Funeral Procession

In drones and in sorrow they file past.
Right before them, eternity calls.
With their hearts they long to heed.
With their minds, they gently turn away.


(13th Nov. 2010)

Musings From Yesteryear

They were glorious those days! The days when we were young and innocent, nothing mattered to us and we didn’t take anything too serious. Life passed by slowly and we did not even take notice. There were no phones, no Internet and sometimes, no light. Apart from play, life was spent behind the books. The books gave us much joy and sometimes, they became a thorn in our flesh. For instance, to be asked to memorise and recite Tennyson’s ‘Twenty Froggies’ could be real torture or fun depending on the mode in which it came. When memorising that poem became a punishment for failing to sweep or dust the furniture in the morning, it was painful and unnerving. However, when it took the form of a feat to be accomplished for a reward, a reward like a packet of ‘alewa’ or ‘black and white’ toffees, it became as much enjoyable as playing in the sand.

In the neighbourhood where we lived, there was a constant struggle to keep one’s balance everyday - the balance between reading and playing! We lived in a four-storey building next to a very famous slum somewhere in Accra. There was a playground in the compound where we lived, there were lots of playthings to keep all happy and lots of children to play with. But somehow, all that didn’t satisfy us. We always watched in envy, the children in the slums; how they ran around and did all sorts of adventurous things. They visited the rubbish heap anytime they wanted, they played football with their bare feet whenever they wanted and were even entitled to a sunbath or two everyday. They had a certain freedom we didn’t have and we always longed to be like them and do the things they did. Our desire was so strong that we always found it queer when they came around and peeped at us through the walls anytime we played. We always wondered what they found interesting about the life we lived. What kind of joy could one find in an enclosed playing space like ours?

Occasionally, when some of them dared to enter our compound, we would use their presence as an excuse to move out into their space. And oh the stories we told! In one instance, I overheard myself telling my mum I had followed one of them because I found his skin colour so dark I had followed him to be sure he hadn’t used some charcoal concoction on his skin! After I had said that, I couldn’t believe myself and in my mother’s disbelief, she exclaimed:

“You didn’t say that did you?

“No.” was the curt reply.

That evening, supper was not mentioned in the many discussions my mother had with me. And that was not the last time it had happened. It’s great to be young, it really is. Apart from our romance with the slum dwellers, one other thing captured our imaginations and always left us wanting more. It was the television and it was not a colour set. Ours was an old Zenith brand set that had lived in our house for four generations. I think there was some kind of arrangement between my father, his father, his father’s father and his father’s father’s father concerning this TV set. And he will always repeat, in fact, give a lecture every time one of us tried to harass the set. At first glance, no one would give this particular set a dog’s chance. It looked like the ones we used to see at the repairer’s corner. It was way past its prime but certainly not useless and as old as it was, it could boast of a perfect record of stable pictures and a massive viewership from our neighbours.

In those days, TV had only one channel! GBC TV was then indeed the station of the nation. At that time, it was absurd for anyone to conduct a survey to find out which TV channel was the most viewed, if it wasn’t GBC, forget it! And boy did they live up to it! It was on GBC that I first beheld the form and felt the sensation that was associated with the revered Diego Maradona. Up until that time, I had always thought of him as a tall, bulky fellow but alas he was not! It was on GBC that I first encountered the brilliant Charleston Heston and Yul Brynner pitched against each other in their most celebrated ‘TEN COMMANDMENTS’ by Cecil de Mille. On this channel, the then young Kofi Middleton Mends captivated my imagination with his rather cool headedness in the film, ‘NO TEARS FOR ANANSE’. Here, I was also introduced to the legendary Agya Koo Nimo as he dazzled our ears in his rendition of  ‘Naa Densua’ and ‘Mahamadu’. 

On this same platform, our beautiful women from the Ashanti Region used to fascinate us with their ‘Adowa Gospel’ songs (haven’t heard or seen them in a long while!). And there were some great advertising in those days too. I remember such spicy taglines as ‘We are the lifeline to your deadline’ from the then EMS, ‘Omo washes brightest and it shows’ from Lever Brothers and the rest. And then there were such classic phrases like ‘the protectors are-ee here!’ for The Great African Insurance Company, ‘Nana Apaa Refrigeration and Air condition services’ and the ever-popular look that appears on Prof. Martin Owusu’s face in that SIC commercial! Classic, simply classic!

And oh how we used to memorise the program schedule for the days. I could tell what programs would be on GBC every single day! School holidays were really cherished; we would be made to read from morning till late afternoon and then we’ll go sit behind the ‘tele’ as we wait for programs to start. There was this circular multi-coloured pattern that would appear prior to 5pm accompanied by some lively music. The appearance of that pattern and the music meant that TV would start broadcasting soon. Somehow, the sight of that pattern brought us so much joy; it was an indication that soon our wait would be over. And when finally, the GBC montage appears and the presenter begins to speak, it felt like celebrating your birthday on Christmas day. 

The programs were varied and interesting. I remember how we would silently pray for ‘Talking Point’ to be over so we can settle down for our favourite ‘Osofo Dadzie’. And while watching ‘Osofo Dadzie’, we would suddenly go quiet when Osofo began his characteristic ‘final admonition’ – it meant the program was about to end. I also remember Adult Education in Dagbani with so much relish. I loved that soulful song that always preceded it and then of course who wouldn’t remember Football Made in Germany, Expedition to the Animal Kingdom, The Old Fox, Thursday Theatre, Time With NAFTI, Contemplations with Vincent Asiseh, Weekend Rendezvous, Sports Beat, Music For You with Mike Agyekum, Songs Of Praise, This Week, Agrimag, Derrick, Hobby Time, Transtel, Dr. WHO and the unpopular twin programs - Reflections and Close Down.

The Feature Film slot on GBC introduced me to so many legendary motion picture characters. One of the most fascinating for me was Oliver Reed in his depiction of the character, Ivan Dragomiloff in the movie, “The Assassination Bureau”. Such was his incredible talent and strong personality that I wanted to be like him. Later in life, I fell in love with him all over again when I saw him act as ‘Proximo’ in the movie; ‘Gladiator’. There was Tom Baker too, the legendary hero of the popular Dr. Who series which captivated our young minds and was often the reason why so many of my friends feigned all sorts of illnesses on Sunday mornings – a convenient excuse to keep them from being in church.  Captain Planet was great but sadly, with all the education on keeping the environment clean and recycling that he sought to promote, Accra is still in a near squalid state.

It was on GBC that I saw great Ghanaian Musicians like, Snr. Eddie Donkor, Obuoba J.A. Adofo, Akwasi Ampofo Agyei, Nana Kwame Ampadu, Ramblers, S.K. Oppong, Kakaiku, E.K. Nyame, Alhaji K. Frimpong, Yamoah’s Band, Amakye Dede, Ben Brako, and so many more for the first time. And how can I forget charming personalities like the ever-present Beatrice Aidoo, the crisp and soft-spoken, Daniel Adjei, the commanding presence of Anthony Kumah, the agility of the then sports presenter, Kwabena Adjepong and the rather unusual ‘Poncho’. It was on GBC that I was introduced to documentaries on Ghana’s independence, in these documentaries, I saw how shiny Nkrumah’s forehead was and for the first time, his charismatic personality was witnessed in motion. I can’t forget the good old Bob Cole and the classic, ‘I TOLD YOU SO’, Kwaw Ansah’s masterpieces: HERITAGE AFRICA and LOVE BREWED IN THE AFRICAN POT, AFRICAN TIMBER, DZA GBELE (Till Death), ZENABU, OGBOO (courtesy of Sidiku Buari) and on and on and on…oh my, I’m already in tears. What memories…

Ah ghanA mmA!

Look around a bit more closely, open your ears and observe Ghanaians as they talk, laugh, cry and express their emotions. You will find that our society is one big exclamation mark! Take these for example: when we are so sad we feel like crying, we say, ‘ah’; when we are extremely impressed with someone or something, we say ‘ah’. When we eat something and really enjoy it, we say ‘ah’, when we feel cheated or feel someone has pulled a fast one on us, we say ‘ah’. When we are shown so much love, we say ‘ah’, when we are irritated, we say ‘ah’. When we enjoy the breeze, we say ‘ah’; when we look upon something or someone beautiful, we say ‘ah’.

When we are shocked, we say ‘ah’, when we are ecstatic, we say ‘ah’. From our everyday conversations, interactions and activities, the ‘ah’ exclamation can always be heard in diverse ways, running, walking and jumping in-between. And the sound of it is not always the same. The ‘ah’ expression in anger is loud, sharp and crisp! And when you hear the ‘ah’ expression from a satisfied Ghanaian, it is soft, warm and travels with some deep sense of meaning that lasts forever. Now listen to the ‘ah’ expression from a sorely irritated Ghanaian and you will find that it is strong, coarse and pungent. It catches you when you least expect it leaving a sour taste in your mouth. And if you are a first-time visitor to the country, don’t be too surprised if you hear this expression at every turn. In order not to get confused, just take note of the pitch and the rhythm with which they are expressed; in doing so, take particular note of the demeanour of the person expressing it and when you are done, you can walk up confidently to a bystander and say something like, ‘well sir, a gentleman I just met wriggled his wrists at me and kept shouting ‘ah’ all the time. What does that ‘ah’ mean?

Now, a critical look at Ghanaian names confirms this fact. I’ll show you why; take a look at these: AvemegA, AsamoA, AzumA, NanA, NkrumA, AmankwA, VorsA, AtiA, AppiA, AbenA, AkosuA, AdwoA, MensA, MansA, DankwA, AsabeA, NaA, BabA, HamA, AnowA, DuA, AgbokA, AmissA, DebrA, DansoA, AnsA. Do you find that the ‘ah’ exclamation runs through all of them? It is interesting to note that this exclamatory aspect of our society and our essence as Ghanaians has permeated everything including our names! Every name ends with an exclamation and here too, the varying rhythms and sounds define their right pronunciations.

And if you think 26 names are not enough to hang on to this claim, well how about AbekA, AdamA, AdizA, AdjeiwaA, AdomA, YaA, AndA, AliA, AmissA, AnimA, AnobeA, AnyA, ArabA, ArmA, YankA, AttakorA, AwuA, SowA, DwamenA, BentumA, BinkA, BoamA, BraimA, InusA, CobblA, KwabenA, KumasA, MensA… i’m getting tired Ah!

How slow things must have been

Why is everything running so fast these days? In fact, I cannot think of anything that does not have speed woven into it these days. Back then; we used to write letters with great satisfaction. We knew it would take about four days for to be delivered but we did not care. It would take about another three days to receive a reply if one is lucky but that gave us some kind of joy. It was called the joy of anticipation. I remember my secondary school days – we would conveniently mob the letter boy (much to his inconvenience) every time he comes around hoping that some sweetheart somewhere had been kind enough to send us a one-page letter – often written out boldly on a scented letter pad (if the sender is from a Girls’ School) or on a not-so white ‘official’ paper if the sender is from a Boys’ School. Our letter boy was a very interesting sight; it was believed that earlier in his growing up process, he stopped growing upwards. His growth then took a more wider and horizontal turn giving him a ball-like look and the tendency to look up all the time when people talked to him. It was always a sorry sight to see all of us crowded around him, asking all sorts of questions at the same time.

I remember there was so much joy in receiving a letter, reading it and smelling the paper and the ink that was used. The whole letter writing process was an art, often beginning with a lovely thought and then gradually making its way through paper selection, licking postage stamps incessantly and finally ending with the sight of your full name, school address and room number on a mildly crumpled envelope capable of making you the happiest of persons for a whole week! Today, letters and just about everything that goes through the post office is called snail mail! Ask me the last time I entered the post office and I would be ashamed to admit that the answer will not even be a ‘no’; it will be an emphatic ‘I DON’T REMEMBER!’ How slow I must have been then…or was i?

Today, there is fast food, quick searches as opposed to the then long and laborious library research in those days. There’s instant banking, instant news, instant everything. Even court trials have become fast-tracked! Interesting? Wait till you hear this; the very language we speak has become much too slow for the fast-track nature of today’s world and so language is becoming shorter and shorter and faster to communicate! If you send a text message with every word typed in full plus the right punctuation marks, you would be considered old fashioned and not up to date. Text messaging has developed its unique language. You type ‘pls’ when you want to say ‘please’. You type ‘l8r’ when you want to say ‘later’ and so on.

And then this text language evolved into what has become the glorified and more frightening chat language. Hardly will you find any chat message devoid of words (are they words?) like ‘LOL’, ‘TTYL’, ‘OMG’ and the rest. I remember the first time I ever saw the word ‘LOL’ I innocently interpreted it to mean, ‘Lots Of Love’. I was wrong. It meant, ‘Laugh Out Loud’. When I first saw, ‘OMG’ I thought it meant, ‘On My Guard’; it meant, ‘Oh My Gosh’! And i keep asking myself whether I would ever be able to keep up with this. It seems everyday brings with it, new constructions and inventions of this language. Recently, I came across ‘LOOL’; I thought it was a mistake, it wasn’t, it meant ‘Laughing Out Outrageously Loud’! And then there’s ‘SMH’ which means, ‘Shaking My Head’; I must admit, the first time I saw it I thought it meant ‘Somebody Help’. Here are a few more:

ROFL: Rolling On The Floor Laughing

AFAIK: As Far As I Know

CID: Consider It Done

GAL: Get A Life

GBTW: Get Back To Work…etc.

And here are a few that I have laboured to construct for your use (please remember to mention your source anytime you use them).

SUN: Shut Up Now

BOS: Banku Okro Stew

LIL: Laughing Incredibly Loud

OR: Oh Really?

LMSM: Lend Me Some Money

TS: Titus Sardine

TTTTT: Traffic

FB: Football (hmm…sounds like FaceBook)

BAG: Bra Asamoah Gyan

S: Suarez

I: Indomie

WWNE: Wonders Will Never End

AG: Agye-eeii!

EB: Ebe-eei!

OH: Oooo Ho!

These are what I have for now. I hope to come your way again with newly developed constructions for your use. But on a more serious note, I can’t help believing that very soon, our verbal conversations will become much faster than they are today. Our much preferred ‘Ghanaianized expressions’ will all fade away leaving things like ‘O’ for our characteristic ‘Ooo exclamation; ‘A’ for our ‘Ahaa!, ‘S’ for our ‘Saaa? And so on…

That will not be all; our conversational actions like the throwing of our hands in the air to express surprise, aggression or despair will give way to verbal expressions like, ‘THIS’ – Throwing Hands In Surprise. Our many facial expressions will give way to things like ‘MWOIS’ – Mouth Wide Open In Shock and many more. So don’t be surprised if very soon, you begin to see two people engaged in an flat conversation, where you don’t hear a shout, a moan; you don’t see an action, a facial expression and so on. I believe that time is coming where in a conversation, you will hear someone say (motionlessly and expressionlessly): ‘I am LOLling’ or pronounce the letters ‘OMG’ to convey his mood. I can almost imagine a situation where someone in an apparent expression of pain simply says (without action or facial expression) ‘FCIP’ – Face Contorted In Pain!

Charlie! Oh hooo! Where are we running to?

Rising up on the mourning after…

   Guest Blogger: Christabel Ewuradjoa Dadzie

The whole week was filled with tension. I could barely sleep on Thursday night; I was totally anxious and elated (all at once) about Friday’s quarterfinal match between Ghana and Uruguay. For some strange reason, I was one of the few (maybe not) who were very afraid of the Uruguay team… so the game started. I didn’t express my lack of faith because we needed only positive energy for the Black Stars – the entire Continent was rooting for us, but deep down, my stomach churned, it almost ached. The first 15 minutes proved me right, the Uruguayans had the ball all the time, the Black Stars barely touched the ball for more than 5 secs, and when they did they didn’t do very much with it. Emmanuel who sat next to me, whispered, “they will settle shortly, don’t worry” and settle they did! For the rest of the game, up until extra time, the Black Stars pressed on, showed determination, drive, and strove for excellence… to the very last minute. I have never in my lifetime seen a Ghana Black Stars team play until the very end like this team did. Even when the Maestro Abedi Pele led our team, we would usually give up right around the 87^th minute and leave fate to do its own thing. That had always been my problem with our footballers, and with our country, for that matter. But this was different. These guys were spirited – they were on FIRE!  They wouldn’t take no for us, they wouldn’t let the pundits have their way – the so called young and inexperienced lads pressed on and hit the ball at the post three times in three seconds, until it entered the net (or did it) in the last attempt and our wonderful opponents decided to deliberately stop it with their hands (for a second the game switched to volley ball).

Blame Asamoah Gyan all you like for our almost-win, or be like me and blame the coach who took Inkoom out of the game instead of Kojo Asamoah, or better yet, John Mensah, our dear captain, who totally shrunk at the penalty spot – the last shot that could have kept us in the game… or the referee, but let’s save that story for another day. More importantly, there is so much to learn from Ghana’s run at the World Cup. If only our country will pay attention to what just happened to us and follow suite, we’ll go very far.

The Black Stars lost their star player Michael Essien, had many players injured and were beaten mercilessly during our friendly matches prior to the World Cup. Right there and then, the most human thing would be to show up, play decent games, or pretty much give up because of a “young and inexperienced” team! But they pressed on. Game 1: Ghana-Serbia (we played the best team Serbia has had in the last 10-15 years, as my Serbian friend proudly told me)… and guess what, we won! Game 2: Ghana-Australia – we drew. I was upset! I thought we’d be out, same with Ghana-Germany (but as Emmanuel rightfully explained mathematics took us forward). Our game with Germany was superb! The guys picked up their game (the last time we met Germany, they beat us 6-1 and many of us Ghanaians were afraid of a round 2 episode of the “Bochum disaster”). Then we got to the crucial stages, and our game got even better. We pressed on, we believed in ourselves, we carried the mantle that other African countries had dropped and went on and on and on to the very last - 120^th minute of the Quarter Final game.

Fellow Ghanaians, I need not belabor the point I’m making here. It is quite clear – while the Black Stars made mistakes along the way (which all humans do), they pressed on and on… and on – even when Asamoah missed the penalty, within minutes he was back to kick again! If only we would live our everyday lives in the same manner as the Ghana Blacks Stars 2010 have done, our country would be a very different place. My charge to everyone – let’s wake up each morning and tell ourselves “today has been given to me to press on and on… and on for my Country and Continent”; “I am alive today to give my quota to Mother Ghana because I am hers and she is mine, so I will work with every fiber in my being”. From the Scientists to Street Sellers, from the Ministers to Masons, if we are determined, our mistakes won’t keep us down; If we have drive and strive for excellence, our setbacks will turn into set ups. We can do this as a nation – let’s take ownership and pride in our country day-in, day-out, and reap the fruits of our own labor.

As I cry myself to sleep, since like all Ghanaians, I wanted a win and nothing less, I still have a lot of admiration for these players and choose to see the good in what happened. Thank you Black Stars, you’ve made us proud in 2010, and more importantly you’ve taught the entire nation a big lesson that, if practiced, will ensure that Ghana becomes the true beacon of Africa.

God Bless the Black Stars and God bless our homeland Ghana.

My name is Barwuah. Barwuah Balotelli.

Good morning my fellow Ghanaians. As you can all see from the colour of my skin, the shape of my head and my Asante-looking forehead, I am as much a Ghanaian as all of you are. Before I begin, let me make it clear that my name is Barwuah, Kofi Barwuah. Forget about all the talk in Media Italia that I am dying to be Italian. Do any of you think it is possible to change the colour of my skin or change this short and hard hair of mine into soft, long locks like my brothers in Rome? Sorry, did I say brothers? I meant, my neighbours in Rome? I’m sure you all agree with me that, that will impossible unless I am Michael Jackson (May his soul rest in peace).

So please, my fellow countrymen do not accept that long and boring talk in the media; they need to sell information by using me as a bait to get you into buying. How wrong they are. They don’t know that Ghanaians (and I am a proud one) are not gullible (is that the right word?). They don’t know that you are a very discerning group of people who are able to read in between the lines and find the truth for yourselves. They don’t know that Mari…sorry…Barwuah Balotelli is loved and cherished by all Ghanaians. Tell them; my brothers, tell them!

Forgive me my fellow countrymen for I should have held this press conference a long time ago. I haven’t been able to do so until now because so many things have happened to me. You know some of them because they were reported all over the world. For instance, you heard that I, a proud Ghanaian declined to play for Ghana and instead opted to play for Italy. It is not true. Ah, Ghanaians paa, how can I do such a thing? How can I shame my motherland in this untoward manner? Let me tell you that, I have still not received any call to play for Ghana and I have a reason for saying this.

On 7 August 2007, a white man; I think his name is Claude Le Roy or so approached me to play for Guyana. As far as I was concerned, I was Ghanaian and did not see why I should play for Guyana; besides, I thought that the national coach of Ghana would be as black as I am. Later, my agent informed me that Mr. Claude Le Roy was actually the national coach of my country Ghana. That got me confused. I had all the time been under the impression that Mr. Le Roy was from Guyana. My agent would confirm that when I realized my mistake (was it really my mistake?), I felt very sorry and did not eat for about a week. So I want to say here again that I am ready at any time to play for Ghana (they are called the Black Skins right?).

Countrymen, you can imagine my joy when I saw the Ghana team play such classic football in the on-going World Cup. I told my friends in Palermo not to be surprised; they should just look at my skills and ability and understand why Ghana is doing so well. As for the Azzurris, I knew they wouldn’t get anywhere in the World Cup. In fact that is why I don’t even want to play for them. I understand that Kevin-Prince Boateng like me had also lived abroad for a very long time. It was nice to see him play so well with the Ghana team, that’s the spirit, my brother, that’s the spirit! The Ghana team has good players in all departments of the game. Interestingly, my brother, Gian’s goal against USA reminded me of a similar goal I scored against Juventus; no wonder we both come from the same home region in Ghana.

I think that Ghana should have scored so many goals in this World Cup. We have missed so many chances that every time I watch the replays, I scream and shout ‘buei! Buei! This is why I am ready to play for Ghana. When I come into the Ghana team, no scoring chance will elude us, God forbid! I will score from the centre, corner, free-kick spots and even from your much preferred penalty spot. Give me the call up into the Ghana team and leave the goals to me; you will not regret. You have also heard that I am quick tempered and I might throw my jersey on the ground and step on it! Me? Aaah! I will never do such a thing! Imagine me in the all-white Ghana jersey, how nice I would look and you think I will remove that beautiful shirt and step on it? For what purpose, if I may ask? Please forget about all that talk and concentrate on the goals I will score for Ghana.

I’m sure you have also heard from Jose Mourinho that I don’t like training and other things. I think that was a slip from Jose. Look, I train and train very hard okay! How could I have scored all those goals if I don’t train? See, if I didn’t train, how could I have scored in the final of the Copper Italiana when I had come on as a substitute for a player like Luis Figo? If I didn’t train, how could i have scored two goals against no mean a team like Juventus in the quarter final of the Copper Italiana? Listen to me, I will drink Milo in the morning, afternoon and evening and train hard with the team okay!

My fellow Ghanaians, please accept me back into the team. Forget about all you’ve heard and be assured that from now on, Kofi Barwuah is ready to play for Ghana. Even if its not too late, I would like to appeal to the FA to let me join the rest of the team in camp, who knows, I could get my first World Cup medal. Thank you very much and see you all soon.

Signed, Kofi Barwuah Balotelli

(Proud citizen of the beloved Guya…sorry…Ghana)

Permute me to talk football…

If there was to be a major Mathematics exam on the 24^th of June 2010, the day after Ghana played Germany in the 2010 World Cup, I could vouch for the fact that all who had registered for that exam would have received a major boost ahead of the encounter. Never before had I seen a whole nation engrossed in the spirit and practice of the subject. Never.

From street corners, households, offices, sidewalks, market centres, public eating and easing places and everywhere, Mathematics became the most preferred subject for discussion more than anything else. Even our beloved political discussions received a huge nudge that will forever be remembered.

‘…So if Germany beat Ghana and Australia lose to Serbia, will Ghana still qualify? One shop attendant asked his colleague at a shop where I had gone to get a tin of milk. On my way back, I overhead two local mechanics debating seriously about the issue - one of them was insisting that the Black Stars would still have qualified even if they had lost to Germany. The other would have none of that. ‘…If Germany beats us, we dey go home sharp! He repeated continuously. They debate went on I suppose, hours after I had left and all through the nation, everyone was engaged in this football mathematics. To tell the truth, I am not a firm believer in the so-called ‘calculations’ in football and so when after the game against Germany, I learnt the Black Stars had qualified for the next stage of the competition; I just did not know how it happened. They had to lose a game to qualify?

‘Why we qualify?  I asked one of my neighbours, a youngster who prided himself in the fact that he knew almost everything about football. ‘Why you no know? He asked with a dint of sarcasm in his voice. I looked hard at him and wondered why football was not that simple. When two teams play, there are two things that could happen. One team would win, the other would lose or nobody wins in which case a draw would have occurred. That sounds easy doesn’t it? Not so in a tournament situation like the World Cup. Here as I later learnt, every game result in a group had an effect on other results. Take group D in this year’s competition for example, this group had Serbia, Australia, Germany and our own Ghana in contention. What happened in this group could best be described as absolutely incredible! 

Ghana beat Serbia with an unaccompanied goal in the opening game. Germany walloped Australia in the following game immediately establishing the superiority of these two teams in the group. But somehow, Serbia beat Germany in the next round and Ghana drew with Australia. I’m sure this was when the mathematical nature of football became apparent. Logical Reasoning (my favourite Secondary school Maths topic) promptly became useful: if Ghana beat Serbia and Serbia beat Germany, who will win the game between Ghana and Germany? First question. I’m sure the logical answer to this would be Ghana beating Germany right? Wrong. Germany beat Ghana.

Next question: If Serbia beat Germany and Germany beat Australia, who will win the game between Australia and Serbia? Were you thinking of Serbia beating Australia? Think again my friend for that did not happen. Australia beat Serbia! So here am I still wondering why football is not that simple. In fact, it is because of these and many other reasons why the explanation given by my neighbour still intrigued me. Ghana beat Serbia and had 3 points. Serbia had none. Ghana drew with Australia and they both gained a point each. At this stage Australia had only 1 point because Germany took all 3 points from the game they played against them. Next, Serbia beat Germany and took all 3 points. So that brings us to 4 points for Ghana, 3 points for Serbia, 3 points for Germany and a point for Australia after the second round. If we were working this complex thing with only the points the teams gained, things would have been a little easier for us. But I learnt rather grudgingly that there is something called, ‘goal difference’ or ‘goal aggregate’ that added to the points gained. Oh not other!

That is why even after the second round of the group matches, he explained, qualification was still not guaranteed for any of the teams. Germany led the goal chart with 4 goals, followed by Ghana with 2 and then Serbia and Australia with 1 apiece. In the final analysis, Germany beat Ghana by a lone goal and earned 6 points for themselves. Ghana earned no point from that game and so maintained their 4 points with 2 goals. Interestingly, Australia beat Serbia by 2 goals to 1 and earned 4 points with 3 goals. And so after a long explanation that touched on goals conceded, goals scored and a host of other impenetrable reasons, he finally arrived the reason why Ghana was able to qualify in this seemingly difficult group. He did his best but I still did not get it. I told him I didn’t get it; that I have concluded that I would never get it. He could not understand, in fact, he insisted it was not confusing at all. I bet he’ll be teaching Mathematics in the near future. Good luck to him.

The reason why Ghanaians love this aspect of the game I can’t tell but I can definitely say, football really makes the mind go round. For example, what would have happened if Ghana had drawn with Germany and Serbia had beaten Australia by a lone goal? Just thinking…

CRY, MY BELOVED CITY

The determined African sun blazed more than ever from its domain among the cloudless sky and gave off such heat that one would think the earth was being purged of some cold brutality unexplained in the city. The only remaining trees that had been left standing due to the many development projects in the city hardly stirred. The air was hot and stale and the half naked young men hauling diverse goods on make-shift carts were the envy of many a shirt-and-tie wearing man. These men walked freely about and didn't care about clothes in that hot weather. Who cared about fine clothes in that maddening heat anyway?

They moved briskly through the crowd that had invaded the street pavements barking and insulting anyone who stood in their way. Their strong, muscular bodies dripped with sweat as if water had been poured in torrents upon them. They were rude and ruthless. One of them almost run into an old woman with his cart but he did not bother. To him, it was normal; one had to move out of the way or be forced to. The poor and frail old woman stood still for a while; she had missed a near death experience and the realization stopped her in her tracks. She turned and looked at the rogue as he hurried on, shouting and barking as he went. She wanted to say something but what was there to say? He was long gone and anything she said would not matter; he would not hear it. He would not care.

Sadly, she turned and walked away. In the distance, the massive overhead bridge stood like a boiling pot dripping with people on every side. It was overwhelming; it stood an uncomfortable sight and the noise and shrieks from the desperate hawkers who stood on it, crowded the mind like no other. Down below, speeding vehicles moved to and fro missing daring lives by inches as errant men and women gambled with their lives by running back and forth the dual carriage road. They refused to cross over by way of the bridge; they were too lazy for that. Instead, they risked their lives and did not for once acknowledge the one thing that was made to save them.

The whole place was crowded, suffocating and in extreme disarray. There was litter everywhere and the stench that came from the choked gutters along the street was horrible. To compound the situation, some young men were busily pissing into these gutters. They did not look one bit concerned about what they were doing. It was all but a part of their everyday life or so it seemed and they did so with such impudence and audacity as would annoy any well-meaning citizen. At every turn, there were imposing billboards that had been mounted in advertising one product or another. They competed for space in the already crowded city and much as they proved very inconvenient and unsightly, the shade they provided was a shield for many against the blazing sun.

At the side of the road, quite close to the overhead bridge, a young woman stood. From the cold stare that hung on her face, one could tell she was far removed from everything that surrounded her. It was obvious there was a lot on her mind as she stood there; a little child strapped to her back and an old jute bag in one hand. The child looked barely a year old and in the midst of all that was happening, he slept soundly. A large crowd had invaded the place where she stood and once in a while when a trotro pulled up, a massive scuffle would ensue until someone was able to break through and join the bus. Then everything would return to normal only for the scuffle to begin all over again when another trotro pulled up. The struggle for a place on the trotro buses was often a matter of life and death for most of the city dwellers. There were never enough buses to convey the hordes of people that daily commuted to and from the city centre. Everyday was a struggle, this being one of those few places in the city for which any time within the 24-hour day was a rush hour.

Initially, she wanted to join in the struggle but she decided against it. Her baby was still sleeping and the thought of taking the innocent child through all that hustle worried her greatly. She stood there and hoped that somehow, someone would be kind enough to offer her a ride to her destination. But after about an hour and a half, she could not bear it any longer. Nobody offered her a ride and she could not get a place on any trotro. She looked at the crowd; its size remained the same and the struggle continued as before. So, like everyone else, she helplessly joined them ready to compete for a place. She knew she didn’t stand a chance but she was willing to try. She was not the only one in that situation. A few metres from where she stood, two schoolchildren, about seven and nine years, stood quietly. They had been standing there for hours and no one seemed to have noticed them. They were wet with sweat; their hair was dusty and they looked very hungry. There were tears in their eyes; an evidence that the situation had gotten the better part of them. They stood there helpless and once in a while, their eyes followed hawkers who paraded edible wares in the streets with intense desire. They longed for a vehicle to take them home; they wanted something to shield them from the scorching sun. They were hungry and needed their mother.

The traffic jam started building up from the far end and the rapidity with which it grew brought sadness and anxiety to the anxious crowd waiting to board a vehicle home. A few minutes later, a trotro pulled up. The driver’s mate, a tall, lanky fellow hang loosely on the moving vehicle as it approached the teeming crowd and all the time he waved his hand ceaselessly indicating that the vehicle was headed in no particular direction. The reluctant crowd made way for the vehicle to come to a stop. When they became certain that the vehicle was indeed headed nowhere, they reluctantly withdrew from it and hoped that a more purposeful one would show up. They didn’t have to wait for long because just then, to the surprise of everybody, the driver’s mate began to call out names of various destinations on top of his voice. Scarcely had he opened his mouth than a mighty scuffle ensued. Such was the force with which the people charged towards the empty vehicle that he had barely a moment to escape. They fought, screamed and pulled at each other - their sweaty bodies rubbing off themselves in the process. They shoved the driver’s mate violently out of the vehicle as they tried to find space. The door proved too small for them but that did not matter. They all wanted to enter at the same time and for a while, no one succeeded. Three minutes of intense combat finally came to an abrupt end when suddenly; a loud scream broke through the middle of the crowd. It was so loud that within the moment it came, no one heard anything else. It stopped and then returned with the same intensity with which it came. This sent almost everybody scattering in all directions. Not knowing what was happening, they fled from the scene fearing for their lives. As they did so, the screams became milder and milder until they were all a safe distance from the vehicle.

Down on the ground, at the spot where they all once stood scrambling and struggling, the nine-year old schoolboy knelt over his younger brother; clutching his midriff in his tender arms. The younger boy was pale, unconscious and tears were streaming down the face of the nine-year old. He looked up from where he knelt, saw he was alone and started screaming and weeping again. Surprisingly, no one seemed to have noticed him; another bus had pulled up somewhere and they were busy trying to find space on it. There was chaos there too; people pushed, pulled and tore at each other just as they had done earlier. While they were at it, another empty bus pulled up sending another group of people on another invasion. The little boy was still bent over his younger brother, tears streaming down his cheeks; he continued wailing and weeping while his unconscious brother lay still. Slowly, his world began to fade away; one look at his unconscious brother and he felt dizzy. Up there, the sun still shone ever so intently and soon he could hear nothing – nothing at all. Both children had passed out.

It took the cries of a passerby before a taxicab finally pulled up to assist him rush the children to the hospital. The woman with the child strapped to her back, offered to join the taxi to the hospital. It was unbearably hot inside; the smell of smoke filled the near rickety car and the noise that came from the engine compounded the anxiety of the conscious persons who sat in it. The two unconscious boys lay on top of each other at the back seat and the young sweat-soaked man sat close to them. On the front seat sat the woman with the baby. He had just started to cry and he seemed to want to wake the boys up with his incessant cry. His mother tried to calm him but the heat made him so uncomfortable that he couldn’t stop crying. The congestion was unbearable and tried as hard as he could, the taxi driver couldn’t manage a passage through the thick traffic. He resorted to his horn but even that did little to deter the competing motorists on the road. There were vehicles everywhere. Drivers blew their horns and shouted on top of their voices. Other impatient ones slammed car bonnets with their bare fists in a desperate attempt to get other drivers to do the right thing. Still, others just sat in their seats and fumed.

The taxi soon came to a junction and the muddled convergence of vehicles from every side evoked a feeling of extreme desperation in all who sat in the taxi. The woman on the front seat was soaked in sweat as she wriggled her right hand in a fruitless attempt to fan her little son. Once in a while she would turn and look back at the two unconscious boys as they lay at the back seat, their shirts had been unbuttoned and their half naked bodies were soaked in sweat. She wailed and shouted to no one in particular; she was appealing for help but nothing could be done. The young man who sat by the boys could not take his eyes off them. He was stricken with panic as he looked out of the window and saw the chaos on the street. His knees kept knocking each other; he felt helpless. He understood more than anything, the need to get to a nearby hospital quickly. The driver continued to blow his horn. The woman continued shouting and wailing while drivers yelled at each other. Exhaust pipes continued to huff and puff; dust did not stop rising and filling every available space. The situation was getting more and more desperate.

Then it happened all of a sudden! Somebody emerged from nowhere and stood in the midst of the chaos. It happened too quickly before anyone could think. He was a tall bearded man, shabby in appearance and bulky in stature. In his right hand, he held a huge club. He did not talk; he just stood there and stared rather horribly into the faces of all who cared to look. After a while, he started moving in between the vehicles and using his club as an indicator, he motioned some of the drivers to move and others to remain where they were. He repeated the action all around him and within minutes, he had managed to take control of the traffic. Now they moved only at his permission and stopped whenever he raised his club - it was to be the defining image of a city on its way to disaster…