walk into the OPD at 03:45am. By 04:21, in the emergency section of the hospital, his soul left his body permanently. A promising life, a gentleman, a decent man's life had been snuffed out just like that.


Steve Jobs
Even before I could come to terms with Statesman's passing, the news also broke that Steven Paul Jobs had finally succumbed to Pancreatic Cancer. Even though I had never met or seen Steve Jobs, his death hit me real hard. Steve Jobs was so cool, so talented, so anti conventional wisdom, so rich, so powerful that it was kinda hard to accept that he also could die. It hit me real hard that no matter how high we humans flew, how much we achieved in life, how talented we were, we could be recalled by God at any time. And there was no formula or criteria. Unlike the rules that tended to persist in our world, anybody, irrespective of wealth or status could be recalled by God at any time. No connection, no bribing, no lobbying.


Father George
This morning the news was broken to me . . .that another very good friend, almost a brother, Father George Abakah had also succumbed to Liver Cancer. Father George was just a few years older than myself, if not my age. He was the Priest who officiated at my wedding. During his sermon, as tends to be usual during most sermons, my mind wandered off until I heard him mention Bob Marley and then sing the first line of Bob Marley's Natural Mystic. Hey!! Now that was one funky Catholic Father. The guy became my paddy paaah after that.


I visited him exactly 2 weeks ago. I knew he was ill and that the diagnosis was dire. But I was surprised by his optimism and it reinvigorated mine. I had been struggling with my faith in God. I didn't understand why God would let one of his faithful servants be struck with Liver Cancer. But he told me that he was on the mend and that he would be a living testimony to the power of God. I left him full of faith in Gods ability to perform a miracle cos I was witnessing one live. I exchanged text messages with him exactly a week ago. He said he was getting better. A week later  . . . . . . . 


I have been in a very reflective mood today. And the underlying theme of my reflections is basically about how fleeting life is. How transient our stay here on earth is. About the inevitability of the icy hands of death. Here today, gone tomorrow. Healthy today, dead tomorrow. 


Driving back towards home after my rounds in Accra town, Elton Johns song came to mind.  I focused on the title of the song. Candle in the wind. It was today, after so many years, that the significance of Elton's song and its title struck me. Yes that's how our lives and our souls are. They are like the flames of candles, fluttering in the wind. A particular gust of wind, in a particular direction, at a particular strength of the candles flame and the flame could be doused. Just like that!!!!!

The True perpetrators of manslaughter on Ghanaian roads

Manslaughter is defined as the crime of killing a human being without malice, forethought, or otherwise in circumstances not amounting to outright murder.

With the above definition in mind, let’s go back in time. Some time ago, during the past year, a truck driver noticed that his Road Worthiness Certificate was about to expire. These days it was not easy being a driver of an articulated truck. There was a lot of competition for the business of transporting goods and containers around the country. Margins were thin and the owner of his truck was putting a lot of pressure on him to increase revenue. Every little bit of money saved, counted. The last thing he wanted was a policeman stopping him on the highway and “fining” him for an expired Road Worthiness Certificate.

Mr Kojo Truck Driver aka Kargo Brent, found some time and drove to the DVLA office. As soon as he drove into the DVLA office, he was accosted by the so called “goro boys”. They were offering a Fast Track service where the renewal of his Road Worthiness Certificate would be expedited through the normally slow inspection process. For an ordinary truck driver, this was too tempting to refuse. For a few more Ghana Cedi’s, he could have his Road Worthiness Certificate extended for another year in less than 20 minutes. He looked through the sea of faces under his window and selected Kofi Goro. At once Kofi Goro knew that he was going to get enough money to feed his family for another day.

Under a fan in the offices of the DVLA, Mr Kwasi Safety Inspector was doing his calculations. He had a lot on his mind. He had school fees to contend with, his building project at Ashiaman required an injection of cash to take it to the next level and his mistress needed chop money for the next month. He had also been rejecting calls from the village. In the midst of his mental deliberations, Kofi Goro walked up to his desk, saluted him and stood at attention. At once Kwasi’s immediate future brightened. A truck required fast track service. And the driver was willing and able to pay for it. Kwasi Safety asked where the truck was and Kofi Guru pointed through the windows, to one of the trucks parked in the yard.

Some “goro” exchanged hands, Kwasi Safety got up reluctantly, wore his white overalls and sauntered over to the truck. He walked around the truck once and then looked at the tires. His professional training told him that the tires needed replacing urgently. He looked around and asked who the driver was. Kargo Brent raised his hands respectfully. In a stern voice, Kwasi Safety told Kargo Brent to make sure that he changed his tires as soon as possible. He then walked back to his office and in 15 minutes time, Kargo Brent’s certificate had been processed and renewed. Needless to say, once his Road Worthiness Certificate had been renewed, Kargo Brent did not bother to change his tires.

Fast forward to last Saturday, near the SCC junction at Kasoa, when a truck lost a tire and the driver lost control. The truck veered off its path and run into a passenger vehicle disgorging it’s passengers by the roadside. 4 Ghanaians, going about their normal day to day business, lost their lives. 17 – 20 more were injured and are currently receiving treatment at Korle Bu hospital. Kwasi Safety and Kofi Goro heard the news on the radio and did not give it a second thought. But unbeknownst to them, they had been unwitting accomplices to this particular incident of manslaughter on Ghana’s roads. By their actions or inactions, they allowed a particular sequence to unfold, resulting in the inadvertent deaths of their fellow Ghanaians.

A Police investigation will ensue. If we are lucky, the newspapers will report that the driver would have been arrested and charged. This will bring closure, Ghanaian style, to the entire saga. The vehicle owner will get his vehicle back. He will get a couple of second hand tires, give them to a roadside vulcanizer to fix, repair the truck, find another driver and the entire cycle will repeat itself in less than a years time, when the next vehicle inspection is due.

Kwasi Safety would have moved his building project to the next level. His children would have completed another year in school and school fees would be due again. Kofi Goro would also be parading the yard of the DVLA, touting for his next job. Kwasi Safety had a supervisor. His supervisor had a boss ,whose boss was a Minister. That Minister had a President. And the buck stops with the President. He should have made sure that measures were in place to ensure that Kwasi Safety carried out that inspection and failed the truck because of its tires. And Kwasi Safety and co, should have continued to fail the truck until the tires were replaced with tires that would last another year on our roads.

Somewhere out there, in Ghana, the next set of victims will be going about their normal business, unaware of their impending fate at the merciless hands of this vicious cycle of manslaughter. As a maverick social commentator is reputed to have said, by way of natural disasters, America has its tornadoes, Japan its earthquakes, Asia it’s tsunami’s and Africa its leaders.

I rest my case.

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.