AND GOD “PAID ME BACK IN MY OWN COIN”

So last Thursday, December 18, 2014, I bumped into someone’s lost phone (A Sony Experia something something) right in the main Oxford street near the Photo Club junction, Osu.

The type of phone I found

Coming from work, I alighted at the Shell bus stop and was walking toward Papaye when I saw the phone flat on the ground. I checked to see if I could dial any of the numbers on it to trace the owner but there was a complex lock on it.

Just across the gutter was this woman selling indomie so I drew closer and told her about the found phone. Judging from the position of the phone, it was obvious the owner came to transact some business with this indomie seller or, at least came from her direction. I left my number with her (for me) to be contacted in the event the owner came back looking for the phone.

In less than 4 minutes- even before I got home around the Beijing Clinic area, my phone rang and guess what, it was this young lady (with a shaking voice) who identified herself as the owner of the lost phone.

I directed her to my location and she came accompanied by four guys whose mission (for accompanying her, I can’t really tell). I met them at our gate and took her through some small drill to be sure she really owned the phone. She gave me her number, I dialed it and the phone rang then I gave it back to her and I had my “God Bless You” in return.

Some young guys in my area who heard the story branded me “JOHN” or better still, thought me a VILLAGE KROBO BOY because in their estimation, I should have been smarter, swerved and switched off the phone because this was a powerful phone that was sure to be expensive. I ignored them little did I know this act was going to be reciprocated; God was going to show me something small by “paying me back in my own coin”.

I was billed to best man one of my childhood friends, Samuel Asare Larnor on Saturday December 20, 2014 so I drove to Odumase-Krobo on Friday, or maybe I should say, I picked trotro since I didn't actually drive as the word suggests.

The next morning, I found myself in Asesewa, wrapped in some black suit against a white shirt and a mouve tie, marching behind my friend (the groom) like his personal guard. To cut long story short, he managed to kiss his bride before the congregation so the pastor certified their union and dispatched them to go and start “marrying”.

Guess what, I was carried away by the excitement that came with the event and in the process, I lost all two of my phones and a portable digital VIDEO CAMERA. After the ceremony, we were chauffeured home from the event grounds but my friend realised on arrival that he had left his key with one of his brothers who was still hanging around the chapel so we had to hang around the car and wait for the key. That was when I negligently parted company with my phones/camera.

The first of my lost (but found) Nokia phones

The plenty water I have been taking throughout the event signaled me that it was done with its job in my system and needed to be shown the exist so I immediately took a sharp turn behind the building and did what needed to be done, leaving my two phones and the digital camera on the BOOT of the car (not inside) without really prompting my friend or the wife/maid of honour to keep watch over them in my absence.  

I returned after a few minutes only to realize that the car was gone with all of my phones/camera. The painful thing was that neither my friend nor the driver knew the gadgets were on the boot. Come and see speed; I quickly activated my athletic make-up, (ask those who attended Odumase Presby JSS and they will tell you of my athletic records then days) and followed this driver with thunder speed but, jack, the guy was long gone leaving me with no option but to trace him with the marks left behind by the car tyres.

Don’t forget that I had no phones to call him too at this point. About 100 meters behind the Asesewa Senior High School wall, there one of my phones (the Nokia) was, lying in the middle of what should be a busy road (but God stopped people from passing). I picked it without delay, cut a cross on my forehead and continued.

The second of my lost Samsung phones

A few steps away, there the second phone was also (the Samsung), flat on the ground. Spontaneously, I cut another cross and proceeded in faith to rescue the last one- the video camera- and the most expensive of the lost items. At this point, the groom joined me in the rescue mission, leaving behind the fresh bride.

A two hour search came to naught and so we resigned to fate only to hear from this community/local information center near the Asesewa lorry park an announcement to the effect that one Francis (a Good Samaritan) has found a video camera and has deposited it at the center for collection.

We rushed there, went through the needed identification process and got back my video camera without paying a pesewa.

The type of video camera in question

In essence I had all my lost devices- a Nokia phone, another Samsung phone and a Sony video camera- in a way that defies logic; it must be the work of God meant to pay me back in my own coins for also giving back to the owner that Sony Experia phone I found on Thursday. The lesson? Do unto others as you want to be done by.  

  

WHO IS THIS JSS TECHNICAL SKILLS TEACHER OF AN ENGINEER constructing the Odumase-Krobo roads?

Some portions of the road with sloping edges which could get eroded with the slightest downpour. 

It is only appropriate that I precede this piece with an acknowledgement that the heading is too long; it defies the conventional journalistic practice and acceptable number of words that should make a heading. I wish to put on record, also, that I am very much aware that the wording of the heading may sound mildly offensive to sensitive (or may be the overly sensitive) readers. In my current state, it’s most appropriate considering the message I want to put across.

It was election year and the President needed to tell us something when he graced the 2012 Ngmayem festival durbar. Being the typical politician he is, he skilfully told us what we wanted to hear. He decided to throw at us a piece of the national cake by putting the Kpong-Somanya-Akuse and Odumase-Oterkpolu stretch of roads back in shape. That came after a long period of incessant and eardrum-damaging noise on the terrible state of our roads. He dispatched a contractor to restore our roads to a form that could enable us- if we so desire- even over speed as is done on the Accra-Tema motorway.

Before then, these roads were not car-worthy. I perfectly understood and supported drivers in the area as they geared to roll out a campaign, one of which was to stop paying road worthy tolls to the Driver Vehicle Licensing Authority (DVLA).

Not too long after the first gentleman’s promise, someone emerged on the scene posing as the contractor but without any of these modern day heavy duty earth-moving machines. Instead, he came parading with ridiculous peasant farming equipment (or utensils, if you like) such as watering can, rake, mattock (or was it pick axe), hand fork and something that looked much like an overused and worn-out shovel, tied all over with copper wire to keep going.

Those of us with inquisitive minds began wondering if our roads were feeder roads or perhaps, footpath that only needed a small communal labour to clear. Before we could find answers to these questions, this visibly quack contractor- much in the likeness of a medieval foreman for a government-sponsored school construction project- was nowhere to be found. He vacated site unceremoniously.

It took us nearly one year to see another contractor surface on the scene. To be sincere, he came with a handful of 21^st century road construction machines, at least marking an improvement on the previous one and giving us reasons to believe that our “transportation” woes were ending this time. Truth is, the project is ongoing (albeit slowly).

Maybe I should have waited to see what the finished work would look like before opening this my mouth. But hey, the last time I waited, we saw a simple culvert built across the road near the Agormanya total filling station develop hunchback because some JSS (not even SHS) technical skills teacher of an engineer found his way into our town to do his “practicals”. How on earth could a qualified contractor (who won the contract on merit) construct a simple culvert (not even bridge oooo or a stretch of road) only to end up raising the culvert beyond the level of the road, creating an unintended speed rump.

If you think that was the worse of crimes committed, hold on. Anybody familiar with the depth of the ditch at the filling station in question and the volume of water that runs through that culvert will agree with me that we needed a KNUST-trained and certified engineer with some appreciable years practical/field-work experience, or better still a team of engineers from the Engineering Regiment of the Ghana Armed Forces to tackle that project. What did we see instead, the contract was awarded to a “blig3”, as a typical uneducated Krobo “olady” will call a brick layer/mason.

Even as a lay man, I saw the sense in why the culvert should have descended further down into the ditch several meter away from the road so that- if for nothing at all- by the time the water or flood is gushing out of culvert, it would be nowhere near the base of the road to cause erosion that could eat into the base of the gutter and further into the main road to bring us back to square one.  

Yet this “blig3” did the unthinkable; he committed an unpardonable elementary error that leaves me fuming with rage any time I pass there. Now, we have a hunch back drain/culvert that is also shorter in length than the width of the road and with a gutter suspending to the right. Upon all this glaring shoddy work, my tax found its way into his back pocket, ably assisted by the leadership of the local assembly.

Why I am bothering you with this boring English passage is that I see in this new contractor (handing the ongoing project) the same technical defects as was displayed by the previous one. While he is too sparing with his materials and constructing with wrong aggregates of sand, stone and cement, he also seems to be constructing shallow drains that are sure to overflow even with the urine of any toddler.

Some portions of the road with sharply sloping edges which could easily get eroded with the slightest downpour have been skipped and left without gutters, cambers or embankment (stone patch) at the side. I’m not really sure if I am in a better position to explain to him the purposes these things serve, am I?

The OLD PRESEC (MAKROSEC) stretch of the road

For those of you who know the geography of Odumase very well and can close your eyes yet tell with precision the topography of the land, tell me why there should be no gutter from the old Zimmermann Presby chapel to pass in front of Bro Narh’s drug store, opposite the wooden OLD PRESEC storey building to the junction of the new Zimmerman Presby chapel, at least. Can someone explain to me why the broken and choked gutter that runs in front of the late Mifo’s shoe-making shop down to Milla should not be reconstructed before tarred? 

Tell me the sense in NOT providing bus stops along the road where there is enough allowance (of land) so to do. Who said we should not take this opportunity to correct whatever defect there is about the dangerously famous curve at Asitey which has proven itself a blood thirsty monster, killing innocent people and needlessly dispatching poor souls into eternity?

How about that taflats3 atakpaami of a house down the Salosi curve (on your right when coming from Adormeh)? Won’t it be a good idea to relocate that house and do something about the curve to save lives? We must not forget that not long ago, a heavy-duty tipper truck, fully loaded with limestone, ran into a house at this same spot, killing some “poor” man who thought he was securely sleeping in the comfort of his room. His children turned instant orphans thereafter and nothing was heard of them again.

As for me, I am doing my work by amplifying the sentiment of my people and please don’t ignore it thinking I will stop shouting, because I WON’T. The next time you hear of me on this same subject, I would be shouting louder, pitching the tone of my piece even higher and employing a more effective medium of mass communication.

Mr. Contractor, I presume you won the contract on merit after competitively bidding with others. Please justify the confidence reposed in you lest we put you in the bracket of JSS technical skills teachers.

Yours in the service of Klo Ma.

Can we have this ROUGH EDGES better done?

POOR MAN, NO FRIEND- an epistle to the leadership of my church

The sandals of my good friend

Close up with my good friend

I watched with teary eyes as “Rev” John Teye, a.k.a GO SLOW shuffled through the pews in the Zimmerman Presby Chapel, Odumase-Krobo in his usual DECENTLY WRETCHED apparel and followed other sharply dressed members of the congregation to take the Sunday offertory.

Spotting his afro hair style- very typical of him- against a white-turned-brown long sleeved shirt, neatly tucked into a zip-less and oversized trouser held to the waist with a narrow rope of a belt, his diary tucked under his armpit and this pen pegged downwards into his breast pocket (typical of a medieval/colonial pupil teacher), the frail-looking old man (Octogenarian, I guess) walked pass the offertory box and dropped his “widow’s mite”, a coin which rang like a typical Basel Mission School bell. This I have observed him do- without fail- since my Primary school days in the 90s; the man has been old since I was young.

His slightly unbalanced mental state notwithstanding, this man has been a staunch member of my church, participating in virtually all activities (at least by his mere presence) to the admiration of all. Yet, not for once did the church- as a body- go out of its ORTHODOX role of “SPIRITUALLY” feeding him with the raw gospel to attempt attending to his SOCIAL needs by way of social responsibility.

How he survives (his food, clothing and shelter) is still a mystery and nobody seems to care, at least none that has come to my attention. I think, now I better understand the axiom, POOR MAN, NO FRIEND, I know I’m guilty too because I have looked on till date as he grayed and single-handedly battled his fate- the whole world looking on in akimbo.

You don’t think the church can prove itself more responsive to the plight of the LOWLY-PLACED in our community? I eagerly await the day he would be publicly acknowledged and rewarded as is done the “highly placed”.

We certainly CANT wait any longer only to reward him with a GRAVE SPACE in the Presbyterian cemetery for being a member of the church.

While we wait for that day, you and I can also show him some love- get on board if you share this conviction.

Published on my facebook wall on May 8, 2012

Tete-a-tete with "Rev" John Teye

My friend, Larnor Peter Nyarko couldn't help but to take a shot with "Rev" too

He will never dress without tucking in his shirt, a typical Presbyterian

CIVIL DISOBEDIENCE: THE HENKING-CHRISTIAN-PADI MODEL

This is how an observer (also a citizen of the land) summarised the long chain of activities that led to the declaration of “Self-government” in the Lower Manya Krobo Municipality (Manya Krobo Traditional Area) to compelled government and, for that matter, the Ministry of Local Government/Electoral Commission to conduct the local level elections in the municipality after three years without assembly members.

At least, one person has acknowledged my/our role (as Kloma Gbi) in rescuing the “poor” market women on the Agormanya market from the hands of the “greedy” and “heartless” leaders (if you like) who took advantage of the absence of Assembly Members and the virtual breakdown of the structures at the assembly to do all kinds of things including feeding from the toils of the “poor” market women/traders. Below is how how Dr. Enoch Teye Kwadjo puts it; I find it interesting and inspiring. 

And the people of Manya Krobo declared SELF GOVERNMENT, the second to do so after Dr. Kwame Nkrumah did for Ghana

Dr. Enoch Teye Kwadjo

He writes: Today (December 3, 2013) the chiefs and people of the months-old Democratic Republic of Lower Manya Krobo (DRLMK) go to the polls to elect their representatives at the municipal assembly, so as to “re-join” Ghana. 

The road to today’s election was synonymous with what Nelson Mandela would call “long walk to freedom”. And if there is any group or individual that has fallen several times along the way then it should be (and rightly so) the “three-member” Kloma Gbi group.

While variants of civil disobedience or positive defiance may exist, the Henking-Christian-Padi model appears to stand out among the other known forms of defiance. Selling the idea to market women to avoid payment of tolls and allied levies in protest against non-availability of assembly representatives was certainly not an easy process. Yet they succeeded in getting the market women and some prominent chiefs to buy into this idea. 

Only a few people may be aware of the blackmail the three-member group suffered: the bloody lies; the failed attempt to round them up into police cells; the rejection and betrayal at the hands of those who should know better; etc.

Today, LMKMA votes through their blood and toil. And to learn that none of the Kloma Gbi members is standing to be elected as representatives should make their detractors re-think the obstacles they erected in their paths. Though majority of young people are driven by extrinsic motivation for what they do, there are still a few intrinsically-motivated youths around. 

For years to come the Henking-Christian-Padi form of civil disobedience will remain a potent tool for other districts in Ghana to use. Indeed, while people can stop a person whose time has come, no one can stop an idea whose time has come. The Henking-Christian-Padi form of civil disobedience was an idea whose time had come.

I salute you guys on the occasion of today’s municipal level elections at the LMKMA.

The story of the boycott/self government: http://graphic.com.gh/news/politics/1295-boycott-lower-manya-krobo-declares-self-government.html

http://graphic.com.gh/news/politics/5306-assembly-elections-in-lower-manya-krobo-hang-in-balance.html

From:  Dr. Enoch Teye-Kwadjo

Published on his facebook wall on December 3, 2013

HENKING UNDER POLICE ARREST?

Under Police arrest?

The handcuff

So I boarded this sprinter trotro bus from Circle to Nungua after a tiring and a near-fruitless round in the capital city yesterday. One guy who was sitting next to the mate alighted at Teshie Mobile but our car would not move almost two minutes after.

Inquisitive as I am, I giraffed to see if the driver was at post (behind the steer), but he was nowhere to be found. I looked left, right and finally through the rare screen and there the driver was, following this young, (or if you like baby) police officer towards the filling station where a police Pick Up van was parked.

Like the other passengers, I ignored what was happening for a while thinking it was just one of those moments for the officer to grab some “one Ghana for his pocket”. The undue delay aside, we began to sweat profusely in the noise-making scrap metal of a bus; you know the rickety state of a typical Ghanaian, oh no, Accra trotro right?.

Now back to the sermon; All the passengers were visibly angry at this point and would not mind spewing vituperation at the hungry-looing PoliceBOY (Policeman) for holding us hostage for nearly 15 minutes. At least, he could have taken the driver’s details and released him to take us to our destination.

Now I was equally fuming with rage but I decided to go civil so I politely engaged the officer to find out what was happening and possibly say something in defense of the mate (conductor) who was inhumanly whisked into the waiting police van. He was hooked from behind his already ragged, grease-stained trouser, legs barely touching the ground and mercilessly locked in the doubled BED-ROOM (double cabin) pick up.

It was really nauseating but this frail-looking officer was only hiding behind the crown to embarrass the harmless mate and to win “fans” from onlookers. Below is what ensued between Henking Klono Bi and Abai (Koti), the Policeman

Henking: Good evening officer

Police: Silent (He won’t mind me)

Henking: Oh, big man, good evening

Police: Still mute

Then I turned to the mate to demand my balance so I can peacefully continue my journey.

Henking: Mate, chale balance me make I go ok? Anyway what’s your crime? I enquired from the mate

Mate: Them say I overload oooo

Henking: Oh really?

Then I turned to Officer Sir (the Police)

Henking: Oh, officer, from where I was seating I didn’t see him overload ooo

Police: Hey young man, you better shut up. If u don’t take time I will charge you for PERJURE

Then I quickly activated the small Press Law I was taught while studying at the Ghana Institute of Journalism (Thanks to Lawyer Kwamena Ewusi-Brown, that man knows the stuff) and asked myself, ah which of the PERJURIES? Is it the one Ewusi Brown taught me? The one I know or something different?

Henking: Ei officer, you will charge me for what? PER-JU-RE?

Police: Yes, because you are telling lies

Henking: Sorry big man, you can charge me with any other law that comes to mind (which I will contest anyway) but not PERJURE. Perjure, to the best of my knowledge is “lying under oath”. Where is the oath component, granted that I am telling lies? That was my quick response to him, which came almost by reflex action.

Police: H3h !!! You don’t respect h3h? You are challenging a Public Officer? You think you know h3h? Leave here; are you the mate or the driver?

Henking: (With a sarcastic smile broadly on my face and a victory walk). I left the scene quietly to avoid further confrontation, saying to myself, this is SELF DEFENSE. This guy was going to MIS-apply the law on “innocent me”.

Thank God at least I did not look too ignorant before the spectators. Or perhaps I should also have confused the “recruit constable-looking” Police officer with more Latin legal terminologies like habeas corpus, certiorari, mandamus and may be AMICUS CURIAE- you remember this term? It was a nice experience anyway!!!

ON A MOTOR ON THE MOTORWAY,

There I was at the Tetteh-Quarshie end of the motorway

Two weeks ago, I dangerously rode behind a MOTOR BIKE (Okada) on the MOTOR WAY, risking my life – but pursuing my passion- in order to positively IMPACT the lives of the less fortunate.

I was to attend the orientation course for the Vodafone World of Difference CSR programme which I volunteered to undertake to help arrest the emerging trend of child labour on the Agormanya Market.

Coming from an interior part of Tema, through the noisy, dusty and near lawless town of Ashiaman to the Golden Tulip Hotel in Accra where the event was being held, I had to pick taxi 3 times because there was no DIRECT FLIGHT from my end that day to Ashiaman, neither were the taxi drivers willing to join the snail-paced traffic from my place to Ash Town.

When finally I got to Ashiaman after soiling my otherwise neatly ironed white shirt and pink stripped tie, worn over an oversized blue-black trouser, the queues by the Accra-bound troskies were like the queues that characterized late Prez Mills’ funeral while he was staging his last public appearance in the Banquet Hall, Accra.

The only way out was to pick dropping which I did without hesitation because I didn’t want to miss this BIG opportunity and guess what, it took the taxi 35 minutes to emerge from inside the Ahiaman station onto the main road because in Ashiaman drivers choose to park anywhere including the entrance to the station, go and chop, have siesta and come back.

When at long last we emerged on the road, this 1844 type of rickety taxi (the only one willing to convey me to Accra), would not move again, the engine went off and would not respond to stimuli (mu si pai -push).

It was already 10:30am and the program was to start at 9:00am at the Golden Tulip Hotel (at 37). There were only two options 1. I either return and miss the opportunity to implement my Warm Embrace project meant to help those children off the market (child labourers) or 2. Risk my life riding behind this okada guy (whose expertise in motor riding I didn’t even know) on the blood-thirsty monster called the MOTOR WAY.

Cars sped pass us on the motor bike like airplane; the only thing I could tell God was “I commit my poor soul into your hands” because I didn’t know I was going to survive the dangers on that monstrous motor way.

I didn’t wait to fully get off the bike at the Tetteh-Quashie interchange to “CUT” a cross on my chest and forehead (like a typical Catholic) for the miracle of surviving the ordeal on the motorway.

I rolled up my, now, dirty white long sleeved shirt, charted another taxi and landed at the hotel late into the programe but thank God I didn’t miss the opportunity.

Some of the children on the market who have known no smile, will soon start smiling as I kick start my community service project under the name “THE WARM EMBRACE”, to as the name suggests give a warm embrace to those children who seemed to have been left to their fate.

Published on my facebook wall on October 30, 2012

At the orientation at the Golden Tulip Hotel

Time to take some shots for official use

Group picture of the participants selected from across the country