Ghana is like a great tree in leaf. The branches have tell-tale signs of birth and rebirth, of pain and misery, of joy and hope. Tomorrow’s presidential and parliamentary elections are nothing but a branch formed out of the mighty tree; part of our history writing exercise – the fifth elections in the Fourth Republic. But there should be no more counting of the republics. All counting must cease; have ceased. One independent nation; one republic!
We were colonized once; yes, we were. After years of living in a colony, one of the then sprawling back-yard premises of England, we successfully fought for and won our independence; yes, we did. Whatever has happened since then have been growing up pains, akin to teething problems. During the period, we have had seasons that can be likened to a pile of rained-on manure. We hated it. So praying folks got onto their knees and some have remained there as the story of our beautiful great tree unfolds.
The beauty of democracy is that the ‘Kayayo’, manager, politician, Imam/Pastor, the privileged and downtrodden, literate and non-literate, young and old, tall and short, male and female, wise and semi-idiot – if considered to be of sound mind (who determines that? What level of sanity/insanity is acceptable as sound?), and above 18years of age – all have one vote – with the thumb. No one is superior. The thumb is the great equalizer.
So, tomorrow is the big Day of Thumbs. The thumb will rule, as it must. The collective thumb will select our next president and parliamentarians from across the country. What power! I suspect that if the other four fingers don’t normally envy the thumb, on Election Day, they frown in envy.
The thumb is special. It is the first digit of the human hand; and of the monkey too! The thumb differs from all other fingers. While the four fingers have three parts (phalanges), the thumb has two. The thumb is short and stout. Yet, despite what might appear on the surface as disadvantages, the thumb is the most flexible finger with the greatest freedom of movement. It can do what other fingers cannot dream of doing. The thumb can touch each and all the other fingers; the others can’t. Try it!
The thumb has gripping power. It is when the thumb joins forces with other fingers that we can hold things. Just imagine a handshake without a thumb! And cleaning and eating! So the thumb is the power-house in finger-land. It can grip to express love and it can grip to express hatred beyond measure. Some even use the thumb to insult, as in, ‘taflatse,’ – “Your moda!”
But some thumbs are berry-sweet and great suckers! The thumb appears to be the preferred sucking finger of all-knowing babies. The thumb has, from time immemorial, given solace and rocked many to sleep. It is likely that some adults secretly indulge in thumb-sucking for one reason or the other, not excluding bizarre enjoyment.
But thumbs vary. Some are messed up, crooked and disfigured with no semblance to a thumb at all. There are hunch-back thumbs with ugly bunions oddly sticking out. Some thumbs appear flat and lifeless as if pressed on, run down by a truck. On the contrary, some thumbs are fleshy and juicy as if picked out from the other fingers and overfed. Some thumbs are stiff, worn out from aging, arthritis and the victim of many other life’s ordeals. And, there are ailing thumbs with rotten nails, eaten up by fungus, leprosy or other funky possibilities.
Some thumbs appear directionless, absent-minded and might confuse their owners tomorrow whether that is the right finger to use in the voting booth. So what should be an easy task of using a specific finger to cast a vote could become complicated for some who will quietly suffer the challenge of figuring out which finger to use.
Some thumbs are shrunk like old tree stumps. Sadly, some are lost through accidents and other acts of living. What is the EC’s policy on those who are unfortunate not to have thumbs? Would they cast their votes with any other existing fingers? Thumbless folks should not be disenfranchised for after all, thumbless people are people too!
I do have a thumb, but a funny thing happened on my way to the polls. I’ve been on my way to the polls a long long time but have never had the privilege of voting. This one time, I was so close to experiencing the democratic act of casting a vote but the EC came in like a rough bully and stole my vote. I was disenfranchised before December 7 because of the unruly manner in which the limited registration exercise was organized. But I’m not bitter. I trust the electorate. My vote lies in the collective thumb. Once all the votes have been counted, all our individual preferences become mute and we must give way to the voice of the collective. After all, an election is nothing but the central nervous system of democracy and helps nations to stand tall.
Here is an important matter to consider tomorrow. While in the voting queue, woe unto you if nature calls you! Question: Should you get a pressing need to pee-pee, what would you do? Answer: Men will face bushes, walls and target gutters. Don’t imagine what women will do because it is one messy, lousy embarrassing exercise. Well, pee-pee is messy but poo-poo is indescribable.
On November 19, we celebrated World Toilet Day. As a country, our toilet situation is nothing to write home about. So you are likely to lose your dignity if while in a queue to vote nature calls you to do the big one. So before you set out on tomorrow’s Thumbs Day, cure yourself of pee-pee, and especially of all poo-poo matters. You should resolutely avoid loading on fluids, keeping in mind that whatever goes in must come out and force you to contend with nature in strange places. Riddle: why is it that chickens drink water but don’t pee?
Over 2000 years ago, a witty ex-slave, Aesop, told simple clever stories known as Aesop’s fables. Hear him in The Seaside Travellers. “Some travellers, journeying along the seashore climbed to the summit of a tall cliff and looking over the sea, saw in the distance what they thought was a large ship. They waited in the hope of seeing it enter the harbour. But as the object on which they looked was driven nearer to shore by the wind, they found that it could, at the most, be a small boat and not a ship. When however it reached the beach, they discovered that it was only a large faggot of sticks. One of them said to his companions, “We have waited for no purpose for after all, there is nothing to see but a load of wood.”
Moral: “Our anticipations of life usually outrun its realities.” Those who win the votes might not succeed in changing the circumstances of your individual life. Today, the elections might sound like such a big deal and worth hyperventilating over. But tomorrow, it might turn out to be less than a pimple on the face – here today, gone tomorrow. So in times like these, let your anchor hold. Below the surface and below the radar – stay grounded.
dorisdartey@yahoo.com
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