Our Part In All This

This past few months, beginning with the latter stages of the previous year, has seen the continent in a turmoil not quite seen before. In November last year, after the election in Cote D’Ivoire came to an inconclusive end, with the incumbent Laurent Gbagbo refusing to concede defeat to the man Alhassan Ouattara, who the international community mostly agree was the winner of the election, it had been generally thought and felt that with overwhelming support for the opposition leader it was only a matter of time before Mr. Gbagbo stood down and relinquished power. Five months on and he’s still holding on to power and much worse than that the country is heading towards what looks like a second civil war in a decade.

And then came the new year, 2011, the whole world was caught unawares with ousting of the Tunisian president, brought on by days of demonstration on the streets of the Tunisian capital, Tunis. As shocking and as quick a revolution as that was, it was only the beginning of a wave of unprecedented happenings that was about to sweep the entire region, with the biggest one taking place in Egypt. Now as mature as I’d like to think I am, I’ve only known one Egyptian leader and witnessed him in action, even if only on TV, and that was Mubarak. But he was to follow the trend of the Tunisian leader in an astonishing way.

Unlike Tunisia, Egypt was, is at the forefront of world affairs, playing major roles in the region, including the Israel-Palestine conflict, and well-acclaimed in the halls of the international community, Mubarak the man at helm of all this. So it was forgivable to think that the protests, populate by young people rocking the country was able to be resolved with a few concessions from the government and Mubarak staying on in power, what with the world, especially the US, caught in a dilemma as to whether to allow their trusted ally ejected and possibly replaced by an Islamic even if moderate one, or appear to be unsupportive of the will of the people. In the end however, the protesters did get what they want and the international community appeared to side with them.

And then there was Libya. Colonel Gaddafi has been in power for four decades, haven claimed power at the rather young age of 27. Far, far longer than I’ve been alive. And yet it seems I’ve known him for negative things, at least that which I’ve read and heard. Perceiving himself to be cast in the mould of Kwame Nkrumah, with the unity of this continent at the forefront of his desire, he was, until quite recently that is, viewed by the West as a psychotic, egotistic terrorist/dictator.

Well one thing is clear, as the “rebels” are finding out, Mr. Gaddafi will sink the country of Libya before he relinquishes power, and he’s made that clear and still doing so; churning out a strong, disproportionate response to the protesters turned “rebels”, leaving scores of innocent civilians dead, the international community all the while dilly-dallying on the issue.

In all the above-mentioned cases one thing is clear; young people are at the forefront of all this. In all of the cases mentioned, old people have relied on the strength and vitality of youth in the pursuit of whatever purpose, much more so in the Cote D’Ivoire case. Sitting before the TV each night to watch the news it bleeds my heart to see our young people in the neighbouring country being used as tools to hold on to or gain power by so-called leaders, “old and wise”. It bleeds my heart because unlike their fellows in Egypt and Tunisia, who stood up and demanded what was rightfully theirs, devoid of any political or religious ambition, this young people in Cote D’Ivoire wielding sticks and knives on the streets of Abidjan, are doing so only for the sustenance of a man who refuses to relinquish power after ten years of wielding it, and for another who hopes to step in.

It is not to the fulfilment of a broader socially acceptable goal that they allow themselves to be manipulated. Because it seems to me that beneficiaries of power come the end, would be whatever man is in power and his immediate family, whilst women and children and your everyday man with no passport become the sufferers should a civil war erupt. And yet continuously on this our continent and in some other part of the world, young people allow themselves to be brainwashed and used in ways that in the end bring nothing but hurt to the people in the society who cannot help but stay and suffer it.

To end, the main conclusion is this, young people can be an unstoppable force for good when their in control of their senses and will, but a scary prospect for anyone when they allow themselves to be manipulated by selfish leaders. Seeing that this a year for quite a number of elections on the continent, young people should be aware of what actions they take should something go wrong, and be aware of the wiles of these so-called leaders to manipulate them for personal ambition and gain. 

International Women’s Day

My mother celebrated her 52nd birthday yesterday, which was a day after Ghana turned 54, a fact she likes to go on about. A few of the family gathered to celebrate what we all tacitly understood and felt was among the most important of days for us. Now I like celebrating women’s day and mother’s day and all other days that celebrate women, because it serves as a reminder for me to show the women in my life how appreciative I am of them; and although I may not always say it or show it, I believe every one of them knows how much and how well they’re loved. And so today being women’s day, I gladly stand up to all women around the world and say “Thank You”.

I say “thank you” to women, because it seems to me that it is not said to them enough. Whether by the men who hold them by their sides and acknowledge them as wives, or the sons who’ve grown up under the strong arm of mothers to become leaders in positions of authority, or most of all by the society in which these women quietly under its radar run its affairs with their big hearts and effective hands. Whatever appreciation there is, it is certainly not at a level that can be surmised to be indicative of the high value we place on these our women. For in all facets of life, the success of society, traditionally fronted by the faces of men, is indeed laid in the every day workings of the woman, be it the mother, wife, sister or your average everyday female and the constant toil of her hands.

In my family, mother is the center of attention. Nothing goes on without it being routed through her. Her status as mother, having been appointed to her by divine giving, apportions her a quality and power that permeates the lives of those she calls her own, even those old enough to have families of their own. Unfortunately, I cast a look at the wider berth of society, its politics and its motoring, and I find the presence of women as sparse as the “thank yous” we offer them. Especially in the avenue of politics, where most the decisions that affect the way of society are taken, it is sad to note that the inclusion and impact of women are only but a hand full. And where there is the presence of women it is often common to find their opinions overlooked.

On this day, Women’s Day, it is important that we acknowledge the status of our women and remember them as, first of all mothers nurturing the futures of all societies, and also as a societies bedrock for sustainable development.

Happy Women’s Day to you all!   

Valentine’s Day Bliss

Typically on this day of love you walk around town and find your eyes saturated with a sea of red and if you’re at all aware of the times you’d know t’was  the season of love sprung up in all it’s sunshine glory. Usually for young people like myself it is the time and occasion, not to mention opportunity, ripe to show the secret love of our lives the depth our admiration, with our little powwows around street corners sweating with a hint of the nerve, even if slightly allayed by the ever reliable red rose gently held in palm. All in an attempt to win fair lady’s heart. Well, at least for the uninitiated in love.

It’s funny how we find it easy, even appropriate, to exploit this very conspicuous day with its attendant opportunity for the giving of gifts of cards wishing love and wellness to friends, family and loved ones, to profess our thoughts and feelings to our secretly admired from a safe distance. One would have thought the fear of rejection on such a day would be all the more an incentive to postpone said action to a more inconspicuous day. For the memory of such rejection if come to bear, one would have thought, would be a thing of much discomfort come every fourteenth day of February. Then again as said before, it seems a good opportunity for the expression of love from a safe distance.

Valentine’s day is the day for the professing of love, genuine and adulterated…or so it was meant to be. The good old saint, whose day we celebrate, back in the long gone days, had a love for a young girl, the kind of love of such that streamed purely from the heart and expressed with the most honest of thoughts. The kind of love uninhibited by circumstance or anything superficial. That is why it is still remembered by an age long removed from his. For the beauty of love is its nature to last beyond the reaches of time.

Could I say same of our celebration of love today? Perhaps yes and perhaps not. What expressions of love and the level of its genuineness between two people lies solely in their own heads. But isn’t it a thing of worry for anyone, especially young people, that the statistics for the sale of condoms on Valentine’s day is one of high sales to the point of shortage in supply? If indeed love’s day is reduced only to the activity of love-making and the breaking of virginities as the thread seems to follow, and the consequent rise in teen pregnancies afterwards, then we’re better off just eating chocolate and calling it a day.

Not to ruin anybody’s Valentine’s day celebration, but in immersing ourselves in this bliss it is expedient that the days afterwards conjures great nostalgic memories rather than regrettable ones. Happy Valentine’s day everybody.       

Smoking Away The Dream

There’s an area off my neighbourhood, a couple of streets away and actually a neighbourhood on its own, where the air is, from dusk to dawn, marked with a very distinctive smell. This neighbourhood, situated on the route to the local market, is a less developed and less civil one; there the poverty is visible and the norms of society are not so normal, if you get my meaning. There’s filth on the streets, the buildings are wooden and uncompleted and scattered in all directions(taking the wrong turn could land you in the middle of someone’s open-house bathroom), and the people are illiterate or with very little education.

But worse than any of these above-mentioned cankers, is the ever-present and growing situation of drug abuse(weed-smoking and the like), among the young people of the neighbourhood; a situation represented by this constant, distinctive smell in the air. Walk through the neighbourhood any day and you’re bound to twist your nose and sight a bunch of young men, and in some cases women, huddled together in any of the many bushes in the area revelling in an orgy of weed-smoking. Young, vibrant people both educated and uneducated, and unemployed to boot, wasting away their energy and time on stuff that ultimately ends them half-naked, bushy-haired and exhibiting crazy in the street, or locked up and confined in a psych-ward if they’re at all lucky, or behind bars if their not so lucky. And yet they don’t even seem to realise what they’re doing to themselves.

I have a personal attachment to this blog post, a little backstory unfortunately, serving as motivation. The consequences of having a family member hooked on drugs of any kind is not lost to me. I have a brother who has been addicted to marijuana for many years now. He began when he was in Junior High School, just like many others who get addicted. Peer pressure, you know how it is. A little cigarette here and there, passed around during afternoon break. Teenagers trying to be cool, ironically. Then from cigarettes to marijuana to heroine etc. Well, he got hooked; and as much we’ve tried to wean him off the addiction, it seems he’s knee-deep in it. And that’s the case for many young people today. My father, who is a pastor, came back from an excursion to the psychiatric hospital in Accra a little while ago with harrowing, heartbreaking stories of young men and women dotting every space of the hospital ground, bereft of their senses. Young people mostly Senior High School leavers, with or without a choice to further their education, decided on a moral downturn somewhere along the way, seems to be the tale of the tape.

And as pervasive and dangerous as the situation already is, it seems only to be growing. The recent spate of drug trafficking especially in the corridors of this part of Africa, raises serious concerns that needs to be addressed sooner than later. Our young people are already suffering from the calamities of addictions to drugs like marijuana, the last thing we need is an overdose of cocaine inflow in the country to add salt to wound. The government and the security services must take measures to ensure this development is halted before we become an African Mexico.

And to young people, here’s a piece of advice: nothing good comes out of trying to impress your peers who push you try out a sniff. Once you get addicted to get any kind of drug, God help you if think you can get off it easily.     

Celebrating Mediocrity Or African Pride

So after an inspiring but ultimately disappointing second appearance by the Black Stars at the first World Cup to be held on African soil, I     stayed up late Monday night to watch on TV the live telecast of the arrival of the team and the pomp and pageantry that subsequently ushered them back home. I must admit I wasn’t so keen on anything football after the first couple of hours after the Uruguay game Friday evening. The sheer shock of the defeat and the manner in which it came was enough to rid me of all the love and joy I had for what was supposed to be the beautiful game. Although to be honest, it didn’t begin with the Suarez handball, no matter how despicable it was, but rather the Asamoah Gyan penalty miss. The kick, at the long end of one-twenty minutes of hard work, that was supposed to send Ghana, and the whole continent of Africa, to her first semi-final. So close and yet so far. Apparently it isn’t just Atlas who sometimes feels the wait of the world on his shoulders; the only difference is that I’m still alive today to write this blog and Asamoah Gyan totally shattered the hopes and dreams of an entire continent. But, ahem, being the writer that I am, soon objectivity sets in and I just have to see all of what happened(and is happening) in its true light. Therefore I’m driven to ask the question: What are Ghanaians really celebrating?

There’s no doubt that the pain and disappointment I felt, and still feeling somewhat, is one that can be fully expressed by each and every man, woman and child on this continent who has any inclination whatsoever towards football and the bigger picture of African pride. Relegated to the background for so long it is only natural that whatever glimmer of opportunity to shine in the face of the world will be jumped upon. So sitting in my room watching the Black Stars descend from the plane into a human-aisle of cheering fans handing out bouquets and welcoming back their heroes got me thinking: Is a quarter-final appearance so satisfactory and such a huge achievement for Ghana and so many African countries, when Brazil sacked its coach after failing to get past that stage? Or was the expectation of the country so low that whatever disappointment suffered after the game was quickly smothered by the realisation of what the Stars had actually achieved?

Because here’s the truth: Not a lot of Ghanaians had much hope of us going further than the group stages, after a couple of not very impressive friendlies prior to the tournament itself, even if nobody was bold enough to admit it. But then the young men showed true character and resilience from the start and Ghanaians began to believe. For the first time in a long forgotten while an African team was showing the maturity and pragmatism typical of the Europeans and South Americans. And believe we did, until a certain Suarez was brave and gutsy enough to turn goalkeeper and keep his country in the race, even if he himself fell out. Now he’s the most hated footballer in the minds of most Africans, not very surprisingly; branded a cheat and despised for his willingness to suffer for his country. Whilst our men, presented with as equal an opportunity as there could ever be to progress, just had to go and shoot themselves in the foot, thanks to a seemingly selfish intent(what with the little row between Gyan and Appiah over who should take the pen). And yet we do welcome them back home with pomp and pageantry, not that we shouldn’t; they tried, apparently not hard enough. It wasn’t their fault, I’ve heard some say. So whose fault was it? Certainly not the one who flunked a glorious opportunity, no, it happens. Go the African way and blame it on anybody but yourself. That’s where my beef with all this stems from: our perpetual inability to not recognise our faults and find ways to address them, but rather throw the blame around. It’s true the Stars did well when they weren’t expected to; and unlike the other African countries we had better organisation, a long-serving coach, a good FA, and commendable government support. Those are all positives to take from, they raised the bar high. But if you do well when you’re not expected to, you should even better when you are. And that’s what we didn’t.

This may seem a harsh criticism, but only because its coming from someone who has no room for mediocrity. I’m tired of us Africans congratulating and patting ourselves on the back for average work, and blaming others for our mistakes. As much we applaud the Stars for at least the effort, we should as well accept that we shoot ourselves in the foot too many times. Imagining what could have been is painful work!