Oyombo has been left behind, with no safe water By Doris Yaa Dartey. The WatchWoman Column. March 23, 2019

I recently had the privilege of visiting Oyombo, a small village in the Yendi Municipality in the Northern Region. To get to Oyombo, you drive on a dusty road that zigzags, with very little life and activity on the way. The dusty red-earth road leading to Oyombo reminds you that the only reason you are going there is because you had decided to go there. You do not get there on your way to some other place. You can bet that the road to Oyombo will not see a lick of tar for the next hundred or so years. 

The residents belong to the Konkomba ethnic group. The community is tucked away in the vast savannah stretch of land about 30 minutes’ drive from Yendi, the municipal capital. We might have forgotten about Oyombo as part of Ghana. But then, when you notice the mounds after mounds of freshly planted yams nearby, you realise that these are serious hard-working farmers, who feed you and me. 

You will not know that the fried yams, together with the tilapia and shito you ate in Accra or Kumasi yesterday, was planted and harvested by a subsistence farmer in Oyombo and its surrounding areas, as well as in many other forgotten and ignored rural farming communities of our country. Fact: rural people feed urban folks. 

OYOMDO HAS NO WATER

Yet, the residents of this community have no access to clean safe water. They compete for water with animals and fishermen. Their only source of water is a stream that is located some walking distance away from the village. When they arrive at the stream, they have to pause to literally strategize and negotiate their way with cattle, which also stop by for a drink, followed by a swim—if they so desire. The water drinking and other water usage activities of the animals make the water muddy. Fact: cows do not care about water quality. For them, water is water. 

As if dealing with cattle was not enough, itinerant fisher folks often stop by the stream to fish. The fishing activities further muddies the water. The fishermen only care about making a good catch. If in the process, they render the water muddier than they found it, they walk away with their catch. For their purposes, fish protein is king! 

But for the people of Oyombo, water is life! As is the culture, women and children are the ones with the responsibility of walking long distances to the stream, carrying pans to fetch water, and walking back home to undertake the hard task of cooking and cleaning. Pregnant women are not spared from this strenuous water-fetching ordeal.

So if the women and children arrive at the stream at a time when animals and fishermen are already there, then they are out of luck. They have two choices: walk back to the village with empty pans, or fetch the muddy water, carry it home, and wait for the dirt to settle. Often, they do the latter—carry home muddy water. The quality of the water is the type privileged people in this same country Ghana will not use to wash their vehicles or water their plush gardens. But since that is the only water Oyombo people have access to, they use it anyway—for cooking and washing, and sadly, they drink it. The people of Oyombo are water poor! 

The elders of the community acknowledge that the water table in the area is very low so they do not have much luck to get water from the bore holes they dig. But problems are meant to be solved. If Ghana cares enough (or even a little bit), modern mechanized boreholes could be dug to access water from further down the belly of the earth. But Oyombo people live very far off from the national radar and priority. 

As if water poverty was not enough, the people of Oyombo live in total darkness because they are far from the national electricity grid and plans. It is tough to comprehend why the producers of food for our national baskets and plates are left to their own fate. 

It is therefore time for the state of Ghana to take real interest in the quality of life of our people (all of our people), to ensure that we all have water. After wall, water is life! The theme for this year’s United Nations’ World Water Day is: Leaving No One Behind: Water is a Human Right. Yes, the UN maintains that access to safe water is a human right. The state of Ghana must therefore stop violating the human rights of the people of Oyombo and the many small communities, as well as the residents of urban areas (including my own neighbourhood in Accra) by providing us with safe water. This should be a national priority matter. 

OYOMBO PEOPLE ARE CIVILIZED; ATTAINED ODF STATUS

Outward appearances can be misleading. The residents of Oyombo may not have much but are more civilized than several communities of our big cities. What is the evidence of civilization? Two years ago, the residents of Oyombo stopped open defecation.

Two environmental health and safety officials from the Yendii assembly visited the community and noticed that open defecation was rampant all around the outskirts of the village. The officials called the attention of the natural leaders of Oyombo to the disgusting practice. Promptly, the elders of the community decided that every household should construct a latrine. 

Three weeks later, every household had constructed a hygienic latrine (with slabs, superstructure and roof to ensure privacy). They did not ask for the government of Ghana to provide them with toilets. They did not go for loans. They decided that stopping the practice of open defecation was good for their dignity, health and overall quality of life.

Of course they used locally-available materials. I entered three of their toilets. There was no stench and no flies. They are very hygienic spaces. At the entrance of the latrines are tippy taps with water in yellow gallons. In place of soap, there is ash in a little container nearby for the user to rub on the hands before using the water for handwashing. 

They have taken matters a step further. Their surroundings are weeded and kept swept-clean at all times. During my visit, the cleanliness of the community was very apparent. I felt the love, pride and attention they give to their living space. Oyombo is a display of a great success story of cleanliness for Ghana to learn from. 

However, the connection between latrine usage and access to safe water gives me worry for the people of Oyombo. Without water, they will not be able to sustain the high standard of hygiene they have set. Meanwhile, water is their human right. Ghana owes them safe water!

dorisdartey@gmail.com

The family house wahala

How does a house become a family house? When the original owner dies! But more so, a house takes on the family house posture when the descendants of the original owner take over ownership. Family houses are complex entities. The complexities escalate when most of the descendants had not done much with their lives and all they have to hold on to is the one house built by their forebear. When that is the reality, instead of the house uniting the family, it can potentially divide the descendants. 

The situation of family houses touch on the fabric of our society. Does the weakening of the inter-locking threads of the family fabric hold deep implications for our culture and nationhood? I guess so! How can such issues be addressed? I do not know!

TRACING THE FAMILY TREE

Here is a set-up of an imaginary three generations of one family. About 90 years ago, Kwabena Manu married Adjeley. They built a house, where they raised their six children. Between them, the six children gave birth to a total of 22 children. The multiplier effect set in as the 22 grandchildren extended the family further. Currently, there are about 70 descendants in this complex external family.

As the family had become extended and multiplied over the three generations, the family house has become too small for the descendants. Who owns the family house? Currently, about a dozen family members live in the house. In the olden days, several homes were a collection of single rooms, or for luxury, “chamber and halls”. They had out-houses for baths and latrines.

Owing to the complexities of family houses, increasingly, there are people who cannot go home again—when home is defined as where you trace your roots to. When the family home is compromised, your home and for some, your hometown becomes wherever you live.

SHARING THE FAMILY HOUSE

How do you share a chamber-and-hall across generations? It is a tricky matter, which if not handled well, someone might be murdered along the way. Imagine the following real-life scenario. When the original owner of a house died 38 years ago, the five chamber-and-hall housing unit was divided among his eight children. He had children with five women so each woman’s children inherited one set of chamber-and-hall. On the surface, it was an equitable sharing. But soon, the complexities erupted.

The firstborn children took over the chamber-and-hall units, claiming them as their own—exclusively. One set of siblings (three brothers) are now at each other’s throats. The firstborn had rented out the chamber-and-hall and been collecting rent for the past 26 years. He does not make accounts to the two brothers. 

One of the brothers is vehemently demanding for the right thing to be done, and for proper equity and transparency to prevail. The senior brother is refusing. His reason? He is the oldest therefore has the ultimate right. Without transparency and accountability, a coup d’état is brewing and could explode any day. If the coup erupts, it will be an ugly explosion. Question: After the present generation has died off, who will claim ownership of this chamber-and-hall? This situation has too much potential to weaken this particular extended family unit. 

WHO MAINTAINS THE OLD HOMESTEADS

A family house belongs to all, yet does not belong to anyone in particular. So who is responsible for maintaining the house? Easily, some family houses become dilapidated with no one to repair them. Whenever I go on road trips to various parts of the country, I stare at ramshackle houses with rusty leaning roofs and broken walls. These houses give most hometowns a depressing look. No wonder some people never return to their hometowns after they migrate to a city! 

In some houses, even post-paid electricity bills present ripe opportunities for conflict among relatives. Some relatives behave as if they expect their great grandparents to come from the far-beyond to pay their electricity bills! When something breaks down in the house, no one wants to fix it. A simple matter of sharing the cost becomes a quarrelsome matter that can create a wedge between relatives.

In one house I know of, the roof exhibited signs of rottenness over a decade. The family head set an annual levy for adults to pay to fund the renovation of the house. For five years, the total money collected was meagre. Meanwhile, rain water continued to pour in through the rotten roof. It became apparent that the house might cave in. Replacing the roof became an emergency. 

One family member decided to rescue the house. Using her own money, she had the roof replaced, and other repair work done. Interestingly, since the house was renovated, some family members who had not showed duty of care for the old homestead had surfaced to explain the ownership system of the family house. They are arguing that the family house belongs exclusively to the paternal descendants. Interestingly, the woman who alone paid for the entire cost of renovating the family house traces her ancestry through her mother. In effect, she had been defined out of the family house she fixed! 

FAMILY HOUSES FOR SALE AND RENT

Some cunning cheating elders of families have gone to the extent of selling old and historic family houses in Accra. They had squandered the money. Family members find out with shock that their family houses suddenly belonged to companies or rich individuals. Some of the old houses had been pulled down and in their place, the new owners have constructed high-rise state-of-the-art structures. 

One side of my father’s family has lost access to the ancestral family home. On one very ordinary day, a “by-heart” cousin of mine stormed the house and ordered all relatives to move out within three months to make way for major renovation works. Reluctantly, the old people and relatives moved to perch in neighbouring houses. It was only when the renovation work was completed that the dwellers of the family house realized with shock that the entire house had been rented out. This rendered the family members homeless in their own hometown. In rapid succession, my old aged aunts died off within one year. I can bet that the hurt of homelessness in their old age sent them to their graves. 

My cousin justified his action with a grand claim that it was his father who constructed most of the rooms in the family house several yesteryears ago during President Nkrumah’s era, when he held a ministerial position. Strangely, he died about two years after his coup on the family. But still, the family home is occupied by tenants because he took extended rent advance. The family has since dispersed because the old homestead has gone into the hands of tenants. The family connection remains broken!

dorisdartey@gmail.com

God forbid if a tsunami strikes Accra!

By Doris Yaa Dartey. The WatchWoman Column. February 28, 2019

Last Friday at dawn, just as the capital city of Ghana was going through the druggy motions of waking up, I set out on a drive outside Accra. The scene that really hit me was the chaos that was very evident before day-break. It was as early as 4am so there were very few people outside. But the still sleepy roadside spoke for the city of my birth. 

THE MOTLEY STUFF

The scene abounds with stuff—scattered about, lounging there in no particular order. Just stuff! These are the stuff that create that certain look of chaos. It is the kind of chaos that does not make any sense whatsoever. It is the chaos that communicates that no one truly cares. It is the overwhelming stuff that suggests that the collective elders of our big sprawling city have abandoned their responsibilities, and are laid-back in a deep slumber. It is the kind of stuff that can impact on the psyche, and cause depression. 

The stuff I witnessed presented a messy look. It comprises of our junk left behind before the city went to sleep the previous evening. But clearly, a lot of the junk have been there for so long that no one even remembers because no one tracks such things. 

The stuff includes the following assortments: make-shift funny-looking shops, tables, old lorry tyres, varied kiosks, abandoned vehicles, incomplete and obviously abandoned structures, billboards, posters, parked vehicles waiting for their drivers to wake up to be driven away, garbage piled up in heaps waiting to be collected (may be!), and a motley of other stuff. All these assorted stuff are of varying sizes, designs, colours and ages. And there is no order in their placement. Haphazardness well describes the placement of the stuff!    

The motley stuff is made up of mostly non-biodegradables like metals and plastics. I saw a few dogs, who live off the treasures of the junk. Undoubtedly, there are rats and other rodents, as well as other animals that live off the fringes of our lives—they may hide in the daytime but find their proper pride of place between sunset and daybreak. 

Accra is suffocating under all these stuff! Wherever you turn, you see stuff scattered about. Could this situation be a sign of a city that is suffering from a severe case of depression? Is Accra crying for psychological intervention? 

We have proved not to have what it takes to manage this wild urban sprawl. We need a wake-up call to empty Accra of its garbage, mess and chaos. What at all can wake us up? The June 4, 2015 flood and fire disaster, which killed more than 100 persons, and maimed and traumatized several others did not really wake us up. If the brutal flood and fire combo catastrophe could not wake Accra up, force it to learn lessons, and to fix itself, then what can? 

SOME REALITY CHECKS 

Lost in thought over the odd scenery during the drive, I observed that slowly, a few yawning human beings began to join the already chaotic but quiet reality of the Accra dawn. Then the wild thought hit me: What if a tsunami strikes! I quickly tried to get the terrifying thought out of my mind for fear that if I think it long enough, it may actually happen! And it will be my fault! The spirit of Accra will blame me for wishing it a tsunami! God forbid! 

A Japanese word, tsunami refers to a violent wave or movement under the sea, typically caused by an earthquake. When that phenomenon occurs, the sea water becomes a shaken monster and rushes toward land. Until December 2004, I had never heard of the word tsunami. I doubt if most people across the world outside the tsunami-prone areas knew of tsunami. But the December 26, 2004 Indian Ocean earthquake and tsunami was so violent, destructive and murderous that it immediately brought the word permanently into the global lexicon. 

The entire family of my classmate and then best friend, comprising of her mother, father and two sisters (all of whom I knew personally) died in the tsunami that struck Thailand and several countries in Asia, stretching to the coastlines of east and southern Africa. On that fateful day, my friend’s family went to the beach. The only reason my friend’s life was spared was because she had work to do so excused herself from the family fun outing, which turned into mass deaths.  

In December 2018, an earth tremor of 4.0 magnitude on the Richter scale occurred around McCarthy Hill, a known earthquake-prone zone. The Daily Graphicreported that the Acting Director of the Geological Survey Department, Dr Daniel Boamah issued this stark warning: “This minor earthquake is a warning to get us prepared for a bigger one. But when the bigger event will occur, we do not know.”Knowing us, I doubt if anyone is heeding this warning. 

So my non-technical mind is wondering if a tsunami can ever occur in Ghana given that McCarthy Hill is within the beach range and an earthquake on land could extend to the nearby Atlantic Ocean! 

If (God forbid oh – although nature does what nature wants to do!), a little tremor or a good sized earthquake occurs along our shores, Accra might be in a more than sorry state of affairs. The flood waters might make a dash onto land, push our garbage outside our sub-consciousness, and rudely rush them into our faces. We will feel the garbage before we feel the Ocean waters. 

The assorted tables, billboards, incomplete structures and kiosks we have scattered about haphazardly will all collapse into weird unrecognizable lumps. They will join together in a jarring collection of plastics, metals, wood and stuff. They will interlock, float and be pushed about into our streets, homes and water bodies. Our odd gutters will be wiped out of existence. 

THE AFTER SHOCK AND AWE

When we arise from the catastrophe, we will wonder if some prophets prophesied the tsunami. I can almost predict that in fits of lying sprees, some publicity-seeking prophets will claim that they actually prophesied the tsunami! The Meteorological Services folks will wonder why they missed it and quickly excuse themselves with the grand explanation that they have obsolete equipment. With that, procurement-crazy government people will gleefully scramble to do a multimillion-dollar procurement under a state of emergency. Of course the emergency procurement will offer opportunities for corruption as a few people will enrich themselves from the disaster. 

NADMO will be rendered useless since their own officials will flee for their lives. Power outages will be a certainty; and water will be contaminated. As garbage becomes king, air pollution will be a given. Panic attacks will set in for all as we run for dear life. But where will we run to?

dorisdartey@gmail.com

Adopting walking as exercise of choice

Adopting walking as exercise of choice

By Doris Yaa Dartey. The WatchWoman Column. February 21, 2019

In my opinion, a human being is a walking machine. The arms, the legs, the torso—are together, designed for movement. Yet, I went through several years of walking only when I had to, as part of normal living. I never made a conscious effort to walk. 

On days I did not have to move, I did not move. I laid in bed or couch and only lifted my body to eat or respond to nature’s periodic and inconvenient calls. I was dull, sluggish and lazy. I pondered over this situation and realized that it will get worse as I aged. Three years ago, I set out on a mission to change my worrying set of circumstances. Not exercising at all should not be an option. 

I considered going to a gym to exercise. I stopped by one of such sites. The place intimidated me. The machines stared at me! The gym instructor looked so perfect, with hard sculpted well-built muscles! I realised that I did not belong in a gym. 

TREADING THE MILL

So I tried the treadmill! That too did not suit me so I quickly abandoned it. A treadmill brings back my childhood memories of the cornmill. The forcefulness. The abruptness. The noise. The eagerness to chew anything put in its way. Anything that comes out of a cornmill is changed, mangled, is unrecognizable, and in a powdered form. The sheer power of a cornmill confounds me!

From time immemorial, corn, millet and grains have suffered in the bowels of the cornmill. They get broken down into tiny pieces and used as the basic raw material for some of our staple dishes:  banku, kenkey, apkley, kpekple. 

Similarly, using a treadmill unleashes such forceful power. The abrupt landing of the feet. The predictable movements. The absence of a scenery because it is stationary. So I quickly ruled out the treadmill because I do not desire to have a cornmill experience – although I had invested a good amount of money in purchasing the equipment. 

ENTERS WALKING

So I decided to walk; just walk! To engage in the simple act of moving my body by regularly and intentionally moving my legs and arms from point A to B to Z. I began as if I was at the kindergarten—slowly and surely! Initially, I got tired easily. But now, I can walk for an hour before I feel tired.

The greatest challenge I faced in adopting walking as my exercise of choice was to find a convenient and safe place to walk. It was as difficult as cutting down an ancient baobab tree. I had assumed that walking meant walking in my general neighbourhood. 

I live in an underdeveloped part of Accra where the streets have no sidewalks or shoulders. The road shoulders are infested with multiple bumpy, crude and wicked surfaces and edges. So there is truly no safe surface to walk on, rendering the feet landing during the walk rather abrupt and potentially injurious to the feet and knees. I quickly realized that I might slip and fall, and break a leg. 

What makes walking in my neighbourhood even more dangerous are the wild motorists. I competed for walking space with the odd mix of tro-tro, taxis, trucks, private vehicles, gutters and bushes. I could not stand the maddening competition so gave up walking in the neighbourhood with full realization that I was risking my life. A vehicle could knock you down and out in the most freakish violent accident and kill you instantly.

So with this rude realization, I decided to explore walking inside the house. Since then, any space in my house has become a walking space. Regularly, and on a daily basis, I walk through the kitchen, hallway, bedroom, porch, the compound—anywhere! I go round and round at either fast or slow pace. I walk barefooted. Thirty minutes of walk comes so quickly. Determination comes in as a bonus virtue!

BENEFITS OF WALKING

Since I began actively walking, I have experienced the immense benefits of walking. The periodic pains I used to experience in my joints (signs of aging) have healed without any medicines. Walking is very gentle on my knees. I just have to consciously remember to swing, sway, raise and flex my arms and shoulders.  

Whilst walking, I also intentionally straighten up my chest and body. I have benefited so much from such an awareness of my body that I cannot see myself abandoning walking. Walking also gives me much time to gather my thoughts. I write for a living. To my surprise, during my walks, complete ideas, paragraphs and even sentences are birthed during. Clearly, a vigorous body can create a vigorous mind!

DEFEATING PROCRASTINATIONS

Over the past three years, I have effectively defeated my own propensity to make excuses not to walk, and of my habits of procrastinating that keeps me in an unhealthy foetal position, and lazy. Over the period, I have determined that limited space is not an excuse not to walk. A rain downpour or the hot tropical sun present no reasons not to take a walk. 

All I need to walk is the determination. The solution lies in the strength of my will, and of consistency. It is said that where there is a will, there is a way. For instance, being in a public space is not an excuse to just sit down and not walk about. So when I am in a public location and there are extensive periods of inactivity, I get up to stretch and as if I am joking, I walk. I refuse to allow shyness that people will stare at me for pacing up and down in a public space where everyone is seated to dissuade me, even at the risk of being perceived as crazy. 

With a smart watch, I consciously keep track of my walk on a daily basis. I have now become a walker, regardless of where I am. I am walking to keep straight, and to generally keep healthy. All my life, I had never exercised regularly like I do now. 

Through walking, I have learnt that we place unnecessary limitations on ourselves. Do not wait until you find the ideal place, the ideal time, the ideal clothing/gear, and the ideal partner before you embark on an exercise regimen. Take a decision to walk and just do it! It does not matter the location. Just walk even if all you have is a chamber and hall! Similarly, we can achieve anything we set our minds and hearts on despite the odds and challenges.

dorisdartey@gmail.com