DO YOU DIARY?

History, despite its wrenching pain, cannot be unlived, but if faced with courage, need not be lived again.

Maya Angelou

On December 9^th, 2010 (yesterday), I read an article and a play based on a true-life story. It was about a young witty Jewish girl who was a victim of the holocaust. Her name is Anne Frank. She experienced the resultant of religious and racial discrimination. To read more about her, go to www.annefrank.org.

One thing I learnt from her is the need to keep track of changes that take place within our own lives and environment. In her diary, Anne vividly portrayed the harsh conditions that she and her family have to cope with. For instance, she loves to hang out with peers, go to the cinemas and others but the political decree of the day prevented her from doing so. A question I want to ask is how many of us have diaries? How many of us record our experiences, both good and bad?

Psychologically, dairying our experience in life is therapeutic. It gives us the affordable opportunity to offload our fears, monitor our maturity level and basically, it is fun.

Start dairying.

Yours sincerely,

KING DARIUS

THE DECEMBER BUS

I’m the driver of the December bus,

Catapulting human cargo to several places is what I do,

Some of my passengers hurt,

But the shadow of their souls never dent my bus,

My bus carries you to where you wanna go,

My usual stops are Dec. 24, Dec. 25 and Dec. 30,

Dec. 24 is a popular bus stop,

Varying amounts of varying people alight here,

Celebration pervades the atmosphere,

Prosecution of fowls, cats, cows and big rats are executed,

And when the moon and the stars woke up from their slumber,

Beds are warmed,

Sounds on the streets are echoed,

And night clubs buzzed with jazz melodies,

But ultimately,

The theme of the day is deflected,

Dec. 25 is the most heard of,

A savior is delivered in a beautiful manger,

And now,

A mischievous demon is rather celebrated,

Dec. 30 is very famous,

Lot of sponges and soap abound in this stop,

Next to it is a dirty muddy contaminated dirt,

You bath and swim in it,

You return, bath and swim in it again,

The generosity of the sponge and soap is amazing,

Despite being abused,

When passengers alight here,

My lips itch,

Which force me to ask,

“Are you willing to be generous like the sponge and water?”

The replies are ambiguous.

ARE YOU HUMBLE?

Do you wish to rise? Begin by descending. You plan a tower that will pierce the clouds? Lay first the foundation of humility.
Saint Augustine

Humility is one of the cardinal principles to be observed on the road to prosperity. It has been defined as the quality of being courteously respectful of others. Of late, the following expressions have been taken to mean humility; “Yes sir Massa, boss, and the rest”. But humility entails more than this superficial affectations.

In Proverbs 22:4, the Bible says that “humility and the fear of the Lord bringest wealth and honor and life”. Most often, our ambitions and aspirations imprisons our conscience. The resultant is abuse of other people, chronic aggressiveness, arrogance, disrespect, and others. Respecting people for who they are, believing in their potential to excel and celebrating their success, no matter how little it may be, is a prerequisite for a humble life.

Humility doesn’t mean sycophancy. Many people who have made such correlation have become perpetual boot-lickers of certain arrogant and disrespectful individuals. Humility should be a holistic syndrome which should manifest physically and spiritually, which is characterized by constructive criticisms, selflessness, clean speech and non-judgementality. In James 4:11-12, the Bible says that “Don't criticize and speak evil about each other, dear brothers. If you do, you will be fighting against God's law of loving one another, declaring it is wrong. But your job is not to decide whether this law is right or wrong, but to obey it. Only he who made the law can rightly judge among us. He alone decides to save us or destroy. So what right do you have to judge or criticize others unnecessarily? (Last word and emphasis mine).

If humility is exercised in the home, school, workplaces, and other spheres of our life, strife and vile agitations would be buried.

AND GOD SAID, “LET AFRICANS READ, AND ….”

Is it true that Africans, for that matter Ghanaians have allergy for books? Is the saying “to hide something from an African, put it into a book” credible? Let me narrow it down, how many books do we read in a month, or a year? And how many of us even read our Bibles and Qurans?

A particular school of thought has it that the under-developed nature of Africans can be reduced to the fact they refuse to read to broaden their horizon. Therefore, our ideas are sadly shallow and limited to our immediate surroundings. This phenomenon is clearly demonstrated in our educational institutions. A teacher would give a particular example in a class, and during exams, the class would repeat that same example.

Reading alone isn’t the key to emancipation from cerebral malnutrition and intellectual poverty. I’m saying this because transformation in one’s life depends on what you read, how you critic what you read, how you apply what you read and even the relevance of what you read. Reading certain unnecessary stuff like porn magazine is a complete waste of time and effort! It is God’s admonition that you read things that would enable to make meaningful input in the development of society.

I hope sharing this with you would challenge us to ‘repent’ from our anti-book possession. Let’s equip ourselves mentally for the challenges ahead. God bless us all.

SOCIAL RESPONSIBILITY SHOULD BE LEGALLY COMPULSORY

Social responsibility refers to a set of obligations a business establishment or an individual owes to the environment in which it operates. This ethical ideology enable entities to build rapport with the communities in which it operates and also offer appreciable compensation for the adverse effect its operation would bring to the community.

Some school of thought would express that higher returns on investment would morally compel entities to channel a chunk of it into their social responsibility. That’s true but on a scale of hundred, I would give twenty (20) to that childish thought. Corporate social responsibility is not about satisfying communities with bread crumbs, it is a matter of having the interest of the community in the first place, respecting the dignity and culture of the inhabitants, and designing ameliorating packages that would tackle relevant and sensitive situations in the community. To effectively realize this, social responsibility should be legally compulsory.

To start with, introducing legal instruments into social responsibility would ensure sanity and effective compliance to environmental standards. This calls for a well-resourced body to monitor the activities of entities, especially entities whose operations pose a greater threat to the society. This brings oil and gas, waste-management, mining, telecommunications, and lumbering businesses into mind. Failure to monitor firms of this kind makes the society susceptible to a lot of severe environmental hazards such as desertification, ozone layer depletion, land destruction, etc.

Also, it must be noted that social responsibility is more than doing something that would be beneficial to the society. If left voluntary, entities would channel resources into areas that would not only be cost effective to them, but also irrelevant to the needs of the people. For instance, imagine a company providing TV sets to a highly illiterate community. That’s why it is prudent for legal mechanisms to be instituted. A testimony of the effectiveness of making social responsibility legally compulsory is the BP oil spill. Not only did the environment agencies ensure that the BP executives clear the mess they created, but also an executive fiat came in to see to it that proper compensation packages are made to the affected communities.

To conclude, the Government of Ghana recognized the essence of this long ago and established the Environmental Protection Agency to protect, co-manage and enhance the environment of Ghana. This is a manifestation of the argument I’ve been making.

QUE SERA SERA

When I was a little boy,

I asked my father, "what will i be?"

Will I be handsome, will I be ugly?

Here's what he said to me,



Que sera, sera,

son listen very well to me,

The girls of today are dangerous,

so it's better to be ugly,

what would be, would be



When I was in school,

I asked my lecturer, "what's on the board?",

Is it a forest, is it a tunnel?

Here's what he said to me,



Que sera sera,

Hey foolish boy what's kind of question is that,

It's not for me to tell you,

Go and ask your mom,

what would be, would be



When I was in a relationship,

I asked my girlfriend, "what's your status?",

Are you a virgin, are you a devirgin?

Here's what she said to me,



Que sera sera,

what kind of question is that,

We shall find out on our honeymoon,

so be calm and relax,

what would be, would be...

STRIKE ACTION UNJUSTIFIED!

Personally, I think the strike action by our lecturers is absolutely unjustifiable. I simply can’t convince my frontal lobes to understand them. Recently, UTAG-LEGON expressed their intention to call-off the strike but within a couple of minutes, we heard a contradictory statement. I’m surprised at the ‘on-off’ manner this issue is being handled. Is this the tuition I receive for paying hard-earned Ghana cedis for my education? Helooooo!

It is however refreshing to hear that the President, in the face of this instantaneous development, established an ad-hoc commission to look into the matter. Thanks, President Mills but in utmost respect, we expect and admonish your government to be proactive next time.

We also admonish the leadership of UTAG to quickly come out with their position as to whether they are calling off the strike or not. In fact, we are tired of staring at empty lecture halls and departments.

God save our educational system.

THE FIGHT FOR JUSTICE - PT. THREE

A handful of water was sprinkled on the intoxicated young man’s face. This stimulus made Armah reacted in a manner that magnetized Cudjoe attention for a while. There Armah lied on the carpeted floor, oscillating his hands as if he was swimming in a pool. Cudjoe realized that he has the young boy some time to come back to the real environment. He took his seat and picked the photo album on the wooden center table. He flipped through the pages. In one of them was Armah in the midst of some relatives. From the look of his countenance on the picture, you can’t determine whether he was happy or sad or both. Cudjoe has known Armah to be emotionally unstable and susceptible to petty shortfalls. Maybe the environment that he was raised during his formative years is a primary contributory factor to his situation. This is because some years back, he had narrated to Cudjoe how his step-mother had maltreated and chastised him for the least offence. He recounted how he had mistakenly broken a ceramic bowl on one occasion and for that reason, he has to forfeit his supper.  Because of these harsh treatments, he has run away from the family house and bed at his uncle’s deserted single room located within the Accra metropolis. He is orphan who hasn’t even seen the pictures of his dead parents nor even possesses the knowledge about the events that led to their death. He has grown up with a mentality to please everybody, and little corrections make him depressing. A maladjusted personality like Armah needs lot of love and admonishment. Many people would see him to be an ordinary little kid, but to Cudjoe, he is more than that. He is a kid who may not be good on paper, but great and magnificent upstairs. And Cudjoe is going to exploit this dexterity to unravel the mysteries surrounding his trumped-up charges. He noticed the alcoholic cans on the floor. What at all could make Armah get himself inebriated like this? Could it be another castigation?

After lunch, Ben decided to give his wife a call.

“Hello, baby’’. The audibility of Janet’s voice was unclear, so he put it on loudspeaker.

“Yep, sweetie, can you hear me?”

“Yes, I can now hear you. I want to tell you something. This morning, Mr. Akpaglo, the BNI boss called …”

Ben narrated everything that transpired that morning to his wife. Prior to the end of the conversation, Janet advised her husband to ignore it.

The Bureau of National Investigation’s office located behind the Ministry of interior was the state security apparatus responsible for thorough investigation of fraudulent and criminal cases perpetuated by the cream of the society and other hard-nut criminals. It is this particular objective that keeps Mr. Akpaglo on his toes. His extreme position on the enforcement of law and order at all cost blind him to very important ergonomical factors. This homicide case on his desk calls for a competent officer to grip. Someone who would be willing to even sacrifice his life to bring the perpetrator to book. He reached for the telephone. “Let me have Inspector Kotey in my office”.

Is boss going to strip me off the case? Kotey is very determined to complete the case he is currently handling. He knows complete execution means outright promotion. He exhaled and knocked the door. “Have a seat, inspector.” Mr. Akpaglo didn’t mince words, he went straight to the point, “Inspector Kotey, I’m sorry you have to hand over all documents and classifieds to Inspector Daniels. The security board unanimously backs this decision.” He paused to allow his enunciations sink into the ear drums of the inspector. Internally, he mocked the sad expression boldly written on the inspector’s face. He progressed, “but thank your stars because fortunately, we are going to hand you another case. A homicide case, to be precise. Contact Mr. Dovlo for the relevant briefing and documents.” Kotey was somewhat relieved. He managed to say a weak “thank you”. He got up to leave. But before his exit, his boss added, “Remember, this is your last opportunity”. He nodded and closed the door.

Cudjoe perceived that Armah was regaining consciousness. He helped on the boy on his feet and rested him on the sofa. He removed his shirt and positioned the curtains leftwards to allow ventilation. He turned off the Ghetto blaster and sat in front of Armah.

“How are you feeling now?” He asked. Armah gave two consecutive yawns and stretched his limbs. His eyes scrutinized the room like a guest. In an attempt to respond, all sorts of elements of varying definitions emanated from his mouth. Cudjoe’s trouser wasn’t spared the mess. The vomiting continued. Cudjoe understood that he has more jobs to do. He frustratingly started the clean-up exercise. First of all, Armah had a great shower, the mess in the room was cleared, and things were once again brought to normal. Afterwards, in an abrupt manner, Armah broke down. So Cudjoe’s speculation was right. “Cheer up, boy”. He tried to console him. “You don’t understand, Mr. Cudjoe. Everything I do, I fail. I’m not good in anything. I’m useless. A big disappointment. I hate myself, I hate myself”. He began to curse himself but Cudjoe intervened, “Hey listen, stop that. You are good, okay”. Still, he was stubborn, refusing to be soothed, “Yes, I’m good but not better.” Cudjoe quickly modified his statement, “okay, you’re better”.  The kid persisted, “Yes, I’m better but not best.” Cudjoe has no option but to carry on calming him, “Pardon me for that, you’re the best, the excellent, the extra extraordinaire”. The boy smirked and said something that betrayed the efforts of Cudjoe, “You are being sarcastic, don’t you. You know that I’m useless but you are telling me something to make me happy. Why is it that people don’t tell the truth these days? Parents lie to their children, friends lie to fellow friends, and bank people lie to attract customers. Everybody is telling lies, why?” Cudjoe held his soft innocent face with both hands, “You are very intelligent, Armah, I mean it. Anyway, do you remember what you did the last time at the cinema? When you restored the power cut by your vocal instruction? Let me not beat about the bush, Armah, I think you are gifted. You possess extra-ordinary powers.” “You must be kidding, I’ve had enough of your cooked up eulogies.” Armah doubted the credibility of the young man’s statement. Then suddenly, Cudjoe strangled the neck of the boy. Armah was struggling to breathe. He pleaded with Cudjoe to let go of his neck, which Cudjoe turn a deaf ear to. It continued and Armah realized that he was running of breathe. He yelled, “Stop it”. Just then, Cudjoe froze, with his hands clasped into each other. Armah tried to liberate himself, but was impossible because his neck was still tightly held by Cudjoe’s hands. “Go back!” He commanded. And Cudjoe went back. Very surprised at his own astonishing power, Armah tried it again. This time to relieve Cudjoe. “You are right. I’m a genius”. He was so elated and jumped about in the room. “I want you to do something for me. Boy, I am wanted by the police and I want you to help me.” Armah subsided his ecstatic mood and drew closer to Cudjoe. Everything was narrated to him in a manner that would be easily understood.  “I am not going to allow them take you away. You are a good man. You’ve continued to pay my fees though I’ve failed in my academics on several occasions. You’ve being like a father to me. No, I’m going to allow them do that to you. You are not going to jail, dad.” That was the first time Armah’s expression aroused the emotions of Cudjoe, especially when he called him father. The two worked out a plan. Thereafter, Armah made a call.

Kotey assembled his men for the hunt. A minute ago, information has reached his outfit that the alleged murderer of Dr. Kufour is currently residing in one of the slums in Mataheko. He made sure all his men have the requisite bag of tricks. Afterwards, he briefed them, “listen, guys. The criminal we are going to arrest, according to reliable information on him, is very clever. He doesn’t have many pages on our records but the manner in which the homicide was perpetuated speaks that he is very dangerous. Don’t underestimate him. And most importantly, the government wants him alive. I have much trust in you, guys. Let’s go for the hunt”.

Cudjoe was very sure that the person he can best communicate his innocence to is a security officer, committed soul and heart to ensuring impartial and fair administration of justice. Though he doesn’t know the officer handling his case, his instincts motivates him to meet the officer. He received a call on his new phone. It was Baisiwaa. “Cudjoe, I have some news for you. Where are you now?” After revealing his whereabouts, she continued, “My cousin who works as secretary at the Ministry of Defense, informed me that the Director had an impromptu meeting with BNI’s boss. She eavesdropped on their conversation and the centre of it was your case. Cudjoe, she thinks they’re using you to cover up something. According to her, they’re applying a principle which within the security force is known as a “smoke-screen”. They have hidden plans. I’m sorry that’s all I have now. Take care. And know this, I love you.” This information has come the time Cudjoe was contemplating on how to argue his case. What are these security people trying to hide? Why are they using him? Now, it is obvious that these people are up to something nefarious. What could it be? What could it be? Yes! He has remembered something. A month prior to Dr. Kufuor’s death, he had an interaction with him at the doctor’s residence. During their chat, he noticed the doctor was rejecting persisting calls on his cell phone. And ultimately, when he took the call, he excused himself. Could it be that the calls were coming from these security officers? There is only one way to find out. He called Baisiwaa and told her to something risky, which she willingly obliged.

“You are being surrounded by the BNI. Come out and peacefully surrender...” The BNI has surrounded the house. Cudjoe and Armah have already plan how things should go. Armah first stepped outside, highly confident of something the security men were oblivious to. The stares of the men didn’t amuse him. He accurately read their minds, is this criminal we are coming to arrest? He drew closer and started what he has to do. Before the security men realized, they were dropping their gadgets. “What the heck do you think you’re doing?” Kotey yelled. He couldn’t believe what he himself was doing. He has also dropped his gun, and was being pulled by a force towards the direction of the boy. When he got closer, he was further dragged to the room. The moment he entered, the door closed. Now, he was sitting face-to-face to the criminal he has come to arrest. The hypnotic magic on him was removed. He quickly started the reciting the security verses to effect arrest, “You are under arrest, Mr. Cudjoe. You are to remain silent ...” Cudjoe then explained to him his readiness to submit himself to the rigours of the law and that he asking for some minutes to explain something to him. Kotey compromised. Cudjoe went on to say his side of the story, “I am not responsible for the death of Dr. Kufuor. Actually, he was a friend of mine back in college. And ...”

Meanwhile, Mr. Akpaglo was again calling the line of Ben. The recipient picked, he started speaking, “Dr. Ben. I think we talked about something the last time. This time round let me not mince words. Dr. Ben, we want you to format the memory of a criminal, a threat to our peaceful society. It comes with fifty thousand dollars. Think about it.” Ben was uncomfortable with this offer. As a solid matter of fact, it was against the ethics of his profession. Eradicating the memory of someone, be it a criminal or not, is tantamount to murder. He strongly rejected the offer but that rather attracted the cogence of Mr. Akpaglo. He resorted to another strategy. “I would think about it”, he said. But Mr. Akpaglo wasn’t in for compromise, “I’m sorry we can’t bargain on this issue. This is an instruction, not a proposal. A polite highly-rewarding instruction, Mr. Ben.” This recent statement uncured the wrath of Ben, “I’m also sorry, Mr. Akpaglo or whatever you call yourself. I don’t want this offer.” Mr. Akpaglo persisted, “I think the present amount is not enough, how about sixty thousand dollars”. He pronounced the amount as if he was actually spelling them. Ben’s resistance and adamant attitude made the BNI’s boss revert to his plain and cunning tactic, “Dr. Ben, I think you are forgetting something. That you are married. That you have a wife you cherish dearly.” Ben’s roar sounded like thunder on the phone, “Leave Janet out of this, stupid man”. With that he hanged the line and stormed out of his office. In his car, he dialed his wife’s cell phone. It wasn’t going through!

Kotey appeared to find some grain in Cudjoe’s story. He sought some clarifications as he simultaneously drafted some notes in his diary. Eventually, he was struck by the fact that Cudjoe has faith in the judiciary. He decided to help Cudjoe. He worked out a plan with him.

The cell phone of Mr. Akpaglo rang. It was one of his men, precisely Kotey. He was notified of the arrest of Cudjoe. However, Kotey said that since he is the boss, it would be appropriate for him for meet the criminal one-on-one. The rendezvous was the Ghana-Togo border. Mr. Akpaglo instantaneously agreed.

Ben drove to the campus of University of Ghana. He went straight to the department of social sciences and requested the whereabouts of his wife. Nobody appear to know. He headed to possible areas his wife could be, but still he couldn’t find her. His anxiety heightened and fear enveloped him. What have this dracular done to his wife? Then, two hands from behind blocked his vision. He knew who it was. He turned and he was highly disappointed. It was an old friend of his. His chuckle could fill a whole page. But some few metres away, he saw the one he was looking for. He ran to her like a sprinter. He pulled her closer to him and gave her a kiss. The students by the roadside watched. Janet was fairly shy. Ben said they should go home. But Janet wanted to clarify things for herself,” what’s the problem, Ben?” Ben organized himself and responded, “It’s just that... I’ve missed you, Janet. I love you so much”. Janet wants to avoid the gathering students so she concurred with him to go home.

Mr. Akpaglo and his confederates are now in the designated venue. They’ve reached there thirteen minutes earlier. Forty seven minutes later, Kotey arrived with Cudjoe handcuffed. The two groups were standing at opposite ends. Mr. Akpaglo broke the silence, “Inspector Kotey, you’ve made me proud as well as the security force. You’ve distinguished yourself and I’m going to make sure that you are appropriately rewarded and promoted. Now, let me have the bastard”. Kotey let go of Cudjoe, to walk to the direction of Mr. Akpaglo. But Mr. Akpaglo’s instincts made him suspect something fishy. But it was too late. They were surrounded by the Ghana Police. The arrest was effected.

The next day, the headlines in the major newspapers read, “BNI BOSS, REAL MURDERER OF DR. KUFOUR”, “MR. AKPAGLO, AN INTERNATIONAL DRUG DEALER”. So that’s it. Mr. Akpaglo was directly responsible for the death of Dr. Kufuor. But why did he kill him? Earlier, he had convinced Dr. Kufuor to use his license to acquire narcotic drugs under the pretext of patient consumption. After Dr. Kufuor has received the consignment, he began to clamour for a higher sum, which Mr. Akpaglo refused. The resultant was his murder. But the day the murder was perpetuated, Cudjoe appeared on the scene. Thus, he has to be eliminated. However, after getting to know he is a close colleague of the deceased, they decided to set him up. And should Dr. Ben have agreed to the proposal, Cudjoe’s memory would have been completely eradicated making swift prosecution possible. But Kotey has thwarted all these arrangements.

Cudjoe was acquitted after compelling evidence was put forth in court. The evidence included a recorded conversation in which Mr. Akpaglo was issuing death threats to Dr. Kufuor. This was made possible courtesy Baisiwaa. Kotey was promoted in the security service whilst Armah put his gift into a magical concert.

tHE END...

THE FIGHT FOR JUSTICE - PT. TWO

The room remained silent for thousands of seconds. Cudjoe, through telepathic intelligence
know that the question invading the mind of Baisiwaa was “Did he do it?” The degree of his
dilemma has ascended. The question finally came, “Did you …” He didn’t wait for her to finish,
just bumped in out of confusion, tension, and alarm, “Believe me, Baisiwaa, I didn’t do it. I
swear to God, I didn’t. Like…like I told you… I went to his office two days ago, Monday to be
precise…” He voiced his innocence like a stammerer, in a haphazard tone. Baisiwaa realizing the
magnitude of the situation, beckon Cudjoe to come closer for a hug. Afterwards, she whispered
in his ears, “We will work things out, love”.
Within the parameters of the Ministry of Defence was an ultra-modern office, the exterior
bathed with sea-green colours. The interior is highly furnished with complex laboratory
equipments, with the brown-spherical desk carrying significant amount of files and
correspondences. Ben, in professional circles known as Dr. Ben, was pre-occupied behind his
Toshiba laptop. The phone rang. “Dr. Ben speaking, who’s on the line?” The identity of the
caller made him sit straight. It was the Bureau of National Investigation’s boss, Mr. Akpaglo.
“How may I help you, sir?” Mr. Akpaglo continued, “Dr. Ben, your extraordinary prowess in the
scientific environment has come to the notice of the government. In this respect, the
government wants to reward your hardwork and ingenuity. Men of your caliber must live in
mansions, drive executive automobiles, and rule the world by utterances.” To clarify things for
himself, Ben inquired, “What are you driving at, sir?” The BNI boss gave a forced laugh and
responded, “Patriotism is something most Ghanaians are ignorant of or fail to demonstrate.
Our country would have been better –off if the natives commit themselves to the aspirations of
the country. We fail to look at the bigger picture, the broader aspect of things. We prefer bread
crumbs to the delicacy itself. But Dr. Ben, you are different. How I wish Ghana would be full of
people like you.” Ben shook his head. He has mentally concluded that these enormous praises
and compliments are going to come with a request. He is hundred percent sure of that. A BNI
upper hand can’t call him one particular morning to feed him with good tidings, especially
someone he hasn’t seen nor even know personally. He decided to remove the dust on the
issue, “what do you want from me, sir?” Mr. Akpaglo cleared his smoke-infested throat, “Meet
me at 9.00 am in my office tomorrow, have a good day, Dr. Ben.” The line went dead. What
arrogance! Ben was surprised. Why should he turn down the line when I’m seeking clarity?
Probably, he wasn’t serious or sure about what he was telling me. Or maybe he was looking for
another Dr. Ben, and upon realizing his mistake, he had cut the line. But he should have at least
politely notified me of this before dropping the line. Well, the bottom line is he’s dropped the
line so case closed. After these conjectures, Ben put his mind off this thirteen minute
conversation and got back to what he was working on.
Armah increased the volume of his ghetto blaster. Excitingly dancing to the tunes of one of Kojo
Antwi’s tracks. To him, this is a convenient medium to displace his earlier disappointment
about his exam. He opened his portable refrigerator, brought out a Budweiser, and quenched
his thirst. He gulped more of it to experience the effects. He wants a solace. The fact that he
has failed again in his exam echoed in his brain. It was like persisting hard knocks on a door. He
brought out more alcoholic drinks of different assortments. Then instantly, he rushed for his
suitcase, brought out his results slip, tore it apart and down into the dust bin. At least he has
destroyed the source of his pain. But not entirely. He saw this old man with a walking stick
approaching him. “Don’t you dare come closer to me, old puppet. I would prove all of you
wrong one day. I’m not a failure.” The old man stopped. Armah kept on talking to him. But it
wasn’t an old man. It was somebody coming to request for his service. Someone who would
reveal to Armah his proficiency, something he has been overlooking. Armah is on the verge of
teaming up with someone wanted by the police. But how is Armah, a failing student going to be
useful in the fight against injustice?

WHAT WOULD HAPPEN IF ...

What would happen if the young ladies on the streets stop deflating their moral conscience? What would happen if the pre-matured men of 21st century universe stop auctioning their unpalatable asses? What would happen if we (youth) can wait patiently for the appropriate time with the appropriate partner to devirginize? what would happen ...



would happen if education is made accessible to all and sundry? What would happen if the 'chew and poor' portrait is removed from the walls of our education establishment? What would happen if the mystery and phobia surrounding science and math is adequately tackled? What would happen ...



What would happen if sensational and dirty politics doesn't dominate newspaper headlines? What would happen if our politicians deliberate progressively on issues? what would happen if NDC and NPP work concertedly for a better and affordable educational, health, economic, and social system? what would happen if we stop hurling acids on each other during breakfast shows? Or to put it in a different perspective, what would happen if our winner-takes-all system is cured of its anomalies and properly adjusted to suit our aspirations? What would happen if we stop politicising everything?



Someone tell me, what would happen ...

THE FIGHT FOR JUSTICE - PART ONE

The weather was gradually succumbing to the divine fiat to cry. It would soon be raining. Not just ordinary rain but the type that levels the tarred roads of Accra and the gutters and compels hawkers to prematurely end their business. Strong winds have started to blow and the helter-skelter movement of the hand-to-mouth populace was adequately conspicuous.

But in the midst of all these was an exception; a fourteen year old boy who appeared to be unperturbed about the yet-rainy environment. He was pre-occupied in his thoughts. Armah couldn’t believe that after studying for long hours, he did not recollect much during the end-of-term exams. “This is not possible.” He kept saying to himself. “I studied the material, memorized word for word. I prepared myself for this exam but why didn’t I remember?”

Now rocks of rain have started to fall. He became aware of his environment and sheltered himself in one of the telecommunications bus-waiting benches. After the rains have subsided, he managed his way home.

Janet and Ben, newly weds, were busy chatting on the verandah of their two-bedroom apartment. Their building, a perfect replica of a colonial structure was beautifully adorned with traditional symbols. At the back of the house is a fertile ground well-irrigated for the cultivation of primarily maize and vegetables. The couple have just consumed some balls of banku and tilapia with hot pepper and generously allowed the fragrance to pervade their surrounding.

“So Janet, don’t you think that your strike action is having a negative toll on the students”. Ben, a neuro-psychologist by profession, switched the subject to a different one. Janet, a sociology lecturer at the University of Ghana, played with the hairy chest of her husband for a moment, then replied, “Yep, you’re right. But if our politicians receive large chunk of our taxes in the form of fat allowances and ex-gratia for a resounding abysmal performance, darling, what prevents me from striking to amass income to cope with the high cost of living”.

Ben just grinned, possibly impressed with his wife’s line of argument. “Well, that’s understandable. Today, I got a funny case at the office today, about a young man, probably in his 30’s, suffering mental deterioration as a result of abuse of amphetamines. Janet, before treatment, do you know what the man requested for? Janet shook her head. Her husband just let out a laugh and continued, “He said he would be marrying very soon, and thus, we should give him cutlass to weed the grass around his genitals so that his wife to be would have clear view of his asset”. Janet couldn’t hold her laughter. This heartily chat continued for hours. It was the couple way of de-stressing and enjoying the presence of each other.

The central market of La as usual was busy with commercial activities. Sellers were applying all sorts of marketing gimmicks to attract customers. Human noise and the moans of car engines coupled with brisky business interactions dominated the suburb. In one of the trotros was a heated argument between a mate and a passenger.

“Er, if you don’t want trouble to trouble you, give me my balance.”

“Madam, I’ve no balance to give you. The fares have been increased.”

“I think you want me to turn upside down that thing you call your nose. Okay, fine, don’t give me my balance”. The sarcastic tone of the middle-aged market woman signaled disaster for the young mate. Exchanges like this add beauty to the market.

Baisiwaa was occupied at the fish-mongering section, making huge sales. She turned and looked at the Waltz clock behind her. It was 2.30 p.m. she is getting late. She has an appointment with someone so special to her; very dear to her heart.

Meanwhile, Kotey was anxiously pacing up and down in his room. He has spent four years in the in the security service, had eight years of training, and very competent in even arresting highly-sophisticated criminals, but why is this particular case a hard nut to crack? He must strategize well, he advised himself. He put through a number of calls requesting for certain documents relevant to his present case. He must knock down this criminal, he admonished himself.

Cudjoe was struggling to organize his thoughts, trying to figure out something in his sub-conscious. The myth surrounding his current circumstance etched in his mind. He has made a number of anti-government statements, and a couple of invisible government functionaries has declared war against him. A war in which there is a thin line between morality and values, conscience and barbarism. Eliminating the target is the primary and ultimate objective of this war. And Cudjoe is the prime target. He has come to understand that fatal games like this comes with the territory, and he is ready to play but he wants to first of all unmask the hidden faces behind his hunt. Who wants him dead? Who is paying the assassins?

Just then, he heard a knock on the door. His present residence is only known to the sunlight that radiates his soul. Earlier, he had arranged this obscured meeting with her and maybe, this is going to be their last physical interaction.

He got up, hid his pistol at the back of his dark blue jeans for any eventuality, and opened the door. The countenance at the entrance brought ebullience to his smoldering mind. It was Baisiwaa. A lady he has cherished for the past two years, who stood beside him through bad and reliving moments. A noble woman who would go the extra mile to put her profession aside to act as an espionage and informant to her beloved.

Static glances between the two froze for a couple of minutes. Body and soul of each yearn for the other. Cudjoe, like an already charged battery ready to discharge power in any appliance, grabbed Baisiwaa, closed the door, and placed a deep wet kiss on her lips.

“I’m all yours, Cudjoe, I permit you to be dirtily gentle on me”. Baisiwaa managed to say. The energy that characterized the emotional engagement sufficed that the two were sexually famished. Cudjoe withdrew his lip, fixed his gaze on the fair and well-textured face of her, and started undressing her. It lasted for twenty-five minutes.

“What is the latest development in town?” The satisfied but anxious Cudjoe inquired. Baisiwaa yawned, stretched on the highly-sophisticated bed, rested on her legs, and responded, “Cudjoe, now they’ve legitimized your case…painted a nasty picture of you to the outside world. Believe it or not, you are now a famous narcotic drugs peddler. Congrats, dear”. Cudjoe grinned. “Wow, that’s exciting. Then, this means that my assassins and the security apparatus would be after me now. Great.” Baisiwaa noticed the anxiety and fear that betrayed his superficial confidence. “We are in this together, love. By the way, you promised to tell me everything that led to our present dilemma. I know they want you for your extreme anti-government sentiments, but give me the details.” Cudjoe began: one day, I went to the Alpha hospital for a check-up. The chief medical doctor there is a former course mate of mine, so our relationship was somehow informal. His office, which used to be on the ground floor, has been relocated to the fourth floor. I was notified of this at the reception. So, I got into the elevator. Upon reaching there, I noticed something strange. You know, the hospital is a very crowded place, on that particular Monday, I found it strange that the corridors was silent and not busied. But on Dr. Kufour’s end, were these heavily muscled men in dark suits with black sunglasses hovering around the entrance of his office. My instincts told me something fishy was transpiring. I froze instantly, not knowing whether to move forward or back. But now these men were coming to my direction, and... I don’t know how to explain it… but I re-entered the elevator. Fear gripped me and something kept on telling me that I’m in trouble. On the ground floor, I noted that a stout dark man, also in a dark suit, was hotly questioning the receptionist about something. I headed for my car and drove off. Around Dansoman, I spotted through my rear mirror that a green Pajero car was following me. When I slowed down, it also slowed down. I concluded to head to the police station, but… I don’t know… I decided against that, and rather devised to escape from them, which I successfully did. Later in the day, one of my neighbors called to inform me that a group of security officers are in my residence, probably searching for me or something. Thus, I decided not to go home. But I don’t know why these men are coming after me?”.

Just then, the chime for TV3’s breaking news echoed the single-room. The anchor reported, “Good afternoon viewers, information reaching our newsroom from credible sources reveal that Dr. Kufour, the Chief Medical Officer of Alpha hospital, has been murdered in cold blood this afternoon. According to the Inspector General of Police, the one behind this barbaric and unthinkable felony is the Daniel Cudjoe Koomson, who is currently on the run. Stay tuned for more updates”. What! Cudjoe exclaimed, whiles Baisiwaa stared at him, speechless.