Why I Gripe – a poem

Too many thoughts
As I go through
The gates of my mind

Resisting the urge for comparison
But then again reflecting
On this poem
I have been musing over
For the past few weeks

Why I Gripe

When I gripe about my land
It is not because
We haven’t come
Any further
Than when we started off
But because
We could have gone
Much further

Why I Gripe
When I gripe
It is not because
I don’t see
That we are better
Than most of our neighbours
But because
Today when you talk
About neighbours
It is not geographical
Gut global
Without borders

Why I Gripe
When I gripe
It is not
For the fact
That we are better
Than the worst
But because
We are worse
Than the best

Why I Gripe
When I gripe
It is not because
I am not thankful
But because
I can see
That what we see
As the future potential
Is what should have been
Our present

Why I Gripe

©Nana A Damoah, 2013


Overstretching the Grace

Look beyond our roads. Look around you. There are so many unsafe situations and conditions around us.

As a safety professional, I see so many of such accidents waiting to happen as I walk around.

Gutters missing their slabs around Accra Mall, cracked parts of streets around Adabraka, sometimes in the middle of the street, with a stick stuck in as the only warning, trotros with sharp edges of seats and welded joints protruding, commercial buses without emergency exits and no information on how to exit in emergencies, buildings with no escape routes in emergencies, meeting rooms in big office buildings with single exit points, taxis with LPG smells in them meaning the gas is leaking…

We live in an unsafe country. The entire country requires a safety gap assessment with actions to close the gaps which clearly exist.

In Ghana, we overstretch our allocation of the grace of God.

May the Lord keep us. Keep safe. Blessed weekend.

Up Atop My Roof So High: Notch 2 – Jerryboom and January Blooms

It was a cool harmattan morning and the country was in a simultaneous state of jollity and despondency as one administration was preparing to hand over to another, after the December elections of the previous year. The outgoing President was going to deliver the State of the Nation’s address to Parliament for the last time in that capacity, at least for that term. Old, new and aspiring politicians; incoming and outgoing Parliamentarians (by design or by voter decision alike), previous Presidents and aspiring ones, movers and shakers, ordinary citizens who had special passes that day, Ghanaians…all were trooping to the Parliament house to be part of history.


Two politicians walked up the red carpet into Parliament. Okay, let’s say it was one of them who was really walking on the red carpet. A former President, in a pensive moment and picking his steps, as if counting and marching to a silent humming in his head of his favourite song – o-za-mi-na-mi-na-na, o-za-mi-na-mi-na. Jerryboom on the march yo. From his right, almost in a submissive mood, approached a favourite of the people, an outgoing Mayor, he who is called Tsentse. Tsentse, who clamps both hands in salute to the Jerryboom and attempts to walk in tandem with him, perhaps to sing the song so the Jerry could walk well.


First warning. “Hey!” Jerryboom shows both palms to Tsentse, as if to say “Back off!” Tsentse backs off, momentarily. Tsentse tries again, this time with both hands clamped in his damirifa. J-Boom stops again, and shows both hands, palms out, again to Tsentse. I could hear him loudly, only in my mind, “Numo, I said ‘back off’”! Jerryboom continues his walk up to Parliament, o-za-mi-na-mi-na-na, o-za-mi-na-mi-na.


Tsentse waves at someone across the carpet, and turns and also smiles to the camera.


It was 5 January 2017.


The year has just started and the long journey through January had begun on a gloomy note, according to the Afrobarometer survey undertaken by Dr John OK on the real pockets of Sikaman. In the School Fees Week, usually celebrated in the second week of January, Ghana was celebrating twenty-five years when Jerryboom cast off his khaki trousers and shirts and picked up kente cloths and suits, deciding to dabble in democracy even though he repeated declared that he didn’t believe in it. I like such honesty. Is that what they mean when they say that one must grit his teeth and get down with it?


This time, the leaders, past and present, politicians, street hawkers, preachers, galamsey practitioners, parliamentarians, teachers, poets, writers and thieves – all of them gathered at the Black Star Square to give thanks to the most High for helping us keep the elephant in the bush, ei sorry, I meant the abongo man in the barracks. For the past quarter century, we have done well in maintaining the democratic experiment (that phrase eh!), pretending to vote for our politicians who sometimes pay us to vote for them, so we pay them when they are going out of office. We have managed to implement the system of ka bi, na mi nka bi (speak your mind, but allow me to also speak my mind). Never mind that we have taken that so seriously and literally that we have done more of talking and less of doing. Of implementation of the ideas we talk about. But, yes, we have done well in not disrupting our governance as we used to, and have had the longest period of a republic, having had three previously, the longest of which lasted for seven years (counting from 1960 when we became a proper republic till 1966 when Nkrumah was sent to Guinea to eat nkruma).


The three living Johns were there. First John, Second John and the Fourth John. A moment of silence was held for Third John and two of the Vice Presidents we have lost over the years – the Stubborn Cat Arkaah and the smiling Aliu. May their souls rest in peace.


As usual, there was much greeting and smiling and back slapping. Even on the dias. But not with all of them. Where two or three Johns gather, there is drama.


So it came to pass that a semi hand-shaking salute march pass was enacted. Fourth John was standing and Second John came by, with his walking stick in his right hand and his aide holding his left hand, helping him along. I admire how Second John, the Gentle Sexy Eyes, attends such important national events even though he is clearly advanced in age and it is showing. Second John, on seeing Fourth John, transferred his walking stick to his left hand, gave Fourth John a big handshake, and a bear hug, both of them beaming with smiles. Thousand megawatt smiles, as if the glitter from the smiles was sponsored by Bui. The two of them exchanged pleasantries and then Second John moved on.


Fast-forward and we then see Second John seated on the left chair by Fourth John, who was still standing. First John, the one and only Jerryboom, came along and shook the hands of the seated Second John, without maintaining eye contact. You know Jerryboom, always looking to the hills for inspiration. Then, he moved on to Fourth John and had a gentle touch of palms and then on he went. Still humming o-za-mi-na-mi-na-na, o-za-mi-na-mi-na.


It was 7 January 2018.


In an interview a few days later, when Fourth John was asked about that encounter and the clear difference in the two scenarios – Fourth verses Second John and Fourth versus First John – Fourth John indicated that First John’s mood determines his greeting style. In essence, the shorddy gets moody and his moods go on swinging safaris.


I say there is something in January where Jerryboom is concerned. Jerryboom’s bloom in January is becoming legendary. A clear case for a thesis investigation.


Hello January! Be kind to us and pass quickly! And smile to us, don’t be like Jerryboom in January!



Sebiticals Chapter 25: Eggnomics and the rape of the State

**An excerpt from Sebitically Speaking (2015), by Nana Awere Damoah
Since last week, the sound of goats has trended and even as I write this Sebitical, oh Reader, I smell Joe Louis in my nostrils. Ah, Joe Louis!
That was the name of a billy goat the Damoah family owned when I was very little, at Abavanna Down, Kotobabi. Joe was the proud owner of a sparkling white beard with streaks of black. Reminds me of Wofa Kapokyikyi’s proverb: Abodwesɛ tintin na yɛ de yɛ kramo ni a, anka aponkye yɛ mallam, that is, if the only qualification for being a good Moslem was having a long beard, the goat can be a mallam. Joe Louis would have certainly been a scholar! Anyway, Joe could be gone from the house for days providing community services to the area’s nanny goats (see, our family has always been philanthropic) but none of us worried because we knew he would be back. And when he decided to come back home, we could smell him miles away and would go to the main street, ‘flowing’ him ‘fans’ : Jooooe Louis! Joe the Billy Goat had no wife but most of the nanny goats were proud to call him husband. Wofa Kapokyikyi greets you all, with a touch of aponkye flavour.
“How much does an egg cost?”
That may seem like a simple question but it is quite complex. The answer depends on who is asking: an individual or the State.
During the early years in my career, I used to travel across Ghana on trade visits, to customers and markets, to monitor quality in trade and also pick up some market intelligence. Once, we visited this trader in a kiosk in Saltpond. We asked her the prices of the products of my organisation.
“It depends,” she replied in Fanti.
We probed and she explained that the prices depended on who was asking.
“How much will this product be for someone like me?” I asked.
Without batting an eye, she responded “Awoa? Enkyɛ me dze bɛ bo wo tirim!”, meaning she would have sold it at an exorbitant price to me, since I was with a Trooper, and well-dressed.
So how much an egg costs depends on who is asking. If it is the government, then you know what’s up.
One “Ghc2.50″ for your pocket.
In 2014, a group of friends, spearheaded by a Facebook group I am part of, decided to renovate a primary school building in Apagya, Ghana, which had had more than half of its roof ripped off during a rainstorm in early 2014. The other classrooms which though had their roof intact experienced leakages when it rained. That initial idea expanded to include repairing the foundation of the building and the floors of the classrooms as well as repainting the entire building. We later painted the adjoining block for the junior secondary school. We raised funds from friends and family via social media (and a group of Apagya citizens in the diaspora) and delivered the project within five months.
Fund-raising started in July, actual work began in August, works were completed in November and handed over to the community the same month. In all, the team spent Ghc22,466 out of a total of Ghc23,074 raised. The project also had support from the Apagya community, which provided timber for the works and communal labour, as well as donations in kind of paint and bags of cement from the District Chief Executive and some Apagya citizens. The scope of works comprised removal of existing roofing sheets and carpentry; re-roofing of all six classrooms plus headmaster’s office; installation of fascia boards; masonry works to foundation and floor screeding; installation of doors and windows; and painting of walls, windows and doors.
The question has been asked, and quite rightly: how much money would have been needed for this project, had it been done by either the District Assembly or central government? And how long would it have taken? The second question is easier to guess: much, much longer. The situation that needed fixing, at least the roof part, had existed for at least four months until we decided to fix it. Initially, even getting the district engineer to visit the school to assess the damage and give the planning team estimates for the costing proved futile. The District Assembly supported only at the tail end, with forty bags of cement. The first question cannot be answered correctly, but one can guess. It would have taken at least twice the amount we spent.
Eggnomics at work. After all, it is aban (government) money.
The role that public procurement plays in the rape of our nation’s resources is like the elephant in the room: we all see it but fail to talk about it. A friend once said that when public servants and politicians are excited about a project, one just needs to scratch the surface to realise that what really tickles them is the procurement bit. And the 10%. Only the dumb politician or public official steals all the funds for a project. The smarter ones skim off the project and yet deliver it.
The story is told of two classmates, one European and the other African, who finished their studies in Europe and each went back to his country, ending up in politics. After ten years, the European guy (let’s call him John Bull), invited his African friend (let’s call him Yaw Mensah) to his home. John had built a magnificent edifice as his home and Yaw was so impressed.
“How did you manage to do this in ten short years?” Yaw asked.
John smiled and led him to the window, pointing through the glass:
“You see the bridge over that river?”
“Yes,” Yaw replied.
“2%” John told him.
“You see that tarred road on the left? 3%. You see that community hall? 2.5%”.
Yaw nodded…and returned to his country and continent, promising to return the favour by inviting John one day to visit him.
A year later, Yaw did exactly that. When John got to Yaw’s house, he was lost for words!
“How did you deliver this in just a year?!”
Yaw smiled and repeated the drill.
“You see the bridge over that river?” Yaw pointed.
“But there is no bridge!” John replied, puzzled.
“Exactly,” Yaw agreed, “100%!”
The Daily Graphic of 18 March, 2015 (page 60), reported that a six-unit classroom block and a teachers’ bungalow had been inaugurated at Agyareago in the Konongo-Odumase Municipality at the cost of Ghc409,000. Funded by the Ghana Education Trust Fund (GETFund) and the District Development Fund respectively, this classroom block included a staff common room, an Information and Communications Technology (ICT) centre, a store and a library.
In October 2014, Dr Papa Kwesi Nduom, his wife Mrs Yvonne Nduom and Groupe Nduom (GN) handed over a three-storey ultra-modern dormitory to his alma mater St. Augustine’s College in Cape Coast. The total cost of the project was Ghc500,000 and included the main dormitory (with a capacity to accommodate 150 students), accommodation facilities for teachers, an Information Communication Technology (ICT) centre, study room, library, visitor’s room and a courtyard for recreational activity. This total cost also included mattresses for the dormitory and beds and sitting room furniture for the teachers’ flats. The project was delivered in 12 months.
The Headmaster of St. Augustine’s College, Mr. Joseph Connel, remarked: “In fact this dormitory is a dormitory with a difference. Looking at all the ten dormitories we have, this is the only dormitory with a stairs in-built and upgraded with modern facilities and very spacious with staff accommodation attached for housemasters to be able to check on the students.”
The question to ask again: for how much would the government agency have delivered this same project?
To answer this, let me give you some more instances and reports, using the example of six-unit classroom blocks, consistent with what the Daily Graphic stated earlier. I have used two main sources: the official Government of Ghana news portal whose reports are mostly from the Information Services Department (ISD) and Ghana News Agency (GNA), with respective dates indicated:
28 February, 2011 (GNA): Ghc261,000 six-classroom block with office for the Maabeng Senior High Technical School inaugurated by the District Chief Executive.
21 May, 2012 (GNA): Ghc162,318 six-unit classroom block, store, office and library for the people of Nkyesa and surrounding communities in Asante Akim South district of Ashanti region commissioned and handed over by the MTN Ghana Foundation. An additional Ghc10,000 was provided for procurement of furniture for the classrooms and library.
22 February, 2014 (GOG/ISD): “The First Deputy Speaker of Parliament, Mr. Ebo Barton Oduro, yesterday said government was committed to education, and will do everything possible to enhance teaching and learning in schools. Mr. Oduro who is also the Member of Parliament (MP) for Cape Coast North, said this when he commissioned a three-unit classroom block worth more than Ghc220,000 for the Kakumdo Metropolitan Assembly (M/A) Basic School in Cape Coast.”
23 July, 2014 (GOG/ISD): “The Municipal Chief Executive (MCE) for Techiman, Mr. Phillip Oppong Amponsah has inaugurated a six classroom block with ancillary facilities for the Methodist Primary school. The six classroom block has ancillary facilities such as a library, ICT Centre, furniture, two (2) urinals and four (4) seat water closet (WC) toilet facilities as well as a [sic] burglar proof. The project which started in 2009 was funded by the Ghana Education Trust Fund (GET Fund) at the cost of Ghc230,000.00.”
23 September, 2014: “The Ashanti Regional Minister, Hon. Samuel Sarpong has inaugurated a new six-unit classroom block for Krapa M/A primary school in the Ejisu-Juaben Municipality of the Ashanti Region. The project, valued at GH₡450,000 was initiated and funded by GETFUND and would accommodate school children and teachers who for some time now had been studying in temporary structures.”
14 November, 2014 (GNA): Ghc 183,000 six-classroom block with ancillary facilities for Roman Catholic Primary School at Wagambu in the Mion District of the Northern region built by the Catholic Diocese of Yendi and handed over to the authorities of the Ghana Education Service.
3 March, 2015 (GNA): $61,820 six-classroom block and community toilet facility built by Compassion International Ghana, an NGO, inaugurated and handed over to the chiefs and people of Breman Jamra.
11 March, 2015 (GNA): Ghc280,000 six-classroom block, with an office, library and store, built and donated by the children of [the] late Jacob Bonful and spouse Mrs Elizabeth Bonful, built for the Methodist Model school at Sokoban-Ampabame, Kumasi.
Take particular note of the differences in costs when done by a private or corporate entity versus when done by government. The Opposition has had cause to complain about this and we shouldn’t disregard it.
We have still not forgotten the hullabaloo that greeted the news that Ridge Hospital was to be rehabilitated and equipped at the cost of of $250 million. The expansion was to provide the Hospital with ultra-modern facilities and a 420-bed capacity. In the heat of the discussion, I could only remember that for $60 million, my organisation in Nigeria had built an ultra-modern 1000-ton per day palm oil refinery, tank farms, packing hall, equipped with about five packing lines, utilities such as sub-stations, boiler house – the entire works.
We have only finished the debate on the $29 million rehabilitation works at the Kumasi Airport, taking into consideration that the Ethiopian Airports Enterprise (EAE) is planning to construct three new airports in Ethiopia at an estimated cost of US$ 64.5million.
The official residence of the Head of the Commission on Human Rights and Administrative Justice (CHRAJ), which was previously occupied by her predecessor Justice Francis Emile Short, was being redesigned with several variations and renovated at a cost of Ghc182,000. A critical assessment of what constitutes that cost buildup will be an interesting journey in amazement.
We shouldn’t forget so soon, the episode of the former Speaker of Parliament, Rt. Hon. Ebenezer Begyina Sekyi Hughes, who illegally took away furnishings from his official residence at the end of his tenure. These items would have been replaced, at cost to the State, with the principle of eggnomics.
As the nation seeks to plug holes in its burgeoning expenditure, procurement is a low hanging fruit, easily plucked through inflated project costings, and suppliers’ mark up (to also cushion against late payment from government). We must look at the quality of work and whether we even get value for money. How many times have we not seen road projects deteriorate as quickly as they are completed?
I even speak of projects which actually took place. Some projects don’t. But the expenditure takes place.
So how much does an egg cost? Tell me when you get to know the answer when government is buying it.
Till I come your way with another sebitical, I remain:
Sebitically yours,
Sebitically Speaking

​Nsempiisms: Bringing Up Mono-Linguals?

Last week, on 19 September 2017, I was honoured to be part of the launch of the 11th edition of The Spelling Bee, and had fun doing a reading of my piece “You Know You Are In Ghana When…”. Thanks for the opportunity, Eugenia Techie-Menson (aka Mawn Van Boven) and well done for the amazing experience: audience, ambience, content, speeches, performances, theme…


The thoughts shared, the documentary screened of young people who can’t speak in their mother tongue or in any other local language, the looming danger of our grandchildren not speaking any of our native languages because their parents — our children — cannot teach them because they cannot speak the languages themselves…I haven’t stopped thinking about it all.

My little girl is being taught Twi as a subject in school and, this week, she brought in homework, to list five local or indigenous games in which songs are sang. We had fun trying to remember some and took the fun a notch higher by calling my mum on phone, who excitedly gave us three types of games. As we tried to get one last one, Mama called back and said “Adonko koraa, nea ɔmo to wɔ TV so no, ɛno nsoso yɛ agorɔ ni bi!”

I could literally feel the joy oozing from her as she contributed to her grand-daughter and namesake’s homework.

At home, my wife and I communicate primarily in Twi, she speaks Fanti as well but my Fanti is terrible (apologies to my grandma Abokoma and the etsew I ate in Cape Coast for seven years on Menya Mewu Hills) and Ga, when we don’t want the children to understand what we are saying. Their nanny is Ewe but speaks Ga mostly so, in addition to what they have learnt in the Ga classes at school, Auntie Mary has taught them some Ga so these days they are able to follow our Ga convos. Perhaps it is time to learn Ewe? But I digress.

We have been lazy as parents in speaking directly to them in Twi or Fanti. Well, let’s say I have. Wife mine has done much better. My more positive action, perhaps, is taking them to Wasa at least once a year for the past eight or so years, so they can get immersed in the language and the customs of their people much more.

On our last visit, in August this year, one of my sons was annoyed when a relative, when he responded in English whilst she spoke Twi to him, retorted “Ka Twi!” I explained that he understood but, perhaps, is also afraid of his accent.

Yes, so though they understand the language fairly, they speak it not like I do. So there is surely a gap, and I was rudely nudged into revitalised action during the launch of The Bee.

I have started speaking more of Twi now with the children, directly.

I don’t want them, or their children — my grandchildren — to be what the Country Director of Young Educators Foundation (who run The Spelling Bee), Eugenia Techie-Menson calls ‘mono-linguals’. They will not be so, not under my watch.

Will your grandchildren speak your language?

Nsempiisms. My mouth has fallen.

Nsempiisms: Indiscipline or Deficiency

Yesterday at the Media Meet with the President, there was a display of an attribute that disturbs me.

The moderator, the Information Minister, set the ground rules for the Q&A time: one question per person, make it snappy.

Not a few of those who had the opportunity to ask questions decided to ignore the instructions totally, asking two and sometimes three questions, even after a couple of warnings.

It is a character that irks me. We all think we can outsmart the system. It is either indiscipline or an inability to follow simple instructions.  

It is that same trait that makes people climb the curb to avoid traffic and then create more traffic in the process.

It is that same trait that makes people want to jump queues in the bank.

It is that same attribute that makes people want to bribe to cut corners.

We want to grab as much as possible when we have the stage. We want to eat as much as we can when it is our turn, not caring about those behind us.

The above are the examples of indiscipline. 

But there is more. 

Perhaps we just don’t know how, or care, to follow instructions. 
You put up a post and say people text a particular number and not call. They will call.
You say people should send details into your inbox. They put the details in the comments’ section.
You ask people to get in touch via a particular email (not your own) and they send the mail to your inbox.
Someone is to give a speech and you ask him to use 15 minutes, he ends up speaking for 45 minutes.
A student presenting his project is asked to wrap up in 2 minutes and he proceeds as if he has one more hour.
Yesterday’s session was revealing in these respects as well, aside the questions.
Indiscipline on display. Or plain deficiency.  
Nsempiisms. My mouth has fallen.

Sebiticals Chapter 41: Have You Seen the Gyata You Reared?

lion cage

There is a popular cartoon that has been making the rounds for years.


Let me describe the progression in the scene for you.


The scene opens with actor standing in front of the cage with the lion locked behind it. The director briefs the actor that when the ‘action’ cue was given, the actor is to open the cage and free the lion. The lion will chase the actor around as the actor acts scared and distressed. The director then assured the actor that he shouldn’t worry about the lion harming him.


“Don’t worry,’ the director said, ‘the lion would eat you. It is written here in the script.”


“All well and good,’ the actor replied, “you might have written the script, but the question is, ‘Has the lion read the script too?'”


In the run-up to the 2016 Elections in Sikaman, the current governing party trained some gyatas and got some actors to go to town with those gyatas. It is clearer by the day that not everyone read the script.


Sebitically speaking, the NPP is reaping the results of its militarization in the run-up to the last elections. I pray that what is happening with the Delta, Invisible Forces, Azorka Boys, Kandahar Boys and associated vigilante lions, which have grown from cubs, will be a lesson for the future.


As I reflected on the journey to this place of violence, I realised that it is only the unobservant who would say where we are is as a result of magic. There was a build-up, gradually. At least, I saw it. And going through my previous posts on social media, I found quite a number of signposts.


In May, 2015, I had a short exchange on a friend’s page who called foot-soldiers of NDC the “most useless” she had ever known. I retorted that all political foot-soldiers in Ghana are useless, including those of the NPP. The propensity for foot-soldier nonsense is no respecter of party colours.


I asked her not to worry if she disagreed with me on my assertion as I didn’t intend to convince her. You see, one doesn’t need to use words to convince anyone about the characteristics or potential shenanigans of foot-soldiers; the foot-soldiers themselves will, by their deeds and utterances.


So after that, we entered the season of the foot-soldiers as the parties started their primaries. My friend was soon impressed.


In the run-up to the last elections, I made a statement on my Facebook wall that ruffled not a few feathers. On 25 March 2016, I wrote:


“I have observed a trend over the past few years. The NPP is trying very hard to shed off its middle-class, book-long tag and to show that it can also talk rubbish and meet the NDC boot-for-boot. Gloves are off. The NDC is trying very hard to remove the rural, mass, rough and violence-inclined tag and appeal more to the middle. Gradually, the NPP is resembling the NDC of old and the NDC is resembling the NPP of old.”


I leave you to judge how this has played out. You be the judge.


My only comment is that the gloves were never put back on. The vigilantes are knocking their masters with ungloved fists. And in the gut too.


The previous year, on 15 May 2015, I had this from an excursion in my mind:


“What do the teeming semi-literate, usually unemployable and mostly irrational foot-soldiers of our political parties want from their inordinate support for their parties? And from the victories of their parties? The answer to that should lead you some sober reflections. That has a great impact on the quality of the output from our political leadership. And on what we achieve as a nation between election campaigns.”


A few days later, on 21 May 2015, I wrote: “The foot-soldier nonsense has started in the NPP.


On 7 November 2015, I quoted the Communications Director of the NPP in a post as follows:


“’We haven’t done a good job of teaching party supporters tolerance…’ Nana Akomea. Very poignant. This phenomenon of party foot-soldiers. It will bring us some big wahala one of these days. Soon.”


Party foot-soldiers have seized toilets, seized constituency party offices, seized party officers, seized national party offices, burnt party offices, chased district chief executives out of their offices, stormed court premises, turned into pseudo-armies and continue to enjoy political support.


On 7 February 2016, I wrote on my #QuotesbyNAD page: “This foot-soldiers-going-on-rampage-at-will nonsense must be stopped. One day they will have nothing else to vandalise but their leaders who fail to call them to order today.”


That day is precariously close.


One day soon, these same party foot-soldiers will seize the Flagstaff House and seize the



We have already seen the back-and-forth with the court case involving the Delta Forces 1 & 2 teams.


In Arrow of God, Chinua Achebe wrote that the man who brings home ant infested firewood should not complain when lizards start to visit. According to Nana Ampadu, in his song “Woyoo woyoo”, a leopard who goes on a pilgrimage to Mecca doesn’t turn into a vegetarian. Even if he becomes head of a masalachi.


What we are experiencing with the vigilante groups in the NPP follows the principles of the Newton’s First Law of motion which states that every object will remain at rest or in uniform motion in a straight line unless compelled to change its state by the action of an external force. When a car is in motion, the occupants travel at the speed at which the car is moving. When the car stops, the objects in the car (including the occupants) still travel at pre-stop speed of the car. Unless an external force changes their state, and restraints them. Like a seat belt.


The vigilante groups are still travelling at pre-elections and pre-inauguration speed. The governing party, their party, needs to find restraints to keep them in check and change their state. As quickly as possible.


This gyata who has even seen the Promise Land is asking for barbecued officials for dinner. With a serving of sobolo.


The feeding of foot-soldiers has emboldened them to go out to hunt for themselves. Soon, if unchecked, this reared gyata will break loose and start chewing live meat.


Till I come your way with another sebitical, I remain:


Sebitically yours,


Sebiticals Chapter 40: Sikamaliamentary Palava

I bring you very foamy greetings from the shed of Akwasi Sorfree, the best palm wine tapper in Wasaman, where, departing from his regular practice, Wofa Kapokyikyi is having a calabash of palm wine. He told me that from time to time, even Memuna gets tired of fula. No Liberty Fun Club visits today.
Wofa was quite pensive today. Me, I just sat and enjoyed the conversations around the benches under the shed.
“A fool in a pensive mood is not making any judicious plans; he is still a buffoon,” Wofa whispered, almost to himself.
“Ei, Wofa Kapokyikyi! Please explain.” I had no incline what he meant by that.
“My son, a rich man who becomes poor is still better than a poor man who is trying to become rich.”
“Ei! As for today, you are really swimming in parables.”
Wofa was not finished. “A mad man who gets cured still have some tricks with which to frighten children. And a fool who is assumed wise only has to open his mouth to clear any doubts.”

I had to get closer to Wofa Kapokyikyi to confirm whether he was in the spirit. He wasn’t. He was very sober, which was even more dangerous. For what a man says when drunk, he thought about whilst sober, and Wofa’s thoughts, when being cooked in his fertile mind, were caustic.
Oh yes, I bring you greetings from Wofa Kapokyikyi, who told me that Kotei the jack-of-all-trades, who recently graduated from village electrician to cable TV fixer, has finally come to install the apotowiwa on top of his roof so that his television set can now receive images from the capital.
Wofa says he has been following the proceedings, news, discussions, accusations, fights and all the drama from the House of State this year, and his mind was still trying to manage all the twists and turns.
“I love the state of our Parliament now. For every story, there are about four versions of the near-truth. And then the truth. I love it more when each storyteller calls the other a liar. Makes it even more colourful when the lied to is not believed, when he states his version of the truth which cannot be distinguished from the lies which the liar tries to discount.”
“Ei, Wofa, son of Premang Ntow and grand nephew of Bassanyin!” That was all I could say. I started to think that the palm wine wasn’t getting on well with the physiological mechanisms of my Wofa’s metabolism.
It is getting tangled and mangled and appearing far from simple eh? It is sounding convoluted and you are getting discombobulated eh?
Exactly! That’s the idea, to make you appreciate my confusion with the train of thoughts that Wofa was peregrinating today.
“You see, my wofaase, our big men in the House of State have given onto themselves the ‘Insult Privilege’. They have arrogated to themselves alone the power to disrespect MPs. To insult MPs. To fight MPs. They say to the ordinary people, ‘You have no right to disrespect us or to speak ill about us. We don’t need your help. We can do it ourselves. To one another.’ Who am I to disagree?”
Wofa paused and took a sip from his calabash. The foam formed a white line above his upper lip. I wondered how that line would have formed if Wofa had an Andamic moustache. He didn’t give me much time to wonder.
“You remember the accusations and counter accusations about the black polythene courier bags? You remember the naadoli-cowric statement that was covered with a polythene sheet? Did you see the fight that brought us good memories of the zoom-zoom days?”
I nodded. I did remember all of them, I answered.
I asked Wofa if the continuous use of the Insult Privilege wouldn’t dent the image of Parliament. 
He chuckled.
“How can you dent further a milk tin that has been used for various rounds of chaskele?” He said this slowly, nodding slowly.
He was done with his palm wine. Just one calabash. He stood up and held one of the bamboo pillars holding the roof of the shed in place.
Amakye the town crier who was sitting across us and had his transistor radio glued to his ears just increased the volume as we heard the latest news from the House of State. The voice within the radio said some of the big men of the house had used their special nkrataa to take some people across the cornfields and left them there. The radio voice said the man making the accusation was called Jon. Not John o, not any of the former Odikros.
We all said “Hmmmm”. Except Wofa, who said “Oyiwa!”
“Did you notice that in the visa matter of Jon vs the MP4 (apologies to Efo Kofi Gbedemah),” Wofa asked, beginning to walk towards the police station junction, at which we would turn left towards home, “ that only ‘nieces’ and ’wives’ were carried along, and not nephews or brothers?”
I followed him down the road, with my mind made up on one thing: palm wine is not good for my Wofa Kapokyikyi.
Till I come your way again, hopefully when Wofa Kapokyikyi reverts to sampling the normal spirits at the Liberty Fun Club, I remain:
Sebitically yours,


​Sebiticals Chapter 35: Ghana Vu – The Road Just Travelled

In the days of yore when we were we and we roamed the highlands and lowfields of the university of spiritual training, which later was given a coating of the name from Nkroful, there lived an obroni-trained herbalist in the big herbal centre near the road that ran from the abode of Odekuro right into the bosom of Otumfuo. 

Teacher Croffectus told us many market days ago on the hills of Menya Mewu, which existed side-by-side with the valley of the swinging monkeys, that everyone needed to be aware of two aspects of self for life’s journeys and to also made decisions on careers: aptitude and attitude; what one’s gumption quotient was and what his behaviours and idiosyncrasies inclined him towards.
What Teacher Croffectus failed to add was one’s debiatitude: how one looks like.
This herbalist in the herbal centre near the road looks like a fitter mechanic. Our view in the land of spiritual training was that an obroni-herbalist is supposed to look dadabee kakra, and not to have features that made you look up at the ceiling instead of admiring the handiwork of Odumakoma Nana Nyankonpon. One of the reasons why perhaps Kapokyikyiwofaase didn’t even consider the suggestion of Premang Ntow’s son, that Premang Ntow’s grandson became a herbalist. The debiatitide.
The legend was that during the period when even Nii Saddam reduced the length of his drumming sessions and gave time to the lesser business of reading his books, when men and women alike chewed the midnight kola and burnt the evening osɔnɔ, when Sir RED roamed the rooms muttering “minfitɛ gbɛmen average” (I am destroying the cumulative average of students) and admonishing students to draw any line even if they couldn’t make head or duna of the isometric drawing questions….during that period of exams, many are those who thronged the herbal centre for some relief from pain and stress, from the toils of preparation for exams and from the stress of not making enough time for one inte or the other, and the repercussions thereof. 
The story continues that this fitter-herbalist used to prescribe herbs just as you stated your ailments and many who exited his consulting room found out, when they compared tales from not different tails, that they were given the same herbs, even for different complaints. They soon concluded that the herbalist listened only with his hands.
So, one day, Nii Saddam, also called Kule, decided to get to the root of the matter. When he was ushered into the consulting room, he just sat and didn’t utter a word. But Fitter-Herbie had started scribbling away and prescribing herbs!
“But you don’t even know what is wrong with me!” Kule indicated.
“Ah, but don’t you all have the same illnesses and symptoms during this time?” Fitter-Herbie retorted.
I bring you warm greetings from my Wofa Kapokyikyi who told me that whilst it is true what our elders say, that even though heads may look alike, the thoughts in them differ, sometimes when you see how one particularly-shape head is modeled upon a neck, one can sense that the thoughts in that head have been experienced before in the past, and soon enough, the pouring out of those thoughts confirms the suspicion.
Like the stance of the Fitter-Herbie, many times when one considers the happenings in Sikaman, one gets the feeling of Ghana vu. Many times, the trajectory that issues take, like the path of a quadratic graph that rises and falls, that ‘pours water’, a line that accelerates to a crescendo and falls, like the crest and trough of a wave, seems too familiar. In Sikaman, many times when the matters hit, one just gets the sense that we have been here just the day, the week, the month or the year before, and one could almost predict the path ahead of the issue. 
The steadfast problems of our land never ceases, their recycling never come to an end. They are renewed every morning, great is our faithfulness in traversing roads just travelled. 
How are our new politicians different from the old? How different do we address our issues? Are our national scripts rehashed just for new actors?
Zimbabwean writer NoViolet Bulawayo wrote a novel entitled ‘We Need New Names’. Yes, in Sikaman, we need new scripts. We need new ways of doing things. We need new stories. We need new politics. We need to change the narrative. We need new mentalities of citizens. We need different heads and fresh thoughts from these heads, mixing in a national cauldron where each thought acts as an ingredient to produce a national meal of positive progress that delivers tangible development.
We can’t continue to be that predictable. We can’t continue to peregrinate as if we have no destination as a nation. We must get off the road just travelled and find new paths.
We need new names. No more Ghana vu.
Till I come your way next time with another sebitical, I remain:
Sebitically yours,


Blog at WordPress.com.

Up ↑