The unfolding South African presidential drama is a collection of stories of the proportions of mini Greek tragedies. These are fascinating stories intertwined with imprisonment, exile, sex, HIV/AIDS, manipulation, relational tension, power-struggles, broken friendships amidst rhythmic group song and physically exhaustive gumboot dancing that speaks black resistance to white oppression – all mixed up, precariously – cooking hot in the African pot. These are stories filled with lessons for the rest of Africa and other countries experimenting with democracy.
The key players in the fascinating mini dramas are Nelson Mandela, Thabo Mbeki and Jacob Zuma. During Mandela’s almost three decades of lock-down prison term, Mbeki, Zuma and several freedom fighters had stints in exile and prison. Mandela’s presidency was his unlikely crown after 27 years in the inhumane apartheid prison system. Right after Mandela stepped down gracefully, just one term as President, his deputy, Mbeki, became the second post-apartheid president.
Stepping into the shoes of a god-like figure betrays the human foibles of ordinary mortals. Meanwhile, during the nine years of Mbeki’s tenure, Mandela’s persona grew larger than life. This happened partly because South Africa strategically cultivated his image, branding him as “Father of the Nation” and a uniting force for the fledgling post-apartheid nation. The gigantic six-meter bronze statue in Johannesburg’s Sandton City symbolizes his over-sized persona. Against this grandiose backdrop, Mbeki held the mantle of president and moved South Africa forward.
As Mbeki assumed the presidency, the colourful Jacob Gedleyihlekisa Zuma was Deputy President. Contrary to Mbeki who dances without rhythm, 66 year-old Zuma sings and dances with passion and flamboyance at the drop of a hat, and in a way that resonates with blacks. Dark-complexioned Mbeki has a calm serious demeanour and appears distant, with unkempt facial hair. He even looks gloomy and mean, not showing much smile. Light-complexioned womanizing spoilt-brat Zuma, on the other hand, looks like a populist fun guy one could have tea with, and a man of the people. Not surprisingly, Zuma has a larger following than Mbeki, his faults notwithstanding.
Zuma is a self-made man, a product of the rough and tumble life of a struggling single mother and a father who went away and died. Zuma had no formal education; self-taught. On the contrary, Mbeki studied economics at UK’s Sussex University.
Not long after surviving a corruption charge in 2006, the then 62 year-old Zuma was tried for the rape of a 31 year-old HIV positive family friend. With that, a scandal not befitting the presidency brewed. The woman said it was rape. Zuma maintained it was just sex (unprotected) between two consenting adults although he knew of the woman’s HIV status. This matter resided in the murky realm of ‘he said; she said.’ In the end, Zuma was let off the hook. Interestingly, during his life dramas, the one constant on his side was an increasingly large army of enthusiastic supporters.
In 2007, Mbeki fired Zuma as Deputy President following his rape trial and the fraud conviction of his financial advisor. Outspoken Noble Laureate Bishop Desmond Tutu referred to him as a “shameful” leader. With Zuma’s scandals, the rivalry, and probably the hatred between him and Mbeki deepened. The plot continued to thicken, casting a dark cloud over the 14 year-old democracy. But yet, South Africa remained intact. Last December, Zuma defeated Mbeki as ANC leader having the force of the mighty 85 year-old ANC solidly behind him while Mbeki had the presidency. In the end, the party won over the presidency; Mbeki lost the fight. Still, South Africa has remained intact.
It was not all gloom for the fallen Mbeki though. He chalked some significant successes. He was a leading and respectable figure on the African and world political stage. He brokered peace in several hot spots on the continent. During Mbeki’s tenure as president, South Africa’s economy saw unprecedented growth. A minority middle class black population emerged. Unfortunately, a significant majority of black South Africans remained in abject poverty at pre-apartheid proportions. Stinky poverty in the midst of wealth is not easily forgiven. It hurts. The injustices inherent in the discrepancies easily become magnified.
The hurt in social injustices manifested in an increase in crime rate – one of the highest in the world, with South Africa embarrassingly dubbed ‘the world crime capital.’ Last year, their national hero and international reggae superstar, Lucky Dube, was caught in the cross-fires, gunned down while going to drop off his children at school.
Poverty-induced anger had another manifestation. Earlier this year, embittered black South Africans turned their anger onto nationals from African countries who have thronged their land to seek for greener pastures.
Mbeki himself is not faultless. He allowed his personal biases to influence national decisions. Take for instance his pronouncements about HIV/AIDS. He was dismissive of HIV/AIDS, and with that leadership, set a national agenda that led to many people living with AIDS being deprived of life-saving and life-prolonging anti-retroviral drugs.
His recent slow handling of the old-bad-man of Zimbabwe, Robert Mugabe, dulled his image further. In the end, like Kenya, Zimbabwe has begun experimenting with that ridiculous power-sharing African democratic innovation. With a cloud already hanging over Mbeki's head, the accusations last week that he manipulated the corruption trial against his arch rival Zuma saw his political fortunes crashing, fast.
The accusation of political interference was quickly followed by the ANC’s demand for him to resign. Mbeki must have been hurt, naturally. But gracefully, he accepted the verdict of the party. He could have fought it. At least he could have raised his voice. After all, he has been a loyal member of the ANC for 52 years. The party was therefore also his! Instead, he bowed out in response to the ANC’s internal party coup d’etat – in dignity and in peace although his tenure was scheduled to end next April. This week, several members of his government also resigned.
With these resignations, South Africa’s post-apartheid democracy has been tried; it won the test. Admirable! Mbeki even had the dignity to give a statesmanlike address to his nation on Sunday. There is a high likelihood that some other African leaders in his position would have gladly played up time, delayed and dragged on this matter and the entire country into the gutters until the African inevitable happens. He could have put self over and above the rest of the country and the citizenry. Then, BOOM.......
With Mbeki’s resignation, South Africa has scored a second first in Africa. Nelson Mandela scored the first – stepping down after one term as President and stepping back as an elder statesman par excellence. In these two personalities, South Africa has scored two commendable examples for the rest of Africa to emulate.
Power and the presidency should not be a matter of life or death. It should only be for a season. When the season ends, whether as planned or abruptly, one should step aside. No bloodshed. No machete. No guns. No lost limbs – ‘short sleeves’ or ‘long sleeves.’ No child soldiers. No beating of war drums. No ugly insults and cheap trash talk on FM stations.
The South African presidential mini tragedies are still unfolding. Uncertainties abound. Most likely, Zuma would become the third president of post-apartheid South Africa. We don’t know what the future holds for him, how he will translate populism into leading Africa’s largest economy. We will watch; and learn.
dorisdartey@yahoo.com; +233-208286817
Monday, September 22, 2008
Friday, September 19, 2008
Women could cost Obama the Presidency of USA
I was driving behind a ‘tro-tro’ a few days ago. The inscription on the back of the vehicle was: BARACK OBAMA, an indication that Obama, with ancestral home in the western Kenyan village of Kogelo, has made it into our national lexicon, a lexicon that is pregnant with an ‘audacity of hope’ for him to become the president of the ‘free world,’ USA. Her grandmother, Sarah Onyango Obama, is watching keenly. The lion’s paw!
The rhythms of electioneering campaigning are buzzing from across the mighty Atlantic Ocean. Africans, African Americans, as well as Black people and people of colour throughout the world; and also Asians and Europeans, seem to have their fingers crossed for history to be made – for messianic Barack Obama to ascend to the presidency, as the first black president of the USA.
But beyond race, other fingers are also tightly crossed for another important history to be made – for a woman to get closer to the presidency of the USA. After all, what is a democracy if the rulers are predominantly males and the other half of the population – women, are left out on the fringes to stare? In the USA, the intersection of race and gender, two key historically disadvantaged categories of the population, have the potential to be explosive. Race is a delicate issue. But estrogen is power! Women are powerful. You didn’t know? The lion’s paw!
So – here is a news flash for all Obama watchers in Ghana: Women could cost Obama the Presidency of the USA! Unlike Obama and Ghana’s NPP and NDC which, despite relentless lobbying, did not select a woman for the vice presidential slot, Obama’s contender, Senator John McCain, surprised everyone with the selection of a little-known woman, Sarah Palin, as his running mate, the first in the history of his political party. And, Palin is dazzling and buzzing! As Governor of oil-rich Alaska, she has the highest approval ratings of any Governor in the USA.
Like many women throughout the world who struggle to make it in a man’s world, Palin, mother of five, defies the sheer gravity of balancing family and career. She is gorgeous and spots a beautiful hair-do folded into a mighty bold heap atop her head, fully packaged – to interrogate the world. But best of all, she is not just a pretty face. She is fascinating, confident, intelligent, sharp-tongued and eloquent, having worked as a TV reporter. She is a religious conservative. She holds a journalism degree and brings something Obama has but McCain doesn’t have – veneer. Beware when a determined woman takes on a challenge! Lion’s paw!
Until three weeks ago, Barack Obama was flying high; he was beloved and almost unstoppable. But this year’s American presidential election seems to be increasingly centred on a popularity contest. First, it was Obama who was a clear winner, with just about everyone gasping for breath for every word that dropped from his mouth. His charisma, his eloquence, his slim built, his exotic origins and obviously Islamic-sounding ‘funny name’ made him an enigma and a darling boy who could do no wrong. He appeared to have become the crown prince for the American presidency. Europe is in love with him; Asians are in awe. If Obama was standing for President of the world, he would chalk a landslide victory. But in the USA, the tide is currently changing with the entrance of a woman into the campaign of the opposition.
Palin has a star appeal. She looks good; sounds good. Even her prescription eyeglasses have become a class act in eyeglass fashion! It is selling off the shelves! With her addition, McCain is suddenly glowing in the polls, aged and cancer-damaged cheeks and all. Palin appears to be quickly busting the rock star popularity Obama has enjoyed unopposed for months. A craze for Palin is increasing, a sort of Palinmania. If her increasing shine doesn’t dim, if Palinmania increases to a nonsensical degree, Obama might as well consider the White House as a house that is not yet ready for a Blackman, much like the biblical Moses saw the Promised Land but his feet never touched that land. We would wait to see.
Glory can be transient; in today, out tomorrow. No wonder Obama’s popularity is dimming since the newer kid on the block, Sarah Palin, stormed the scene, flying high. Who could have predicted that a day after Obama accepted the nomination as Presidential candidate on August 28, an event that was strategically scheduled to coincide with the 45th year anniversary of Dr Martin Luther King’s immortal “I have a dream” speech, McCain will roll Palin down on his ticket!
Her arrival on the scene has added excitement to an otherwise drab candidacy of an aging Senator with a not so pretty smile. There is a bounce in McCain’s ratings in the polls 45 days to the US elections. For a kicker, he is even echoing Obama’s ‘change’ rhetoric that catapulted him to the hearts of Americans and the world.
Before Palin stormed onto the scene as McCain’s running mate, there was another woman, Hillary Clinton, former First Lady and wife of former US President Bill Clinton. For more than one year, she was locked in a near blood-letting tussle, neck-to-neck, toe-to-toe with Obama for the Democratic party’s nomination. And the son of Africa won.
Then came the issue of Obama’s running mate. The argument was, since Hillary had a large following, what she described as the “18 millions cracks in the glass ceiling,” it made sense for Obama to select her as running mate, to appease and deliver her disappointed followers to the Obama campaign. The eighteen million consisted of Hillary loyalists who were excited for the possibility of seeing the first woman in the White House as President. Her loss was therefore a painful loss to many of her supporters. It is therefore Hillary’s near win, and especially the passions her candidacy and later, her loss ignited in people that together with the entrance of Palin, might conspire to cost Obama the presidency.
But Obama decided otherwise. He is no fool! Ghana’s NDC watchers might be able to relate to the fears that might have influenced Obama’s decision not to have Hillary Clinton on his ticket. Just imagine Konadu Agyeman-Rawlings as running mate of Mills! It would guarantee that team Rawlings-Konadu will breathe heavily down the thick neck of Mills.
For two decades, Hillary and Bill Clinton have been two power-brokers and impregnable players on the American political scene. Having team Hillary-Bill breath heavily down Obama’s skinny frame and increasingly greying head hair in the White House could potentially have resulted in a power clash, much like a Konadu-Mills blaze. These two powerful couples, the Clintons and Rawlingses, although from two different continents, constitute a kind of two-for-the-price-of-one, one-item-covers-all, or buy-one-buy-all offerings. To be your own man/woman, no one needs to be overburdened with excess baggage of political power-brokers.
With the present likelihood that Palin might bring to McCain millions of disgruntled Hillary Clinton voters, Obama might now be saying to himself: “Damn! Why didn’t I just choose Hillary?” But it’s too late now. Damn if you do; damn if you don’t! Fact: Women matter! The lion’s paw!
+233-208286817; dorisdartey@yahoo.com
The rhythms of electioneering campaigning are buzzing from across the mighty Atlantic Ocean. Africans, African Americans, as well as Black people and people of colour throughout the world; and also Asians and Europeans, seem to have their fingers crossed for history to be made – for messianic Barack Obama to ascend to the presidency, as the first black president of the USA.
But beyond race, other fingers are also tightly crossed for another important history to be made – for a woman to get closer to the presidency of the USA. After all, what is a democracy if the rulers are predominantly males and the other half of the population – women, are left out on the fringes to stare? In the USA, the intersection of race and gender, two key historically disadvantaged categories of the population, have the potential to be explosive. Race is a delicate issue. But estrogen is power! Women are powerful. You didn’t know? The lion’s paw!
So – here is a news flash for all Obama watchers in Ghana: Women could cost Obama the Presidency of the USA! Unlike Obama and Ghana’s NPP and NDC which, despite relentless lobbying, did not select a woman for the vice presidential slot, Obama’s contender, Senator John McCain, surprised everyone with the selection of a little-known woman, Sarah Palin, as his running mate, the first in the history of his political party. And, Palin is dazzling and buzzing! As Governor of oil-rich Alaska, she has the highest approval ratings of any Governor in the USA.
Like many women throughout the world who struggle to make it in a man’s world, Palin, mother of five, defies the sheer gravity of balancing family and career. She is gorgeous and spots a beautiful hair-do folded into a mighty bold heap atop her head, fully packaged – to interrogate the world. But best of all, she is not just a pretty face. She is fascinating, confident, intelligent, sharp-tongued and eloquent, having worked as a TV reporter. She is a religious conservative. She holds a journalism degree and brings something Obama has but McCain doesn’t have – veneer. Beware when a determined woman takes on a challenge! Lion’s paw!
Until three weeks ago, Barack Obama was flying high; he was beloved and almost unstoppable. But this year’s American presidential election seems to be increasingly centred on a popularity contest. First, it was Obama who was a clear winner, with just about everyone gasping for breath for every word that dropped from his mouth. His charisma, his eloquence, his slim built, his exotic origins and obviously Islamic-sounding ‘funny name’ made him an enigma and a darling boy who could do no wrong. He appeared to have become the crown prince for the American presidency. Europe is in love with him; Asians are in awe. If Obama was standing for President of the world, he would chalk a landslide victory. But in the USA, the tide is currently changing with the entrance of a woman into the campaign of the opposition.
Palin has a star appeal. She looks good; sounds good. Even her prescription eyeglasses have become a class act in eyeglass fashion! It is selling off the shelves! With her addition, McCain is suddenly glowing in the polls, aged and cancer-damaged cheeks and all. Palin appears to be quickly busting the rock star popularity Obama has enjoyed unopposed for months. A craze for Palin is increasing, a sort of Palinmania. If her increasing shine doesn’t dim, if Palinmania increases to a nonsensical degree, Obama might as well consider the White House as a house that is not yet ready for a Blackman, much like the biblical Moses saw the Promised Land but his feet never touched that land. We would wait to see.
Glory can be transient; in today, out tomorrow. No wonder Obama’s popularity is dimming since the newer kid on the block, Sarah Palin, stormed the scene, flying high. Who could have predicted that a day after Obama accepted the nomination as Presidential candidate on August 28, an event that was strategically scheduled to coincide with the 45th year anniversary of Dr Martin Luther King’s immortal “I have a dream” speech, McCain will roll Palin down on his ticket!
Her arrival on the scene has added excitement to an otherwise drab candidacy of an aging Senator with a not so pretty smile. There is a bounce in McCain’s ratings in the polls 45 days to the US elections. For a kicker, he is even echoing Obama’s ‘change’ rhetoric that catapulted him to the hearts of Americans and the world.
Before Palin stormed onto the scene as McCain’s running mate, there was another woman, Hillary Clinton, former First Lady and wife of former US President Bill Clinton. For more than one year, she was locked in a near blood-letting tussle, neck-to-neck, toe-to-toe with Obama for the Democratic party’s nomination. And the son of Africa won.
Then came the issue of Obama’s running mate. The argument was, since Hillary had a large following, what she described as the “18 millions cracks in the glass ceiling,” it made sense for Obama to select her as running mate, to appease and deliver her disappointed followers to the Obama campaign. The eighteen million consisted of Hillary loyalists who were excited for the possibility of seeing the first woman in the White House as President. Her loss was therefore a painful loss to many of her supporters. It is therefore Hillary’s near win, and especially the passions her candidacy and later, her loss ignited in people that together with the entrance of Palin, might conspire to cost Obama the presidency.
But Obama decided otherwise. He is no fool! Ghana’s NDC watchers might be able to relate to the fears that might have influenced Obama’s decision not to have Hillary Clinton on his ticket. Just imagine Konadu Agyeman-Rawlings as running mate of Mills! It would guarantee that team Rawlings-Konadu will breathe heavily down the thick neck of Mills.
For two decades, Hillary and Bill Clinton have been two power-brokers and impregnable players on the American political scene. Having team Hillary-Bill breath heavily down Obama’s skinny frame and increasingly greying head hair in the White House could potentially have resulted in a power clash, much like a Konadu-Mills blaze. These two powerful couples, the Clintons and Rawlingses, although from two different continents, constitute a kind of two-for-the-price-of-one, one-item-covers-all, or buy-one-buy-all offerings. To be your own man/woman, no one needs to be overburdened with excess baggage of political power-brokers.
With the present likelihood that Palin might bring to McCain millions of disgruntled Hillary Clinton voters, Obama might now be saying to himself: “Damn! Why didn’t I just choose Hillary?” But it’s too late now. Damn if you do; damn if you don’t! Fact: Women matter! The lion’s paw!
+233-208286817; dorisdartey@yahoo.com
Monday, September 15, 2008
More Honourables are coming to a road near you! Watch out!
The Fourth Republic came to town in 1992 to save us from a long stretch of years of nonsensical oppressive military rule. While coming, we didn’t realize that the Fourth Republic was very pregnant. Soon on arrival, she began to give birth left right and centre – with reckless abandon. After all, the Fourth Republic is one tired parent who was in hiding for so long and got busy playing hanky-panky in all sorts of places while waiting to come home. Bad!
So no wonder she arrived pregnant, ready to pop out kids – family planning gone to the pigs. The pregnancies are unstoppable. Whenever there are many children, chances of having odd mixes are pretty high. Some legitimate, some illegitimate; some tall, some short; some light complexioned or albinos, some as dark as charcoal; some greedy liars, some cleanly sincere; some wise, some plainly but unapologetically foolish.
The one thing all the children of the Fourth Republic have in common is the title Honourable! Honourables are one damn breed of people! They are named Honourables at birth – at elections and on Presidential appointments and anything else in between, like accidents and incidents. They arrive with a halo above their heads much like mosquitoes hover over the black hair of the Blackman in the dark!
The word Honourable has sinfully hilarious pronunciations. Some people pronounce it with a heavy H for emphasise to probably show the depth of respect and awe in which they hold the illegitimate children of the 4th Republic.
There is a phlegm factor in the pronunciation of Honourable – to ump it up with a thick Ɔ as in HƆNORABLE. The nasal passage must necessarily be loaded with a good amount of thick phlegm or else the title is reduced to any ordinary word! Woe unto anyone who does that! Under-pronouncing the title Honourable should be an offence punishable by flogging. We need a constitutional amendment on this matter.
Workshops should be organized throughout this country to coach us on the proper pronunciation of Honourable. Free tutorials by linguistics professors like Kwesi Yankah will be necessary. If freebees-tutorials cannot be arranged, then the government must contract World Bank loans. Our grandchildren will pay later. Alternatively, we can seek for grants – real freebees from our ‘Development Partners’ – as we clutch on to our tired old ugly national golden/crude-oil begging-cup. The last option to pay for a nation-wide Honourable Pronunciation Exercise is to forward-sell our crude oil. Cape Three Points – here we come!
Honourables have glued themselves onto our political landscape. Go to small towns – they are there; Honourable this, Honourable that. They are in 'tro-tro', shorts, 'batakari' and some really funny-looking suits from which grown and baby cockroaches could drop out of armpits with just a little provocation.
Let’s cut through the chase. More Honourables are coming to a street corner near you! The Nana factor has entered our politics.
There are ten main categories of Honourables. They are:
(1). Selected: Members of Council of State, Ministers, Deputy Ministers, Functionaries in the offices of the President and Vice President.
(2). Elected National: Parliamentarians.
(3). Selected Local: Mayors, MCE, DCE.
(4). Elected Local: Assemblymen at the Municipal, Metropolitan and District Assemblies, and Local Organizing Committee members.
(5). Unelected Local: Quasi sub-committee members.
(6). Former/Ex Elected: Those who lost elections, or retired after legitimately being called Honourable.
(7). Former Selected National and Local: Those fired/dropped by His Excellency the President and rudely reshuffled out of office with or without explanations; or voluntarily retired because of age or sickness but conveniently forgot to drop the title.
(8). Political Party Functionaries: (Officials, veranda boys/girls and all sorts of weird characters.
(9). Almost-Elected National and Local: Those who have ever attempted to run for office but lost, or abandoned the quest.
(10). Honourable Look-Alikes: (Anyone who looks noble anywhere any-day anytime. This list is by no means exhaustive.
The most hilarious illegitimate children of the 4th Republic are those who are mistakenly called Honourables but neglect to correct it with a simple statement: “Oh, I’m not an Honourable!” Sadly, it’s much like mistakenly addressing someone as Professor or Doctor. It sounds so good; so they smile sheepishly and coquettishly and let it pass. Then after a while, people continue to call them by that title until they themselves believe that they are Professors or Doctors. They then, inadvertently, move into that impenetrable state of “Don’t ask, don’t tell.” And they die as Professors and Doctors. No questions asked. No answers given.
We must do an Arithmetic of Honourables in Ghana. Here is a gutter strategy to figure out the estimated number of people parading our political horizon as Honourables. These figures can only be guestimates, far from exhaustive and correct. We have had four national elections – 1992, 1996, 2000, 2004. Do your own mathematics. Don’t forget to factor in the following: about 5% roll-overs who have remained in their positions since the 4th Republic gave birth to them in 1992; about 10% deaths; 0.05% of ex-Honourables who resist the title; as well as any other factors you can think of.
The fact is that all sorts of characters are parading around as Honourables. We can’t keep track of the illegitimate children of the 4th Republic. Another election cycle is around the corner. With it, the 4th Republic will pop out more children, both legitimate and illegitimate. So after December 8, more Honourables will come into being. In a national fit of stammering, HƆ-HƆ-HƆ-HƆNORABLE will echo throughout this land.
People do not hug the title Honourable for nothing. It is imbued with endless tangible and intangible benefits of honour, power, privilege and opportunities. Oh, and money-making possibilities too! No wonder some of those who have it bestowed on them (wrongfully or rightly) don’t want to ever lose it. They prefer to die with it!
At what point does a person stop using that title? On retirement, resignation or dismissal? Or, is it a matter of once an Honourable, always an Honourable, for life and into death? At the cemetery, for graves to be decorated with the title, lest God misses their importance while on earth?
What happens to trash-talking, disgraceful, criminal, ‘awam’ Honourables? What are the rules, if any, about the use of this title? For instance, when an “Honourable” disgraces him/herself and brings the title into disrepute, should s/he be de-flowered? On this score, should NPP’s Edumadze still be addressed as Honourable after ‘allegedly’ man/mis-handling a journalist? Does he also brutalize fragile ‘little people’ who chance through his powerful life, even for brief moments? This man and all other Honourables like him should be saved from themselves and society.
And – NDC’s Dan Agbodakpi returns from prison and slides right back into Parliament. True? A nagging question: When he was in prison, did prison officials address him as Honourable? Did they say: “Honourable, it’s time to return to your cell”? Or, “Honourable, your two cups of water is too much to soak the garri?” How did that work out?
And – NPP parliamentarian – Amoateng, in prison in Bush-Country USA for drug trafficking; Do prison officers address him as Honourable?” No way!
An enduring question: Why is the title Honourable gender-neutral? Why aren’t the female species known by a feminized version like Honourablees?
+233-208286817; dorisdartey@yahoo.com
So no wonder she arrived pregnant, ready to pop out kids – family planning gone to the pigs. The pregnancies are unstoppable. Whenever there are many children, chances of having odd mixes are pretty high. Some legitimate, some illegitimate; some tall, some short; some light complexioned or albinos, some as dark as charcoal; some greedy liars, some cleanly sincere; some wise, some plainly but unapologetically foolish.
The one thing all the children of the Fourth Republic have in common is the title Honourable! Honourables are one damn breed of people! They are named Honourables at birth – at elections and on Presidential appointments and anything else in between, like accidents and incidents. They arrive with a halo above their heads much like mosquitoes hover over the black hair of the Blackman in the dark!
The word Honourable has sinfully hilarious pronunciations. Some people pronounce it with a heavy H for emphasise to probably show the depth of respect and awe in which they hold the illegitimate children of the 4th Republic.
There is a phlegm factor in the pronunciation of Honourable – to ump it up with a thick Ɔ as in HƆNORABLE. The nasal passage must necessarily be loaded with a good amount of thick phlegm or else the title is reduced to any ordinary word! Woe unto anyone who does that! Under-pronouncing the title Honourable should be an offence punishable by flogging. We need a constitutional amendment on this matter.
Workshops should be organized throughout this country to coach us on the proper pronunciation of Honourable. Free tutorials by linguistics professors like Kwesi Yankah will be necessary. If freebees-tutorials cannot be arranged, then the government must contract World Bank loans. Our grandchildren will pay later. Alternatively, we can seek for grants – real freebees from our ‘Development Partners’ – as we clutch on to our tired old ugly national golden/crude-oil begging-cup. The last option to pay for a nation-wide Honourable Pronunciation Exercise is to forward-sell our crude oil. Cape Three Points – here we come!
Honourables have glued themselves onto our political landscape. Go to small towns – they are there; Honourable this, Honourable that. They are in 'tro-tro', shorts, 'batakari' and some really funny-looking suits from which grown and baby cockroaches could drop out of armpits with just a little provocation.
Let’s cut through the chase. More Honourables are coming to a street corner near you! The Nana factor has entered our politics.
There are ten main categories of Honourables. They are:
(1). Selected: Members of Council of State, Ministers, Deputy Ministers, Functionaries in the offices of the President and Vice President.
(2). Elected National: Parliamentarians.
(3). Selected Local: Mayors, MCE, DCE.
(4). Elected Local: Assemblymen at the Municipal, Metropolitan and District Assemblies, and Local Organizing Committee members.
(5). Unelected Local: Quasi sub-committee members.
(6). Former/Ex Elected: Those who lost elections, or retired after legitimately being called Honourable.
(7). Former Selected National and Local: Those fired/dropped by His Excellency the President and rudely reshuffled out of office with or without explanations; or voluntarily retired because of age or sickness but conveniently forgot to drop the title.
(8). Political Party Functionaries: (Officials, veranda boys/girls and all sorts of weird characters.
(9). Almost-Elected National and Local: Those who have ever attempted to run for office but lost, or abandoned the quest.
(10). Honourable Look-Alikes: (Anyone who looks noble anywhere any-day anytime. This list is by no means exhaustive.
The most hilarious illegitimate children of the 4th Republic are those who are mistakenly called Honourables but neglect to correct it with a simple statement: “Oh, I’m not an Honourable!” Sadly, it’s much like mistakenly addressing someone as Professor or Doctor. It sounds so good; so they smile sheepishly and coquettishly and let it pass. Then after a while, people continue to call them by that title until they themselves believe that they are Professors or Doctors. They then, inadvertently, move into that impenetrable state of “Don’t ask, don’t tell.” And they die as Professors and Doctors. No questions asked. No answers given.
We must do an Arithmetic of Honourables in Ghana. Here is a gutter strategy to figure out the estimated number of people parading our political horizon as Honourables. These figures can only be guestimates, far from exhaustive and correct. We have had four national elections – 1992, 1996, 2000, 2004. Do your own mathematics. Don’t forget to factor in the following: about 5% roll-overs who have remained in their positions since the 4th Republic gave birth to them in 1992; about 10% deaths; 0.05% of ex-Honourables who resist the title; as well as any other factors you can think of.
The fact is that all sorts of characters are parading around as Honourables. We can’t keep track of the illegitimate children of the 4th Republic. Another election cycle is around the corner. With it, the 4th Republic will pop out more children, both legitimate and illegitimate. So after December 8, more Honourables will come into being. In a national fit of stammering, HƆ-HƆ-HƆ-HƆNORABLE will echo throughout this land.
People do not hug the title Honourable for nothing. It is imbued with endless tangible and intangible benefits of honour, power, privilege and opportunities. Oh, and money-making possibilities too! No wonder some of those who have it bestowed on them (wrongfully or rightly) don’t want to ever lose it. They prefer to die with it!
At what point does a person stop using that title? On retirement, resignation or dismissal? Or, is it a matter of once an Honourable, always an Honourable, for life and into death? At the cemetery, for graves to be decorated with the title, lest God misses their importance while on earth?
What happens to trash-talking, disgraceful, criminal, ‘awam’ Honourables? What are the rules, if any, about the use of this title? For instance, when an “Honourable” disgraces him/herself and brings the title into disrepute, should s/he be de-flowered? On this score, should NPP’s Edumadze still be addressed as Honourable after ‘allegedly’ man/mis-handling a journalist? Does he also brutalize fragile ‘little people’ who chance through his powerful life, even for brief moments? This man and all other Honourables like him should be saved from themselves and society.
And – NDC’s Dan Agbodakpi returns from prison and slides right back into Parliament. True? A nagging question: When he was in prison, did prison officials address him as Honourable? Did they say: “Honourable, it’s time to return to your cell”? Or, “Honourable, your two cups of water is too much to soak the garri?” How did that work out?
And – NPP parliamentarian – Amoateng, in prison in Bush-Country USA for drug trafficking; Do prison officers address him as Honourable?” No way!
An enduring question: Why is the title Honourable gender-neutral? Why aren’t the female species known by a feminized version like Honourablees?
+233-208286817; dorisdartey@yahoo.com
Thursday, September 4, 2008
Toast and Roast to Three Presidential Candidates
The sun will set in the west tomorrow. The Pope will always be Catholic. Politicians will always make promises they know they can never deliver on. The Flag Staff Palace beckons and Cape Three Points grins. Before the December 7 elections, some presidential candidates will unravel, toasted black. In the 99 days before the elections, things are going to get really ugly and sticky. So while warming up for the upcoming fun fair, let’s toast and roast the three leading candidates – Nana Addo Dankwa Akuffo-Addo, Professor John Atta Mills and Dr Paa Kwesi Nduom, all non-ovary wielders. We could even roll down a slippery slope with them.
There will be Humpty Dumpty moments for some candidates after December 7. All the children of Ghana will have to learn and recite the old nursery rhyme:
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
And all the King’s horses, And all the King’s men
Couldn’t put Humpty together again!
A good start is the running mates of the NPP and NDC. Who would have thought that finding individuals to mate-run presidential candidates would be tougher than finding the flag-bearers? The national lesson: those whose job it is to help the presidential candidates to carry the flag of Ghana (or of their political parties!) might be more important than the flag-bearers! Or, am I missing something?
Both Honourable John Dramani Mahama and Dr Mahamudu Bawumia deserve a toast. Without a doubt, and from the vantage point of a grown woman with pretty good vision and a fairly OK grip over such matters, these two men are heart-throbs. They are both tall, with pretty faces, just about enough flesh on their bones and with very fine gaits! They are breath-takers. They’re toasty. And with these handsome northern selections, relentlessly thirsty fully-breasted women were ‘dissed.’ That’s a roast.
The NDC was the first to select its running mate and with an added John, their campaign gloated and glittered, roasting the NPP to annoyance. It was as if suddenly, the NDC had succeeded in putting its best face forward. Not to be outdone, the NPP went to town with a powerful searchlight to find its own pretty face of northern extraction. After a long hard and roasty search, the glare settled at the BoG corridors and viola, old man Mumuni’s son popped up, with royal political blood boiling over in his 43-year old youthful veins. The NDC felt the roast. Ghana sighed in relief.
How I wish we could organize a beauty contest for the running mates! Let’s just line them up and whoever throbs my heart the most should be selected! But then, Na pretty face we go chop? Human face is not toast-friendly!
We’ve come far, this 51 year old country! Through the roast of Rawlings, the predator of freedom of speech and the frequent-flyer globe-trotting visiting-presidency of Kufuor, we’re now conducting a search for our next leader. If you were woken up from a deep sleep and asked to articulate the talking points of the top three presidential candidates, what would it be? Here is what I would say about the three candidates from my slumber.
Nana Addo Dankwa Akuffo-Addo bears a name that is a complete sentence, is the son of a president and has been around for so long, hanging out, waiting in the political wings, just for this chance. He is therefore the best man for Ghana. Professor John Atta Mills is an ex-professor at law who still carries the professorial title. And, that he is not his own man so team Rawlings-Konadu will breath heavily down his thick neck and indirectly rule Ghana if the mantle of leadership is ever tossed to him. Dr Paa Kwesi Nduom is a successful businessman who somehow got his hands soiled along the way. Since then, something woozy appears to be hovering over him to haunt his image.
It is ninety-nine days to the election but the presidential candidates do not yet have sharp messages for the electorate. Or, am I missing something? No wonder that through a lousy voter registration exercise last month, the EC stole my vote! I’m toast! Which of the three candidates should be The Man? Everyone wakes up in the morning and does the same thing – enters a small room (or the bushes) to mind his/her own liquid waste business! When therefore some super-ordinary folks choose the path of the presidency, it is proper to question them deeply and to be sure that they truly have the calling, something special that all others do not have.
It’s official – Osagyefo Dr Kwame Nkrumah’s Flag Staff House is undergoing a major face- and neighbourhood-lift that will be envied by leaders of rich and mighty nations. It is now a palace and appropriately, should now be known as the Flag Staff Palace (FSP). If the old man, Nkrumah should peek down from the beyond, he would not recognize his house; he will miss his way home! He will be toast.
It is said that the face is a prism through which we can see the soul, mind and heart. Are there any hints on the faces of Nduom, Mills and Nana to guide us in our choice for leadership of soon-to-be oil-rich Ghana? Can we tell who is a straw man from the real deal? For a little gutter psychology, here is a quick analysis of some unique facial features of the three gentlemen.
Mills has bold folds on the forehead. He has a head full of hair and spots a good amount of grey, usually well cut with fades on the sides. Impressive! A toast! Is nana bald, balding or is just clean shaven? After all, it is fashionable for balding men to conceal nature’s hair-erasing process through voluntary shaving of the remnants of hair. This eliminates the annoying need to comb unhealthy scanty hair. Nduom spots a fine Nkrumah-ish balding, with remaining hair in a fainting mode; yet, he is no Nkrumah! That’s a roast. Of the three leading presidential candidates, Nduom spots a cute ‘5-5’. Should we toast or roast to that?
Mills does not wear prescription eye glasses; why not? He does not need help with his vision? Then I’m toast; I can’t see much on my own! But Nana spots those oval eye glasses. If he is to listen to me, I would give him a fashion tip, for free – please have an eyeglass fashion make-over and dare a notch up the eyeglass fashion ladder with something that is more today-ish. But it is unlikely that the son of a president will consider the fashion opinion of a fireman’s pint-sized daughter! He is roast.
From now till December, these presidential gentlemen should campaign hard and fair. Predicting and wishing to win will not bring about a win. There will be losers and one winner. But at the end of D-Day, the losers should have the decency to shake hands with the winner and afterward, go home to lick their roasting wounds and calmly, re-strategize for election 2012 and leave us peacefully in our oasis of calm and crude oil. If they don’t, but choose to hang around to engage in any post election hanky panky, we are all roast!
0208286817; dorisdartey@yahoo.com
There will be Humpty Dumpty moments for some candidates after December 7. All the children of Ghana will have to learn and recite the old nursery rhyme:
Humpty Dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty Dumpty had a great fall
And all the King’s horses, And all the King’s men
Couldn’t put Humpty together again!
A good start is the running mates of the NPP and NDC. Who would have thought that finding individuals to mate-run presidential candidates would be tougher than finding the flag-bearers? The national lesson: those whose job it is to help the presidential candidates to carry the flag of Ghana (or of their political parties!) might be more important than the flag-bearers! Or, am I missing something?
Both Honourable John Dramani Mahama and Dr Mahamudu Bawumia deserve a toast. Without a doubt, and from the vantage point of a grown woman with pretty good vision and a fairly OK grip over such matters, these two men are heart-throbs. They are both tall, with pretty faces, just about enough flesh on their bones and with very fine gaits! They are breath-takers. They’re toasty. And with these handsome northern selections, relentlessly thirsty fully-breasted women were ‘dissed.’ That’s a roast.
The NDC was the first to select its running mate and with an added John, their campaign gloated and glittered, roasting the NPP to annoyance. It was as if suddenly, the NDC had succeeded in putting its best face forward. Not to be outdone, the NPP went to town with a powerful searchlight to find its own pretty face of northern extraction. After a long hard and roasty search, the glare settled at the BoG corridors and viola, old man Mumuni’s son popped up, with royal political blood boiling over in his 43-year old youthful veins. The NDC felt the roast. Ghana sighed in relief.
How I wish we could organize a beauty contest for the running mates! Let’s just line them up and whoever throbs my heart the most should be selected! But then, Na pretty face we go chop? Human face is not toast-friendly!
We’ve come far, this 51 year old country! Through the roast of Rawlings, the predator of freedom of speech and the frequent-flyer globe-trotting visiting-presidency of Kufuor, we’re now conducting a search for our next leader. If you were woken up from a deep sleep and asked to articulate the talking points of the top three presidential candidates, what would it be? Here is what I would say about the three candidates from my slumber.
Nana Addo Dankwa Akuffo-Addo bears a name that is a complete sentence, is the son of a president and has been around for so long, hanging out, waiting in the political wings, just for this chance. He is therefore the best man for Ghana. Professor John Atta Mills is an ex-professor at law who still carries the professorial title. And, that he is not his own man so team Rawlings-Konadu will breath heavily down his thick neck and indirectly rule Ghana if the mantle of leadership is ever tossed to him. Dr Paa Kwesi Nduom is a successful businessman who somehow got his hands soiled along the way. Since then, something woozy appears to be hovering over him to haunt his image.
It is ninety-nine days to the election but the presidential candidates do not yet have sharp messages for the electorate. Or, am I missing something? No wonder that through a lousy voter registration exercise last month, the EC stole my vote! I’m toast! Which of the three candidates should be The Man? Everyone wakes up in the morning and does the same thing – enters a small room (or the bushes) to mind his/her own liquid waste business! When therefore some super-ordinary folks choose the path of the presidency, it is proper to question them deeply and to be sure that they truly have the calling, something special that all others do not have.
It’s official – Osagyefo Dr Kwame Nkrumah’s Flag Staff House is undergoing a major face- and neighbourhood-lift that will be envied by leaders of rich and mighty nations. It is now a palace and appropriately, should now be known as the Flag Staff Palace (FSP). If the old man, Nkrumah should peek down from the beyond, he would not recognize his house; he will miss his way home! He will be toast.
It is said that the face is a prism through which we can see the soul, mind and heart. Are there any hints on the faces of Nduom, Mills and Nana to guide us in our choice for leadership of soon-to-be oil-rich Ghana? Can we tell who is a straw man from the real deal? For a little gutter psychology, here is a quick analysis of some unique facial features of the three gentlemen.
Mills has bold folds on the forehead. He has a head full of hair and spots a good amount of grey, usually well cut with fades on the sides. Impressive! A toast! Is nana bald, balding or is just clean shaven? After all, it is fashionable for balding men to conceal nature’s hair-erasing process through voluntary shaving of the remnants of hair. This eliminates the annoying need to comb unhealthy scanty hair. Nduom spots a fine Nkrumah-ish balding, with remaining hair in a fainting mode; yet, he is no Nkrumah! That’s a roast. Of the three leading presidential candidates, Nduom spots a cute ‘5-5’. Should we toast or roast to that?
Mills does not wear prescription eye glasses; why not? He does not need help with his vision? Then I’m toast; I can’t see much on my own! But Nana spots those oval eye glasses. If he is to listen to me, I would give him a fashion tip, for free – please have an eyeglass fashion make-over and dare a notch up the eyeglass fashion ladder with something that is more today-ish. But it is unlikely that the son of a president will consider the fashion opinion of a fireman’s pint-sized daughter! He is roast.
From now till December, these presidential gentlemen should campaign hard and fair. Predicting and wishing to win will not bring about a win. There will be losers and one winner. But at the end of D-Day, the losers should have the decency to shake hands with the winner and afterward, go home to lick their roasting wounds and calmly, re-strategize for election 2012 and leave us peacefully in our oasis of calm and crude oil. If they don’t, but choose to hang around to engage in any post election hanky panky, we are all roast!
0208286817; dorisdartey@yahoo.com
Vanity while aging, Petty things in the face of life’s realities
I hit another annual milestone this past week so I dedicate today’s piece to matters arising. I’m still here! No strange hairs are popping out of my nostrils – yet! No mushroom clouds are hanging over my head – ‘tofiakwa!' The fluffy New Year resolutions I excitedly framed up in January are now dusty; I’m waiting for year-end to renew my dreams. The shifting realities of life continue to stare at me in the face.
Inside this woman, there is a little girl who never grows up. The things we do for beauty! Think of Shakespeare’s often misquoted line, ‘Vanity, thy name is woman!’ I therefore look into a mirror – face down, periodically, to gain perspective of changes. Looking face-down in a mirror brings to the fore things you never thought possible. Nature is having a field day with me, especially on my face, with an onslaught of sinks. With the kind of boldness only nature can muster, nature is digging holes into my face and I can’t stop it.
Nature has a unique sense of humour. She has not given me wrinkles (I might be in denial). Instead, she is jokingly digging holes under my 50 plus year-old eyes as if she is making way to plant something in there. Wisdom and poise? I hope so. Nature is unstoppable. I see an increasing loss of collagen under my eyes, right above the cheek bones, giving that part of my face a sinking look. Where did my collagen go? Collagen loss has given my cheek bones a lift, accentuating the aging protrusions and telling the story from beneath the skin. Incredible! So I began to flirt with problem solving.
Three months ago, I eagerly allowed myself to be persuaded that I can find a solution to nature’s digging effort – in a bottle; a magic potion in a bottle! With a grin and hope, I parted with some good money (GH¢50) that can feed a few street children. With that, I took ownership of the face rejuvenation lotion, ‘Age Repair Elixir.’ I used it lavishly, exceeding the recommended usage. In less than a month, I had emptied the bottle. But the aging on my face was not repaired, absolutely no improvement on nature.
Bad weeds never die. They just bloom! So it was that during the year, I again allowed myself to be persuaded that I have too much eyebrow hair, giving me a look that is out of fashion. To bring me into top fashion, my daughter Darkoa and a beloved friend marched me to a beauty parlour. As I sat in the chair, nervous, the beauty expert pushed my head backwards and asked me to relax.
With a thread in hand, she approached my eyebrows, explaining that she was about to apply a new method called threading, to trim, shape and streamline my otherwise unkempt eyebrow. What I felt within moments were the hairs being yanked out of my pores. What sheer cruelty! I cried. After the ordeal, I looked into a mirror and there was blood. ‘Pain and beauty’, my daughter assured me. ‘Leave me ugly; Let me be’, I retorted. Never again!
During the year, I had some episodes of stabbings. No, not from knives! These were undergarment type of stabbings by well-engineered innocent-looking contraptions called braziers. I still don’t know who invented these little monsters for perfectly normal women to tightly wrap around their tender upper bodies just so they can cause pain and discomfort. The sole purpose of these contraptions? To give shape and cleavage for harmless sagging girls. Some of these contraptions have metals at the lower edges to enhance the ultimate results. These metals can stab in broad daylight and in company! For a woman trying to compete in this insane world of business, enduring stabbings from your own undergarment is unwelcome.
Book no lie. My medical records indicate that from July 17, 2007 to July 14 this year, I packed on some useless 5.7 kilos in weight gain. Fact: I ate every morsel of it. I usually hear people who have gained weight go on the defensive saying “I don’t really eat oh!” By such statements, they imply that there is some mystery to weight gain; that weight can descend on you unawares. That is a lie. The truth is painful but it is liberating.
Here is how my weight gain happened. In the past year, my eating habits changed and I lost control over what I put into my mouth. The discipline I had adhered to for decades was abandoned. Instead of a diet high in vegetables and fruits, I ate mostly rice and stew, lavishly stewed in oil in the form of jollof rice and fried rice. And for good effect, I loaded on sugar in coffee tea, milo tea, tea tea and coca-cola all day long on-the-run and on-the-go. During the year, I had a sedate lifestyle, worked long hours day and night, with little sleep, sitting non-stop on my tired old butts.
And the weight came. Now what? I’ve promised myself to start some form of exercise regimen and to watch what I eat. This matter does not call for a prayer. I will not bother God with such an idiotic problem I’ve brought unto myself. I’ve heard it said that up to age 40 is what God gives you; beyond that is what you give to yourself. I’ll report back on this weight matter next year if I still have the grace of life, health and the ability to continue writing. We are not promised tomorrow!
No one gets out of this earth alive; no one! No matter for how long corpses are kept in fridges in our attempt to hold on to the dead, when you die, you are dead. In the midst of the pettiness of my inconsequential life, a window opened for me to see the flip side – what really matters about life.
I learned that you can be physically alive but on many levels, be very dead. I reconnected with a close friend I had not seen in 20 years who is currently in a state of half-dead half-alive. He is very much alive in the flesh but is absent in the mind. He still stands very tall and gorgeous, with a smile to die for. But he is suffering from dementia and has memory loss. It was a mixture of pain and joy to see him again. He did not remember me no matter how much I told him about the past just to bring back a grain of memory. He is one of those I can boldly refer to as one of the fathers of journalism and public relations in Ghana. He was active, bold, outspoken and with the best sense of humour. But now he is here but not here! He is absent.
It is poignant that one of the deepest lessons I learned in one year lasted for less that one hour. So in perspective, wrinkles, gutters in the face, and brazier stabs are nothing to detest. What matters the most are the people who love us unconditionally even after memories are lost.
233-208286817; dorisdartey@yahoo.com
Inside this woman, there is a little girl who never grows up. The things we do for beauty! Think of Shakespeare’s often misquoted line, ‘Vanity, thy name is woman!’ I therefore look into a mirror – face down, periodically, to gain perspective of changes. Looking face-down in a mirror brings to the fore things you never thought possible. Nature is having a field day with me, especially on my face, with an onslaught of sinks. With the kind of boldness only nature can muster, nature is digging holes into my face and I can’t stop it.
Nature has a unique sense of humour. She has not given me wrinkles (I might be in denial). Instead, she is jokingly digging holes under my 50 plus year-old eyes as if she is making way to plant something in there. Wisdom and poise? I hope so. Nature is unstoppable. I see an increasing loss of collagen under my eyes, right above the cheek bones, giving that part of my face a sinking look. Where did my collagen go? Collagen loss has given my cheek bones a lift, accentuating the aging protrusions and telling the story from beneath the skin. Incredible! So I began to flirt with problem solving.
Three months ago, I eagerly allowed myself to be persuaded that I can find a solution to nature’s digging effort – in a bottle; a magic potion in a bottle! With a grin and hope, I parted with some good money (GH¢50) that can feed a few street children. With that, I took ownership of the face rejuvenation lotion, ‘Age Repair Elixir.’ I used it lavishly, exceeding the recommended usage. In less than a month, I had emptied the bottle. But the aging on my face was not repaired, absolutely no improvement on nature.
Bad weeds never die. They just bloom! So it was that during the year, I again allowed myself to be persuaded that I have too much eyebrow hair, giving me a look that is out of fashion. To bring me into top fashion, my daughter Darkoa and a beloved friend marched me to a beauty parlour. As I sat in the chair, nervous, the beauty expert pushed my head backwards and asked me to relax.
With a thread in hand, she approached my eyebrows, explaining that she was about to apply a new method called threading, to trim, shape and streamline my otherwise unkempt eyebrow. What I felt within moments were the hairs being yanked out of my pores. What sheer cruelty! I cried. After the ordeal, I looked into a mirror and there was blood. ‘Pain and beauty’, my daughter assured me. ‘Leave me ugly; Let me be’, I retorted. Never again!
During the year, I had some episodes of stabbings. No, not from knives! These were undergarment type of stabbings by well-engineered innocent-looking contraptions called braziers. I still don’t know who invented these little monsters for perfectly normal women to tightly wrap around their tender upper bodies just so they can cause pain and discomfort. The sole purpose of these contraptions? To give shape and cleavage for harmless sagging girls. Some of these contraptions have metals at the lower edges to enhance the ultimate results. These metals can stab in broad daylight and in company! For a woman trying to compete in this insane world of business, enduring stabbings from your own undergarment is unwelcome.
Book no lie. My medical records indicate that from July 17, 2007 to July 14 this year, I packed on some useless 5.7 kilos in weight gain. Fact: I ate every morsel of it. I usually hear people who have gained weight go on the defensive saying “I don’t really eat oh!” By such statements, they imply that there is some mystery to weight gain; that weight can descend on you unawares. That is a lie. The truth is painful but it is liberating.
Here is how my weight gain happened. In the past year, my eating habits changed and I lost control over what I put into my mouth. The discipline I had adhered to for decades was abandoned. Instead of a diet high in vegetables and fruits, I ate mostly rice and stew, lavishly stewed in oil in the form of jollof rice and fried rice. And for good effect, I loaded on sugar in coffee tea, milo tea, tea tea and coca-cola all day long on-the-run and on-the-go. During the year, I had a sedate lifestyle, worked long hours day and night, with little sleep, sitting non-stop on my tired old butts.
And the weight came. Now what? I’ve promised myself to start some form of exercise regimen and to watch what I eat. This matter does not call for a prayer. I will not bother God with such an idiotic problem I’ve brought unto myself. I’ve heard it said that up to age 40 is what God gives you; beyond that is what you give to yourself. I’ll report back on this weight matter next year if I still have the grace of life, health and the ability to continue writing. We are not promised tomorrow!
No one gets out of this earth alive; no one! No matter for how long corpses are kept in fridges in our attempt to hold on to the dead, when you die, you are dead. In the midst of the pettiness of my inconsequential life, a window opened for me to see the flip side – what really matters about life.
I learned that you can be physically alive but on many levels, be very dead. I reconnected with a close friend I had not seen in 20 years who is currently in a state of half-dead half-alive. He is very much alive in the flesh but is absent in the mind. He still stands very tall and gorgeous, with a smile to die for. But he is suffering from dementia and has memory loss. It was a mixture of pain and joy to see him again. He did not remember me no matter how much I told him about the past just to bring back a grain of memory. He is one of those I can boldly refer to as one of the fathers of journalism and public relations in Ghana. He was active, bold, outspoken and with the best sense of humour. But now he is here but not here! He is absent.
It is poignant that one of the deepest lessons I learned in one year lasted for less that one hour. So in perspective, wrinkles, gutters in the face, and brazier stabs are nothing to detest. What matters the most are the people who love us unconditionally even after memories are lost.
233-208286817; dorisdartey@yahoo.com
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