papa appiah

2011-10-25T05:09:00.000-07:00

Ewurama Bentuma Gyesi-Appiah

2011-10-25T04:48:00.000-07:00

Embassy Broni and the House Negro

2011-10-01T09:06:00.000-07:00

On a warm sunny day in Accra, Kojo Boy shares the company of an American embassy official half his age and not nearly as educated. The official had opened what actually was the cheapest champagne on the market, and the two men interrupted their engaging conversation every now and again with sips from the champagne glass. Suddenly, Kojo Boy’s mobile phone rings.
“Excuse me Sir.” Kojo apologizes to his American friend as he picks up his phone and walks a few meters away to stand on the balcony

“Hello! Hello! Akua! What is the problem?” It was his wife.

“Kojo where are you? You haven’t called all afternoon. I don’t know whether to start the fufu or not,” said Akua.

‘Oh I told you I would be going to the American Embassy. I am with Embassy Broni. I am drinking Champaaaaagne!”

“Champagne! Is there a party going on there?” Akua asked

“Oh no! Your husband is mixing with the “rich and powerful” Akua. Embassy Broni calls me and serves me Champagne. Who in your family has ever had that honour? Just a minute darling…..”

“I won’t be a minute Sir.” he shouts across the room to the rather impatient Whiteman sitting in the lounge.

“Akua I need to go. The guy is getting a bit impatient.”

“What are you talking about that is so important?” Akua asked

“We are discussing eh…..the Kukrudu boss,” said Kojo Boy

“What? Are you talking about your own friend?” Akua asked

“Oh I need to go Akua……….”

“What has Kukrudu…….?

“Onom wee! He smokes marijuana” Kojo Boy said

“What?” Akua asked

“I need to go darling. See you later!”

Kojo Boy hung up and walked briskly back to Embassy Broni, beads of sweat gathering on his forehead.

“I must apologize, Sir. That was my wife,” said Kojo Boy

“You don’t have to call me Sir!” said Embassy Broni

“Don’t take it personally,” said Kojo Boy “It’s the way I was brought up”

“Well suit yourself then,” Embassy Broni said

“Yes Sir. Can I have some more champagne?” Asked Kojo Boy

“No you can’t” Embassy broni said

“Yes Sir”

“But you may”

“Oh thank you. This is good stuff you know,” said Kojo Boy

“Typical!” Embassy Broni said with a hint of sarcasm.

“Yes, Typical American Champagne!”

“Whatever!” said Embassy Broni

“Sure? Can I have some of the biscuits then Sir?” Kojo Boy asked unashamedly

“I think I will save the biscuits for my boy,” Embassy Broni said

“Ok ok you see, my dad used to say,that alcohol loosens the tongue”

“A chip off the old block then”

“Ha ha ha, a chip off the old block. I like that expression,” said Kojo Boy

“As you were saying before we were rudely interrupted…….” Embassy Broni could no longer disguise his impatience.

“Aha aha! Wee! He smokes wee. He has it for breakfast. That much I am sure. I don’t know about lunch and supper………..”

“I must thank you sincerely for honoring my invitation,” said Embassy Broni

“The honour is mine Sir. I am indeed humbled by your invitation. Please don’t forget the visa for my niece…..”

“As I said earlier, Kojo, I don’t work in the Visa Department. I would advise you to put in an official application”

“But you know, you are still involved……”

Embassy Broni slammed the door in his face

“Scumbag!!!” Embassy Broni muttered under his breath

Kojo Boy’s wife was waiting when he got home, furious that he had come in late

“You are drunk” she said

“No, only a little Typical American Champagne,” Kojo Boy said

“So you were drinking champagne and “slagging off” your countrymen?” the wife asked

“Just defending the truth darling, I am a man of principles,” said Kojo

“Good to hear. Do your principles include assassinating the character of others?”

“Look, I’m not going to talk about this any more. The man smokes wee and I said it.”

“Are you proud of yourself Kojo? Are you the kind of man who sees the need to lick the bottom of a white man and “slag” off his countrymen for a glass of champagne? There is a name for the likes of you. You are the kind of guy Malcolm X called the House Negro.

“You see, historically, the House Negro was the slave who lived in the Master’s house, either in the basement or in the attic, as opposed to the Field Negro who lived in huts on the farm. He was the guy the Slave master used to keep the Field Negros in check. He dressed really good and ate pretty well – what the master left. He loved the master more than the master loved himself. If the master’s house caught fire, he would risk every bone to put out the fire for the master. If the master got sick, he said “what boss, WE sick?”

He would gladly be killed to save the master. He identified himself more with the master than the master identified with himself. If you went to the House Negro and said “let’s escape, let’s run away,” he would say “are you crazy? Where can I get better food than here? Master is a good man. He takes care of me pretty good.”

“Slavery is long gone but there are still House Negros in our society. The modern House Negro will do anything to be associated with the “master”. They will pay three times the value of a house just to be able to live near him and brag about how “I am the only Blackman in the neighborhood. My kids attend a good school. They are the only black people in the school” They even complain when other black people move in about how “things are not what they used to be.
“The modern House Negro sees it an honour to be associated with the master. He is glad to be summoned to the master’s presence or be invited to tea. He wears that as a badge of honour. He will do anything to please the master, including betraying several years of friendship with his own kin.

“That’s what you are Kojo– a House Negro, and you should be ashamed of yourself.”

Papa Appiah
Lexeve1@yahoo.co.uk
www.papaappiah.blogspot.com

Law of the Jungle - Macho Men and Foot Soldiers

2011-09-20T07:50:00.000-07:00

Law of the Jungle – Macho men and Foot Soldiers

If today, in our dear country, macho men are parading our streett s and flouting our laws with impunity, it is because of a failure of leadership. Of course I do not expect our president to comment. He is busy - praying in the castle for divine intervention. Ebeye yie! God will provide.

If today, young men are vandalizing our towns and cities, expecting the government to come round to distribute bags of cash, merely because they happen to be card-bearing members of the ruling party, it is because they can see, that people they campaigned for to get into power have become millionaires overnight. Our democracy will never grow, until the entire mentality, that politics is a money-making venture has been completely eradicated from our consciousness.

If today, our policemen stare in despair with no teeth to bite, no equipment to deploy, no motivation to fall back on as rogues go on the rampage, it is because, our ruling party is inherently thuggish and so rogues determine the terms of our hallowed existence. Our society will never grow, until we have a well-equipped independent police force capable of maintaining law and order in an environment where no one, least of all macho men and party foot soldiers, is above the law.

If today, in Ghana, a few thugs can forcibly prevent an individual from occupying premises that they have rightfully acquired to engage in a public meeting and all the police can do is “negotiate” with these rogues, then the law of the jungle reigns, where a man is elevated to a status of an untouchable merely on account of a few padded muscles acquired through sweaty hours of idling in gyms while the rest of us go to work.

Papa Appiah
Lexeve1@yahoo.co.uk
www.papaappiah.blogspot.com

Akuffo-Addo and Frimpong Boateng - Wikileaks, Dismissals and Matters Arising

2011-09-07T13:34:00.000-07:00

Akuffo Addo and Frimpong Boateng – Wikileaks, Dismissals and Matters Arising

I have a new-found respect for Nana Akuffo-Addo. This is a guy who, if his detractors are to be believed, was thrown out of Oxford University, then proceeded to Legon but only managed a third class degree in Economics and got admitted to the bar only because of his father’s influence. Has he not done well for himself? For, well-connected or not, one has to go out there and perform and Akuffo-Addo has certainly done that. Not only is he a respected lawyer, he has risen to become the leader of the opposition. One does not become a leader of the opposition merely on account of one’s connections. One has to convince intelligent Ghanaians to vote for one and Akuffo Addo has certainly done that.

Not every Ghanaian is a Frimpong-Boateng. Akuffo-Addo should be an inspiration for the forgotten majority of Ghanaians, battling to succeed against a background of failure in school and poor grades, or having to study as mature students while caring for kids and suddenly realizing, that they need a whole month to read a book they could read in two days in their youth. There is light at the end of the tunnel. Do not lose hope. The race is not only for the swift.

I would not condone the smoking of marijuana under any circumstances though there is evidence to prove that it helps reduce the symptoms of certain incurable diseases like multiple sclerosis. While there has been no concrete evidence of a link between marijuana and psychosis, and indeed marijuana is considered a “soft drug” in many countries, the social stigma associated with it, especially in our part of the world, is enough to prevent anyone achieving their maximum potential. I do not know how deeply Nana used to inhale (apologies to Bill Clinton), but he sure is in good company. Another interesting observation from the Wikileaks is the fact that, many observers believe Nana Akuffo Addo is one of the most incorruptible in the NPP hierarchy. It was refreshing to know that he has chosen to go about his duties quietly while others are trumpeting their incorruptibility from the top of Mount Zion, while evidence of corruption surrounds them.
Ghanaians owe a dept of gratitude to Prof Frimpong- Boateng, the great communicator and manager of human capital, a man with sound academic credentials who has contributed immensely to the world body of knowledge. A great leader and administrator who commands personal integrity and has sound moral and ethical standards, but who nevertheless, is as fallible as any Kojo Manu down the road. I have not met a single Ghanaian who believes that his decision to parade the NPP colours and compete for the presidential slot while still remaining an apparently impartial clinician was well-advised. But there you go.
We are grateful to this great son of Ghana for helping to establish the Cardiothoracic centre at the tender age of 39, though in my humble opinion, establishing an institution to perform laparoscopic cardiac surgery on a few when millions of our children die from malaria and kwashiorkor is akin to buying a Concorde when you can barely afford tro-tro. But then again, if I was the father of a child with a congenital heart disease I would probably not mind, that the money being used to operate on my child could save the lives of a thousand children.
Be that as it may, I believe, and so do many Ghanaians, that the least we could do as a nation, would be to name the Cardiothoracic Centre after the eminent professor to serve as an inspiration to our children yet unborn. For he has managed to achieve what many once thought was impossible. The Korle –Bu Cardiothoracic Centre, however, belongs to Ghana. It is not the personal property of Prof. Frimpong-Boateng. The last thing I was expecting therefore, was for the professor to mention how many millions of cedis of his personal money went into establishing this institution.

Not only was this ill-advised, it is the kind of attitude that has got to be condemned in the strongest possible terms, for such are the grounds laid for corruption in high places. It is like a football chairman who pockets money from the sale of a player abroad because he has invested personal money in the team. I dare not impugn the integrity of such a noble man, but if he was that eager to get the project started, he could have come to an agreement with the government to provide the money as a loan to be repaid at a later date. He did not do that and that money, unfortunately, is gone. Sorry about that!

What we need in Ghana are strong institutions and not multi-talented brainy individuals. Prof. Frimpong Boateng has had TWENTY YEARS to build an institution that would survive in his absence. If he is telling us today, that the institution is likely to collapse without him, then something is wrong. I pray to God that Prof lives beyond ninety years to realize, that over thirty years after his exit, the Cardiothoracic Centre would have moved from strength to strength.

No one person is irreplaceable. In fact, if you would want to know how irreplaceable you are, fetch a bucket of water, dip your fist in and then out. The hole you make in the water is how irreplaceable you are. Give us a break!

Papa Appiah
Lexeve1@yahoo.co.uk
www.Papaappiah.blogspot.com

Team B and the Latter Day Moses

2011-08-21T03:38:00.000-07:00

President Atta Mills has neither the gift of the gab nor the charisma to lead a people, and neither did Moses. The difference, however, is that Moses was not picked by a JJ Rawlings in a Swedru Declaration. The bible says Moses was handpicked by God. And to make up for his obvious deficiencies, God equipped him with the power to perform miracles, most notably, parting the red sea to let his people go. Atta Mills insists God is the president of Ghana and yet the only hint of a miracle from him is the imminent purchase of a military jet that could be used to pursue armed robbers.

It is difficult to impugn the ability of a man of such intellectual and academic excellence. Obviously though, intellectual capacity does not necessarily equate to an ability to lift a people and lead a nation. Gordon Brown had been a well-respected chancellor of the exchequer in Britain and generally considered as the intellectual power behind the modest economic successes of the Tony Blair era till he staged what many people have described as a “palace coup” to get rid of Blair and take over the reigns of power without having had to face a general election. His subsequent fumbling performance as a prime minister and disastrous humiliation in the next election has driven him prematurely into oblivion – a forgotten, broken man.

On the other side of the coin is Al Gore, who was vice president to the ever popular Bill Clinton and yet refused point blank to avail himself of the extraordinary campaigning skills of his then morally tainted boss, preferring instead to be his own man and to fight his own battle. He lost the election but not his pride, nor the respect and admiration of many. He has gone on to be a very successful campaigner on environmental issues. We doff our hats to the likes of Al Gore.

Then there was Atta Mills, a university professor who had never been in politics and was handpicked by the NDC to occupy the tainted seat left behind by the walloped and humiliated Mr Arkaah – a politician who had dared to be his own man and to ask difficult questions in a Rawlings cabinet and suffered dearly for it. This very first foray into the political arena cast a big shadow on the judgement of the man who is now our president. He took the softer option.

Even more surprising was the Swedru Declaration that followed, when our learned professor was simply propelled by the then very popular Rawlings to succeed him. He accepted, once again, a rather soft option. By this time, alarm bells should have started ringing out loud about the judgement of the man who hoped to be our president.

Anybody who believes the fumbling Atta Mills would ever have won an election in Ghana on his own merit without the fervent support of Jerry Rawlings and his wife is probably not facing reality. He would hardly have won an NDC primary, let alone a general election and I even doubt he would have bothered to stand at all, seeing how out of his depth he appears to be in the political arena. He dealt the Rawlings card from the bottom of the deck, and then once power had been bestowed on him, belatedly decided to try to be his own man for once, by surrounding himself with lieutenants who posed no threat to him, but some of who nevertheless remain an embarrassment to the government and the people of Ghana.

A Team B side (apologies to Spio-Garbrah) can offer nothing but Team B advice. And the fact that the president even allows himself to be swayed by these people, casts a slur yet again on the judgement of the man. We are talking here of people like Baba Jamal, caught on tape advising civil servants to lie, and exaggerate and be dishonest while disseminating government information or be dismissed. I take serious exception to this and to the fact that the president has remained silent on this issue.

Was this just an attempt at spin gone wrong, or an issue that strikes at the very heart of our credibility and brings into question the integrity of not only Baba Jamal, but of his boss and the government as a whole? Silence is no option here! If this is the pervading philosophy in this government, then is it any wonder we cannot get to the bottom of issues? We are no nearer finding the truth about STX or of the proposed purchase of military jets. We are buying black sheep and painting them white. When faced with the wrath of Ghanaians, the minister said he had merely been joking. I am not surprised. The whole government has become nothing but one big joke

Don’t be deceived. “Asomdwehene” and “God is the president” are all facades, calculated to throw dust into our eyes and to disguise our president’s personal weakness as a leader. A football manager picks his coaches and his team, often in his own image, and takes responsibility for their performance. Is it not surprising, that the Asomdwehene has been responsible for hiring some of the most arrogant, undisciplined and verbally virulent individuals to be his ministers. Where is Atta Mills’ political judgement?

At the end of the day, God is not our president. God only permits us as individuals to avail ourselves of the blessings he bestows on us. Times are hard. Economies are crumbling. Our people are suffering. We need to be led out of “Egypt” to the “Promised Land.” We need a president to motivate our people, to inspire and to comfort them, and what do we get? A latter day Moses with impaired judgement and no miracle stick to part the red sea. Heaven help us all.

Papa Appiah
Lexeve1@yahoo.co.uk
www.papaappiah.blogspot.com

Ghana-Nigeria Films and Zack Orji's "Designer Beard"

2011-08-21T03:35:00.000-07:00

Ghana-Nigeria Movies and Zack Orji’s “Designer Beard”

Most Ghana–Nigeria movies are so bad, one finds oneself entertained merely by how bad they are. And this is no attempt to impugn all the effort and hard work that probably goes into making them. They are just bad movies! In some of the films, there are obvious attempts to make a quick buck at our expense. Why do I watch them? I have no choice. I cannot watch foreigners all the time – and that, unfortunately, appears to be why they are getting away with it.

For how long can one endure the dreary jokes of Agya Koo for instance? Give the guy his due – he is naturally funny and has done well for himself. But the idea that merely employing his services and getting him to rely on his spontaneity and talking all the time is enough to sell a movie is creative laziness. The guy can play funny roles alright, but he needs help. The stories have got to be well- written and his role properly streamlined while giving him some room to improvise every now and again.

Realistically, do our rich people always live in spanking new mansions with just basic furniture and with nothing ever out of place? Not even a newspaper on the centre table? Are their bedrooms always so spotlessly clean? Surely an occasional crumpled sheet or a shirt hanging on a chair would not be unusual. Basically, however rich a person is, a house has got to look “lived-in” rather than a hired empty house. And for goodness sake, our rich people are not always impeccably groomed when they are at home.

The least said about the quality of acting, the better. But the acting is bad mainly because the directors probably do not have the ability to get the best out of the actors. A good director can make a bad actor look good and a good actor, brilliant. Our film directors are probably well-trained and qualified, but unfortunately, this does not reflect in our films.

Our artistes ought to take some responsibility for upgrading themselves, researching well for their roles and generally maintaining high professional standards. In preparing for his role in “The Last King of Scotland”, Forest Whitaker went to live in Uganda for months to not only learn Swahili, but also to pile on the pounds to attain the same body weight as Idi Amin. Of course I know he is paid millions to perform, compared with the pittance our actors receive and this comes with a responsibility to perform to the best of his professional expertise. There is absolutely no comparison. But how much would it cost to shave off Zack Orji’s “designer beard” for example?

Zack Orji is a good versatile Nigerian actor. I have seen him play a loving father, a businessman, a rogue, a chief and even a madman. I wonder, though, how many madmen walking the streets the way he was in his film, have “designer beards”. Allowing facial hair to grow for a couple of weeks or shaving it off would not cost a penny, but it would definitely enrich the film. Zack Orji has the same “designer beard.” It is not all about money.

The “Lord of the Rings” comprises three separate films that cover one very long story. The genius of the directing is in the fact that each film, though a part of a trilogy has a life of its own. Each one is a complete enjoyable film, though the three films fit together perfectly in the end. The habit of carelessly interrupting a film anywhere with “To God Be the Glory, Look out for Part 2” is as annoying as it is dishonest. It is dishonest because, you would have been sold half a film for the price of one, so you would be compelled to buy the part 2 which would be a quarter film, with the other quarter consisting of recollections from the first part.

Taking part in sex scenes in films is not “by force.” If you are not comfortable with it, don’t do it. Don’t take the part. It takes extraordinary acting skills and careful camera arrangement for two people to convincingly pretend to be having sex when they are not. Anyone who has watched Halle Berry in “Monster’s Ball” would testify to that. It looks so bad when the actress appears embarrassed by the scene. And in any case, we don’t have to have sex scenes if we are not going to do it properly. There are so many other ways of implying same.

The degree of copying from foreign movies is sad, to say the least. So for instance, when I watch Kofi Adjorlolo in “Royal Battle”, I do not expect to see an African King with a tiger on his shoulder. I do not expect to see scantily clad girls throwing petals at his feet. This was an imaginative American writer’s portrayal of kingship in Africa in “Coming to America.” He had the right to do so. It’s called poetic license. The shades of mockery therein are nevertheless, obvious to all. How inappropriate then, that Africans, who should be able to paint a better picture of their own society should resort to copying what the Americans did. Even the theme music was copied. Apart from being downright illegal, it reflects a certain lack of artistic sophistication that is insulting to the intelligence of the Ghanaian film lover.

We have not made any effort to come to terms with the simple technicalities of film-making. The sound in our movies is so bad that one often has to turn to the maximum volume to hear anything at all and woe betide you then if you absent-mindedly turned to another channel. There would be a momentary frantic fumble as everybody dashed for the remote control to bring the volume down. Worse still, there is sometimes a delay in the sound so one only hears what an actor has said after they have fallen off to sleep.

Apparently in an effort to cut costs, some film-makers in Ghana and Nigeria employ the services of a guy who writes a few verses for the whole film and then plays them repeatedly on a keyboard and sings them all himself in a rather horrible irritating voice. Sure, there must be hundreds of budding musicians in Ghana who would love their music to be on film for next to nothing. Musicians are actually paying payola to get their music played on radio. Would they not jump at an opportunity to have their music played in a film?

Even for the biggest films, I read recently, the sound engineers often pick their personal recorders and go out to record sound effects themselves. It does not cost anything. So you could sit under a tree and record birds singing or go to the market to record the market sound. These sound effects could then be used in the movie at no costs. Our movies are devoid of sound effects except for the whining “hweew” sound when a ghost disappears.

We are not doing the simple things right. Good film makers can make reasonably good films within budget constraints. A gentleman once thought of making a film. Having been afraid of ghosts all his life, he decided to counter his fears by making a scary movie. He used an ordinary camera and his own home for the filming. But he had researched the subject matter for a whole year. The result was “Paranormal Activity”, a film made with $15000 but which glossed $135,000,000 in the box office. It can be done. All we need is a little bit more imagination and creativity.

Papa Appiah
Lexeve1@yahoo.co.uk
www.papaappiah.blogspot.com

Robert Mensah and the Battle of Kinshasa

2011-08-08T02:11:00.000-07:00

Robert Mensah and the Battle of Kinshasa

The recent football contest between Ghana’s Black Meteors and the Nigerian Dream team was, in a way, a throwback to Ghana’s battles with the Congo, especially in the early seventies. There were allegations of substandard accommodation, of refereeing ineptitude and hints of juju. Back then, however, the choice was not between a three star hotel and a four star one. It was between having a bed or just a table, as Asante Kotoko found out in the second leg of the final of the 1970 African Club Championship in Kinshasa against Tout Puissant Englebert.
TP Englebert had secured a 1-1 draw with Asante Kotoko in Kumasi and with no away-goal-rule at the time, needed to win the second leg outright to win the trophy. Asante Kotoko arrived in Kinshasa and were shocked to realize, that the accommodation reserved for them was a classroom block. There were armed soldiers loitering in the vicinity but they were not there for the protection of the players. They were there to ensure the team did not attempt to move away to another accommodation but would sleep on the tables and chairs in the classrooms and receive their fair share of mosquito bites. The Congolese are yet to confirm whether the mosquito-filled swamp at the back of the classroom was purpose-built for the benefit of Kotoko.
Asante Kotoko were led on the day of the match by Sunday Ibrahim and the team featured such great players like Malik Jabir, Abukari Gariba, Yaw Sam and Osei Kofi but the star of the side was undoubtedly, the enigmatic giant of a goalkeeper, Robert Mensah. Those who saw him in action still swear that Robert is the best goalkeeper they ever saw. His personal charisma and the fact that he died so young may yet have clouded people’s judgement to a degree but from all accounts, he was a genius in the post. Like all truly gifted people, however, he had his flaws and for Robert, this happened to be indiscipline. In fact, he was stabbed to death in “Credo” akpeteshie bar in Tema on a day when his team mates were in camp in Kumasi preparing for a continental game.
Asante Kotoko took the lead early in the game through “goal na mafefe” Abukari Gariba. Congolese strongman Kalala equalized before Englebert conceded a second goal, scored by Malik Jabir. When the referee whistled for a rather dubious penalty for Englebert in the last few minutes, with the score at 2-1, Coach Aggrey Fynn and other Kotoko officials decided to call their players off the pitch in protest against the blatant attempt at robbery. They protested vehemently to no avail until, to the surprise of all and sundry, Robert went up to the officials and pleaded with them to allow the game to go ahead. If there was any justice in the world, he said, it would not be beyond the realms of possibility for him, Robert, to save the day. When the officials finally gave in, Robert Mensah ran to the goalpost, took off his famous white cap and hit the cross bar and the two side posts with it. He put his cap back on, stood on the goal line, opened his arms wide and beckoned to Kakoko, the Congolese penalty expert, to shoot.
There had been simmering rumours about Robert Mensah’s cap and what it did or did not contain but things came to a head once he had started brandishing it as a “weapon” in the heat of battle. The Congolese complained to the referee about “the goalkeeper’s cap” and he ordered Robert to remove his cap before the penalty kick. There was a “volcanic eruption”. Robert Mensah was not about to remove his cap. That cap, a gift from his grandfather, a Cape Coast fetish priest, before he solemnly passed away, and which embodied the glorious spirits of his illustrious ancestors long gone was not about to be cast aside. That cap, his cherished companion in great battles for both Asante Kotoko and the Black Stars in countries far and wide without even the slightest hint of a complaint from anybody was not about to be cast aside at this crucial moment in the final of Africa’s premier club competition. Robert Mensah walked out of the goalpost while the referee shamelessly threatened to end the game in favour of Englebert.
The Asante Kotoko officials who only a short while earlier had been coerced by Robert to allow the game to on, now wished the game over and done with and quietly hoped the giant would change his mind. But who was going to be brave enough to say that to an angry Robert? Soon, an elderly man was seen scuttling down from the directors’ box and engaged in verbal exchanges with riffle-wielding solders who were trying to stop him from entering the pitch. He was the Kotoko president of the time, I.K. Moukerzel. He finally made it unto the pitch, sat by Robert and asked the angry goalkeeper to look him in the eye.
“Robert” he said “you know and I know, that we are being robbed here. But are we going to run away? No! Because that is not the Asante Kotoko way. If need be Robert, we should lose this cup fighting to the very last man.........”
Whether Robert was touched by this message or that he suddenly realized he could be losing the psychological battle will never be known. What is known is that, the great man suddenly leapt unto his feet, threw his cap angrily unto the pitch, run fiercely into the goal, spread out his long arms and beckoned to Kakoko once again to shoot.
Meanwhile, a small group of Congolese soldiers had, amidst cheers from the fans, picked up Robert’s cap with the tip of a bayonet, displaying it as a trophy. Officials of Asante Kotoko finally succeeded in retrieving it, but not before the soldiers had slashed through the inner lining of the cap in a desperate search for the elusive juju they believed was tucked away somewhere in there. Then silence.......! The long period of anticipation and the psychological intrigues had had its toll and one would have thought an earthquake had started, judging from the wobbly legs of Kakoko. It was no wonder, therefore, that he half-kicked the turf as he sent the ball miles over the bar. Asante Kotoko had won.
General Mobuto Sese Seko had had a difficult 5 years in power. By 1970, however, nearly all potential threats to his rule, including Patrice Lumumba, had been smashed. This year marked the pinnacle of Mobuto’s legitimacy and power. Even though Englebert had won the trophy before, Mobuto had been desperate for them to win the 1970 edition to raise the spirit of a depressed nation and serve as a comfortable springboard for future ambitions. Before handing the cup over to Sunday Ibrahim, he turned to his people, his face contorted in disappointment and sheer fury, “You Congolese,” he said “it is because of your foolishness that this cup is going to Ghana.”
Papa Appiah
Lexeve1@yahoo.co.uk
www.papaappiah.blogspot.com

Of Jets, Armed Robbers and Accident Victims

2011-07-28T01:35:00.000-07:00

Of Jets, Armed Robbers and Accident Victims

I must admit that when I heard Ghana was going to purchase some military planes, I was quite happy about the news. And why not? Our armed forces need to be well-equipped. The point is that we either disband our air force and navy and watch thousands lose their jobs, or equip them adequately to be able to support our ground troops when required.
And no one knows when their services may be required. Was it not only recently that the Ivory Coast started making noises about Ghana encroaching on their oil fields and also helping their rebel soldiers? The instability in their country means they have other pressing issues to deal with at the moment. If in due course, their political problems are solved, and if they should then see their neighbor flourish into a middle income country with oil from a field so close to their border, you never know what they might want to do. It has happened elsewhere.
It is essential therefore, at least in the West Africa sub region, that we are seen as a military powerhouse capable of looking after ourselves and no pushovers for anybody. That would serve as a deterrent to others who harbor aggressive intentions towards us. Five military planes would not turn us into a military force, but at least it is a start.
There was also an executive jet of some description that, apparently, was going to be used to transport our peacekeepers and hopefully, God willing, could be leased to the United Nations. “God willing”, because one would have thought, that if a country was going to spend millions of dollars to purchase a plane and hope to recoup some of the money by leasing it to an organization, that they would have at least sought some commitment from the said organization to factor into their calculations. No. Ebeye yie!! We will lease it to the UN!!
Be that as it may, having an executive jet for the military is not a bad idea. Apart from transporting our troops occasionally and being “leased” to the UN, the plane would be available to be used by the president and his entourage in their travels. A lot has been made of the British Prime Minister travelling on commercial aircrafts with the implication that it is rather superfluous for presidents in lower middle income countries to travel in presidential jets. A plane leaves Heathrow airport every minute to all parts of the world. The British prime minister can get unto a commercial flight in minutes. And when he has to travel to places like Iraq and Afghanistan, the air force readily put jets at his disposal. Kotoka cannot compete with Heathrow and we do not expect our president to be sleeping in airports on transit or depending on the goodwill of other countries to put planes at his disposal. We need a presidential jet of some sort.
Again, when the Black Stars had to play a match in Congo and then travel round the world to play against South Korea three days later, the executive plane would have come in handy even if it would have meant asking the GFA to pay for the service albeit at a cheaper rate than the commercial flights they had had to charter. That would have meant the GFA paying less, the money staying in Ghana and our players being more comfortable – Everybody wins.
Then, the minority, as we very well expect them to do, started asking difficult questions and the government lost its nerve completely. Suddenly, the planes were going to be used to transport accident victims from accident sites. Right! That’s a good one, believe me. All over the world, countries have helicopter ambulances to transport the injured. Helicopters can land in the middle of the road and they can reach the remotest corner of the country in minutes. But jets? That is another first for Ghana.
But the best was yet to come. The planes were going to be used to chase armed robbers, and this is coming from a minister of information. Armed robbers! How equipped are our police? Do they have enough vehicles? Could they do with a police helicopter to not only “chase armed robbers” but also monitor traffic and activities like illegal mining and to generally keep the peace? I know we have found oil but buying jets to chase armed robbers? Well, in Ghana everything is possible, as they say.
In the midst of all the confusion, the president had to go to visit flood victims in the Eastern Region. “Atta Mills Defends Purchase of Jets” I read the banner headlines and momentarily gave a sigh of relief. At last some sensible explanation from the president. “The jets can be used to rescue flood victims” he said. I gave up the will to live immediately. If this is how my country is being run, then I weep for Ghana.
Papa Appiah
Lexeve1@yahoo.co.uk
Papaappiah.blogspot.com

Say it Loud, I'm Gay and Proud

2011-06-19T09:30:00.000-07:00

Say it Loud, I’m Gay and Proud

Centuries of oppression has not changed us one little bit. We are the same people dragged in shackles and manacles into rat-infested stinky ships and sold like cattle in foreign lands. I wasn’t there, but I can still feel the pain. I can feel the pain of the whip on my great grandfathers back as he yelled out for help. And somehow, even today, I continue to bear the strips of the whip on my back. I continue to suffer the indignity and humiliation of subtle nuanced racism. So, I happen to have more issues to worry about in this world. My burden is so heavy, that I have no time to pretend to don the cloak of a sex policeman- to decide who should have sex, and in which hole.
What any two consenting adults decide to do in their own bedroom is none of my business. It is none of my business if one decides to enter hole number one or hole number two, or spend their lives with a man or woman. One would have thought that we, having suffered the indignity of years of oppression merely because of the colour of our skin, would be more considerate of others. Yet, we are the people using some obscure verse in the book the white man brought along with his gun to bay for blood of others of different sexual orientation.
A paedophile is a paedophile, homosexual or heterosexual, and they have to face the full rigours of the law. And yet, our schools have been plagued for years by teachers exploiting young females for sexual gratification who have often escaped with a wink and a gentle slap on the wrist. And yet our depth of homophobia means that we are suddenly beginning to pursue homosexual teachers with venom their heterosexual counterparts rarely have to endure.
And Ghanaians are calling for lynching, imprisonment and harassment of people merely on the basis of their sexual orientation. The fact is that despite numerous theories, no one knows for sure why an individual risks everything to maintain a homosexual relationship. I am not going to pretend to understand. What I know, is that, as much as I despise being judged by the colour of my skin rather than by the content of my character, I am never going to judge another man merely on their sexual preference.
In a rather “unghanaian” manner, we seem to be enjoying the prospect of subjecting our fellow man to a life of secrecy, embarrassment, humiliation, depression and even suicide. We are kicking people while they are down and immensely enjoying our fleeting encounter with strength and power. But, in the end, when we have all ceased collecting our bribes, and sexually abusing our church people, and domestically abusing our wives, and started to look after our kids, and stopped raping little helpless girls, we can begin to throw stones at others.
If we cannot understand, as a people, that all human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights irrespective of colour, sex, race sexual orientation, language or religion, then I am afraid we should all be shackled and thrown back into ships. Because centuries of oppression would have taught us nothing.
Papa Appiah

Black Stars Put On A Show

2011-04-03T03:00:00.000-07:00

Black Stars Put on a Show
Circumstances beyond my control meant that I could not attend the Ghana- England match. I cannot therefore pretend to comment on the match with any more authority than anybody else who watched it on TV. But please allow me to make a few humble observations.
Firstly, what exactly is the best role for Sulley Muntari in the Black Stars? On the left of midfield, Sulley at the moment lacks the pace and energy to track backwards and assist the left full-back and also lacks the skill to be able to go round full-backs and cross the ball. In the first half of the match against England, Lee Addy was badly exposed because of his inexperience but a little more support from Sulley would have made things a bit easier for the lad. Personally, therefore, I think Ayew remains the man for that role as shown by his energetic performances for Marseille in the Champion’s League.
Sulley plays as a holding midfielder for Sunderland at the moment, but for the Black Stars he would have to compete, for that role, with Annan, Agyemang Badu and Derrick Boateng. Sulley cannot compete with Kwadwo Asamoah or Prince Boateng in the attacking midfield role. So, much as Sulley’s recent dedication is to be admired, I believe his role will have to be coming on from the bench in the latter stages of matches to exploit the opponent’s weary legs with his brilliant left foot, nicking a goal every now and again.
Why do we not use Derrick Boateng more often than we have been doing? I must be missing something here, but anytime I have seen this guy play, I have been impressed by his physique and skill in midfield and in the game against England, his introduction in the second half changed the game for Ghana. Does anybody know why we don’t use him more often?
Poor Adiyah was overwhelmed by the whole Wembley experience and missed two clear chances. But the fact that he got those chances in the first place, mean the guy has got what it takes. With time, he will start scoring at the highest level. He has the intelligence, if not the physique to get to the top.
I don’t know about you, but I think I like this new coach. He speaks good English and appears to be a humble, likeable personality. He even apologised for our first half performance. His changes in the second half showed his tactical prowess. I pray he takes us to the final of the next World Cup.
It was nice to see Stephen Appiah on the pitch before the match chatting to Fabio Capello. There was a certain mutual respect visible that made us all proud. During the game, I saw Mr E...... He seemed happy and full of laughter. How anybody could be happy missing a game like this with 21,000 Ghanaians in the stands beats me.
When the Black Stars was formed, it constituted as much a political tool as a national football team. The Black Stars epitomised Nkrumah’s view of a new African personality and identity - An African ready to fight his own battle and in his words, to prove to the world, that the black man was fully capable of manning his own affairs. Nkrumah fully understood the importance of sports in winning friends and influencing people. The Black Stars thus became ambassadors of Ghana, spreading not only Nkrumah’s gospel of pan-africanism, but also hope and inspiration to the rest of Africa. This was evident in the Ghana-England match as Ghana, in their performance and the behaviour of the fans, won new friends around the world.
I perused the British press, the day after the match, and found one little article in the Daily Mirror written by Mike Walters, which I think makes very interesting reading. I have reproduced it here word-for-word for your enjoyment.
“At the world cup ties that never happened, the racket was nearer Accra town than Accrington. And as 21,000 Ghanaian fans daubed Wembley in a riot of colour, Fabio Capello finally discovered what it is like to have a party in Africa instead of a awake.
On the route march along Empire Way, it might have been the usual diet of burgers, hot dogs and horse droppings. But inside the national stadium, it was as if the flavours had all been imported direct from the Gulf of Guinea – yams, fufu and jollof rice. One man’s beef is another man’s okra stew, but a smarter –than- average friendly left Capello with plenty of food for thought.
If only England had played properly in South Africa instead of moaning about boot camps and strolling into “easy” games against the USA and Algeria with a superiority complex, they would have topped their group and landed an exotic tie against the Black Stars in the last 16. Ghana were so thrilled to become only the fourth African nation to play at Wembley that informal dialogue has already started about a reciprocal visit by the Three Lions to the Ohene Djan in Accra.
“We have unfinished business with England”, said Fred Acquah, 39, a clinical nurse from Wellingborough who joined the Ghana Army’s colonisation of our national stadium. End-of –season friendlies are usually monuments to tedium, but nobody could level that charge at the World Cup quarter-finalists. The team was vibrant, and those 21000 cultural attaches formed the largest visiting contingent since the Tartan Army’s last real invasion of Wembley at the Rous Cup in 1988.
And for all the treats awaiting us at Wembley in future, there is now some corner of a foreign field that is forever African.
Akwaaba, Ghana”
Enough said
Papa Appiah
Lexeve1@yahoo.co.uk

Doctorbanza Mponkyerhythms

2011-04-03T02:54:00.000-07:00

Doctorbanza Mponkyerhythms
The race is not for the swift and history remembers us, not for how brainy we happen to be, but for our contribution to civilization. So we recognise Albert Einstein for his theory of relativity which has out-lived generations, though he failed in school. I must hasten to add, that he failed only because, in his own words, the spirit of learning and creative thought were lost in strict rote learning.
In the future, our children, yet unborn, will remember Bill Gates for his contribution to computing, and Mark Zuckerberg for establishing facebook. But they will also remember Steven Spielberg for Schindler’s List and Jurassic Park and JK Rowling for her contribution to literature through the Harry Porter books. Our children may remember Kwame Nkrumah, Atukwei Okai, Ama Atta Aidoo, Kofi Ghanaba, Nana Ampadu and Osibisa, for, in their own small and varied ways, contributing to civilization.
Having a PhD is not an end in itself but a means to an end. Those of us who studied in Ghanaian Universities remember PhD holders who had published nothing since their thesis and, who, year after year, dictated the same notes from some tattered exercise book to students. So, much as people may dislike Okoampa Ahoofe Jr PhD, I think he deserves some respect. We are talking here of an award-winning poet and journalist who has several publications to his credit. I believe, that in his own small way, he is adding to civilization. In the future, our children may research his books, even if only to criticize them. That is how the world develops. And yes, he has a right to flaunt his academic credentials.
Flaunting academic credentials, however, comes with responsibility. You have a responsibility not only to honour the credentials you flaunt but also the institution that conferred them on you. Your writings should reflect the broad horizons that your degrees offer you, so even when we strongly disagree with you, we cannot fault the style, substance and reasoning. You should be able to adjust your style for the most effective communication. To put it rather bluntly, and forgive me for that, if you have something sensible to offer, say it in a way people will understand! A blanket policy of writing professorial thesis for every article without a certain level of protean sensitivity to the target reader smacks of arrogance.
But I like to believe I am a fair man. So, I spent fourteen pounds of my hard-earned cash in these difficult economic times to purchase a book of poems by Okoampa Ahoofe – Dorkordicky Ponkorhythms, and have actually read it to the end. He told a story, in the introduction, of his father inviting him to listen to a poetry-reading programme on BBC World Service around 1998. After the programme his father said “I just wanted you to know that good poetry does not have to be difficult to understand” It was a poignant admission of a weakness in his style, and in fact, the book I bought was a rewrite of an earlier version and designed to be more reader-friendly. But I liked the book, my favourite poem being “Idea,” for the pain and hurt it exudes.
“The idea of breasts is all there is left on your bust—Lust-laced love smashed to smithereens.......Wistful memories, all there are left to make up for both time and beauty lost in breach---Now we are beyond the teething stages of love and trust, necessity and survival dictate the terms; and so every thing is solid and real, tea and pee, food and shit---I have been accused of bad breath; it is indeed nothing of the sort, just the stale recall of mutton savoured in a mouth of unwashed dreams”
I must admit I have become a fan of Okoampa’s poetry and I intend to buy another book after payday. I cannot deny that. But I did not end there. I searched the web for articles he has written in the past for the New York Beacon to see whether a black newspaper in the States would tolerate his rather verbose “linguistic turgidity” I found an article written in 2003 – “Home-Made Food is Still the Best”, the introductory paragraph of which is given below;
“As a child growing up with my siblings, cousins and other relatives of our very large extended family, my maternal grandmother often cautioned us against two things; Buying cooked food from outside when one could easily cook a better meal at home, and eating in other people’s homes without advance invitation. The former had more to do with health and economics, while the latter was purely cultural. The old lady believed that commercial cuisine was never the best........”
I got a bit annoyed as I read this for the significant variation in style, obviously influenced by editorial leanings, from the articles of his I read on Ghanaweb. So he can write simply for the benefit of us all if he chooses to. His persistence with his style then suddenly began to smack of intellectual snobbery, of arrogance and of gross contempt for the Ghanaian.
Come to think of it, Okoampa happens to be a professor of English and Creative Writing who seems to be shamelessly exploiting that esteemed position and academic jargon as weapons for mercilessly bullying his political opponents. Obviously, Ghanaians are not fooled by this as is evident from the comments to his numerous articles. And it makes me angry, in much the same way as I would be angered by a medical doctor or a lawyer who, faced with a difficult patient or customer opts to use jargon to bully their way out of trouble. They would be irresponsibly using their position for an unfair advantage.
Some poets often mistake their gift with words as a manifestation of their wisdom. But in a way, I am saddened that such a great poet should reduce himself to such public ridicule and humiliation. And since Okoampa happens to be a “mouthpiece” for the NPP, judging from his often polarized and parochial views on issues, one begins to wonder whether this is the yardstick with which to judge our potential leaders of similar political persuasion. If that were the case, then I weep for Ghana
“I have no codpiece to store the liquid contents of my life; and so the survival of my scion rests in mocking sway of my foes----
I am besieged by assagaied men armed with poison-tipped arrows,, and I must seek refuge at gun-point by giving up the sacred innards of my cowry shells----
.............................................I have deigned sadly, to become a spaniel’s friend, and now, I must risk my lips being licked by a canine’s tongue................I have no codpiece for the liquid contents of my shadow’s life, all because Kwame Atoapoma, I am a mouse among cats.” (From Besieged by Okoampa Ahoofe)
I think this time, Kwame, it’s of your own making.
Papa Appiah

England vs Ghana- The Essien Saga and Other Issues Arising

2011-03-16T10:41:00.000-07:00

England –Ghana –Essien Saga and Other Issues Arising
I woke up this morning to some interesting news related to the England –Ghana match. Firstly, and I am sure we all know that, the match is a complete sell-out. The English FA are delighted. They are going to make roughly 10 million pounds from this match alone. I am yet to know how much Ghana will earn. Part of this money, of course will go towards completing their Centre of Excellence in Burton which they hope will help improve skills in their youth.
It amazes me how poor the English are when it comes to football skills. This is an example of a situation where over-development probably works against you. Their weather does not help of course. Take a walk on a sunny Sunday afternoon in the UK and you will find a group of boys playing football, all well dressed in nice jerseys and boots with their parents waiting by the sideline and a paid coach in the centre. You naively walk up to enquire if your boys can join in, and you are given a phone number to call and register to join some other time.
So I cast my mind back on the football we used to play in our backyard. You were actually lucky if you had a proper football. Nobody was barred, unless of course, if you had had a fight with the ball owner. Twenty of us would play in a little space and you were thankful for every touch. You instinctively learned to control the ball, dribble and keep the ball to yourself from a very early age. Of course we never learned to shoot, and that shows in some of our professionals as well. Where we played, if you shot too hard, the ball would probably end up in Mr Alhassan’s wife’s soup. There was neither coach nor referee. You learned to kick and be kicked and generally look after yourself. That is one reason why, man-for man, the Black Stars are technically better than the English. Of course we all know that being technically gifted does not always win you football matches.
For the match against Ghana, I heard today, that the England coach Fabio Capello is considering re-instating John Terry as permanent captain. This is a controversial decision. As we recall. John Terry was stripped of the captaincy after having an affair with the former partner of a team mate. The public humiliation he endured was well-deserved. And yet, to the credit of the guy, he has since then, always made himself available to play for his country and performed to the best of his ability, even though some believe his weary legs are giving way. Good luck to him if he gets the captaincy back. It would be a reward for patriotism and dedication.
Talking of patriotism and dedication, John Paintsil, in the same news item about the England-Ghana match was asked about how difficult it must be to balance club and national commitments. He gave a very wise answer. He said, that the reason why most of them got to play in Europe and in the premiership in the first place was because of the national team. They therefore owed a certain level of commitment to the national course. Well said John.
There are some players who play for their national teams for years and then decide at some point, in order to prolong their careers, to concentrate on club football. Football fans round the world respect that. Stephen Appiah has done it. Ryan Giggs has done it. Paul Scholes has done it. We have no problem with that. Michael Essien’s wish to be given a “break” from the national team when he is performing consistently for his club, however, is most annoying to say the least. A break till when? Is it till when the next big tournament comes? Is it to allow the “mental scars” of getting injured in Africa to heal? What is it?
Paul Scholes owes England nothing. He joined Manchester United as a school kid and has played there all his life. And yet he insists, he would probably have changed his mind if Capello had spoken to him. He is only human. He wants to feel loved. So I must commend our coach for taking the trouble to visit Michael Essien and trying to win his confidence and affection. But that should be it. Michael Essien should come and play our next match or be kicked out of the national team for good. As John Paintsil implied, he is where he is because of the national teams and not the other way round. There are boys in my village that can play better than Essien’s awkward bravado in midfield. Getting in the national junior team is everything in Ghana and we can only take so many players at a time. Essien was lucky. He should be saying a prayer for Ghana every morning.
Let’s face it; we got to the final of the African cup without Essien. We got to the quarter finals of the world cup without Essien. While it is important that we bring all our best players on board, this should not be at the expense of team spirit and discipline. What message do we give the other players when it appears we are falling backwards to ensure one player plays against his will? Look at Anthony Annan. He is now a constant for Shalke 04 except for the Champion’s League where he is cup-tied. Prince Boateng is performing brilliantly for AC Milan. Ayew is winning praises from the likes of Ferguson. What about Kwadwo Asamoah and Agyemang Badu in Udinese? Who needs Essien?
In the end, team spirit is what brings results, over and above the brilliance of any one particular player. Lionel Messi, arguably the best player the world has ever seen played for Argentina in the world cup and what happened? Eto’o, the Cameroonian superstar arrived at the world cup in style – with ten thousand pound wrist watches for each of his team mates, and what happened. It has never been and will never be about one man.
Olele!! Good old Olele! What can I say? Olele has had a rather difficult time in England, to say the least. He was the initial beneficiary of Steve Bruce’s “love” of Ghana when he signed him for Birmingham. He later moved with him to Wigan. In both of these clubs, Olele was only a third choice goalkeeper. Indeed, when Steve Bruce left Birmingham acrimoniously, the owners accused him of signing “waste of space” players like Richard Kingson. When Steve Bruce left Wigan to coach Sunderland, Olele’s contract in Wigan was not renewed and we all thought his carrier was over. Then a splendid performance at the world cup, against all the odds, brought him into the limelight again and he was signed for Blackpool by Ian Holloway.
Olele was signed for Blackpool as a reserve goalkeeper. But when the number one got injured, it was an opportunity to show what he was made of and prove his critics wrong. The problem, though, was that Ian Holloway knows only one way of playing – attack!! attack!! and attack!! This means poor old Olele is left with virtually no defensive protection and the goals are going in in their fours and fives. Inevitably, attention is drawn to the goalkeeper and people begin to question his competence. I pray he does not lose his confidence and continues to believe in himself.
Anyway, I will be going to the England –Ghana match. This is more than a friendly. Always nice to be able to stick one up your colonial masters. I will let you know what I see. We all pray for a Ghana victory.
Papa Appiah
Lexeve1@yahoo.co.uk

The Pimpinis Ideology-Iced Kenkey Part 2

2011-03-13T01:38:00.000-08:00

The “Pimpinis” Ideology - Iced Kenkey Part 2
There was a time in Ghana when a pot “belle” in the male was thought to be respectable. The fashion concept of “pimpinis”, when the male trousers were pulled up the abdomen, must have emanated from an attempt to accentuate lower abdominal protuberance, thus projecting an image of well-being. The “Obaa Sima” image also meant that, traditionally, Ghanaian men have preferred women on the larger side.
As far back as the Victorian era, Europeans have always tried to portray a slim figure, especially in their fashion, while we were, and probably still are, fascinated by obesity. I have known Ghanaian women in the Diaspora, who, before they went home on holidays, would deliberately devour as many calories as they could, so the family and everybody else back home would be impressed with how “good” they looked.

So, while in Ghana, hypertension and diabetes are considered diseases of the wealthy, in western society, it is worse amongst the low-socio-economic sector of the population, including African immigrants, where obesity is rife. In the UK, African women are most likely to die during pregnancy than any other racial group, in part due to the high incidence of obesity.

When I started to loose weight, my European colleagues congratulated me and asked what the secret was. But Auntie Grace, a work colleague of mine from Cape Coast who is like a big sister to me, called me to one side and asked, rather seriously, if everything was alright with me.
After managing to convince her of my reasons, she mentioned her own frustration at not being able to loose weight, despite her doctor’s strong recommendation for her to do so and in spite of jogging every morning. It was lunch time, so we began a long conversation on weight loss.
“Firstly” I said, “you can loose as much weight jogging as you can loose a pot “belle” doing sit-ups..... That is, you loose nothing!”
Auntie Grace was surprised
“But burning the calories......” she tried to argue
“How fast do you run, and for how long, with this “overflowing backside?”” she laughed “Even if you did really strenuous exercise continuously for 1 hour, which I doubt you do, all you would loose is about 300 calories. And do you know what it takes to replace 300kcal? – The equivalent of two apples or two glasses of beer. And all you do if you tried to loose a pot “belle” with sit-ups is to build the muscle underneath the pad of fat which constitutes the “belle”.
“Exercise is good.” I said “It makes you feel better because of the endorphins (natural morphine in the body) it releases and it improves the function of your heart. But weight loss, forget it”
“But I watch my diet as well. I grill all my meat to rid it of fat” She protested.
“Do you?” I asked sarcastically. “Actually, I wish you would eat all that fat, because your body needs it.
At that moment, I nearly lost her attention. But I persisted.
You see, the process of fat deposition is complex and involves two kinds of hormones in your body, which for the purposes of this article I will call, THE FAT BUILDING SQUAD and the FAT DEMOLITION ARMY.
The most important hormone in the fat building squad, and maybe, even in the whole body is insulin. Others include the growth hormones and sex hormones. The most important hormone in the fat demolition squad is glucagon. Other members include steroids and thyroid hormones.
Our body’s response to carbohydrate (banku, fufu, kenkey, sugar) is the release of insulin which then collects the glucose coming from carbohydrate and breaks it down for energy. If there is too much glucose it turns the surplus into fat and we put on weight. If there is not enough glucose (eg dieting, starvation), glucagon releases stored glucose from the liver, and also breaks down fat to produce energy and we loose weight.
Our body is designed to keep a balance between the fat building and fat demolition hormones all the time to maintain optimum health. So if an imbalance occurs, problems like obesity and many other health issues occur.
So for example, if insulin levels go up over a long period (e.g. from eating too much carbohydrate), an imbalance occurs and your body may struggle to balance the hormones in one of two ways.
1. The levels of the other fat building hormones may go down to reduce the total amount of fat building hormones. If sex hormones levels go down, there may be problems with sexual desire and arousal. If growth hormones go down, the cells in your body that get injured are not repaired properly. Over a time, damage to blood vessels for instance may result in stroke, heart disease etc.
2. The levels of some of the fat demolition squad may increase to balance the insulin. Steroids for instance, may go up and this may cause a decrease in your ability to fight disease.
“So Auntie Grace, the trick is to eat as little carbohydrate as possible!!”
When carbohydrate is low, of course glucose is low, and that means very little insulin is produced. But your body needs energy! As it cannot generate it from glucose and insulin, it forces glucagon to be released to break down fat and you loose weight.
Equally important is the way your body attempts to balance your hormones. When insulin levels are low, levels of other fat building squad hormones go up to increase their total level to balance the demolition squad. An increase in sex hormones gives obvious benefits. An increase in growth hormones ensures constant repair of damaged cells in your body and decreases risk of major disease like diabetes, stroke and heart disease. But in addition it helps hair growth and improves skin quality.
The low insulin resulting from a low carbohydrate diet also prevents the hormonal imbalances associated with irregular periods and infertility in women. So even after attaining optimum weight, a low carbohydrate diet is recommended for life because of the other benefits to your general health.
“So how low is low then?” Auntie Grace asked
I explained that, the maximum carbohydrate you should eat in a day is 72 grams. Now, a single slice of bread contains 12g of carbohydrate. So each day, you should not eat more than the equivalent of 6 slices of bread. 12g therefore becomes the “bread unit or BU” (Allan and Lutz – Life without Bread). This means, that if you eat 2 slices of bread in the morning, you have 4 BU left for the whole day. 1 medium slice of yam (100g) is equivalent to 3 bread units. (I will give a list in my final article). That leaves 1 bread unit which is the carbohydrate in 1 medium apple.
“Is that all I can eat?”
“Unfortunately yes” I said. “But remember, this is just for the carbohydrates. You can eat as much protein and fat as you like. (List will be provided in Part three)
“But if I eat too much of the fats and protein, won’t my total calories go up?” Auntie Grace asked. Remember, that calories measure the total energy in food, and that is different from just carbohydrates.
The problem with relying on reduced calories, but high carbohydrate diet to loose weight is that, in the earlier stages, your body will break down fat to make up the extra energy required and you will loose weight. But soon, your brain, acting as the finance ministry, sends a memo round to tell every part of your body, that there is an economic crisis and the food is not going to increase any time soon, so everybody should apply austerity measures. So body functions become more efficient and even the few calories becomes sufficient and because you are eating lots of carbohydrate, insulin converts extra glucose to fat and you stop loosing weight.
“Loosing weight” says Zoe Harcombe, in her book The Obesity Epidemic “is more a question of fat storage and fat utilization. You need the body to move into a fat-burning mode and, to do that, you need to cut down your consumption not of calories, but of carbohydrates.”
So the advice is for you to eat as much protein and fat as you desire, so long as you keep to 6BUs of carbohydrate a day. In any case, it has been found, that protein and fat fill you up more than carbohydrate so you don’t get hungry and also it avoids the fluctuating levels of insulin and glucose associated with carbohydrate intake that produce the urge to snack. So you end up eating less anyway.
“What about fruits and soft drinks?” Auntie Grace asked
“Unfortunately, they count towards your total carbohydrates. 1 medium Banana is 2 BU. So you have to adjust accordingly. 250mls of coca cola is 2 BU and so on. Always make sure you look at the amount of carbohydrate on the item and divide by 12 to get the bread units. And you should not have more than 6 BUS!! The rest should be protein and fat.” I said
“What about my favourite banku? There is no carbohydrate mentioned on it the last I checked?”
The difference in carbohydrate levels between banku and mashed potatoes cannot be that big, so I have estimated the carbohydrates in banku, using what is available in an equivalent weight of mashed potatoes. I promised to give her a list later which I will provide in the third and last part of this article.
“And avoid sugar!” I said
“Ahhhh” She moaned
“Each spoonful is 2BUs. If you can afford that at the expense of banku, then fine. And drink at least two litres of water a day” I said “Because when fat breaks down, it produces some acidic substances called ketones. This may make you feel a bit unwell. The water ensures these ketones are washed away in the urine.”
“Papa, you might as well take a knife and slash my throat” she said “After all, all die be die!”
“Don’t get me started on that one “I said
“What about Ghana? Food is relatively more expensive. How many people can afford loads of fish, meat and cheese?” She asked
“Well...” I attempted, but she interrupted me and answered her own question
“I guess back home,” she said “obesity is an expensive business. That is why only the well-off get fat. So I presume, if you can afford to be obese in Ghana, then you can afford to loose weight.”
“You have spoken like a true prodigy” I said
“I brought some “waakye” today” she finally said “Let’s go and eat. You look terminally ill”
“Auntie Grace paaaa!”
NB Some of the advice contradicts conventional advice but it is all well-researched. And it worked for me. If you want more information, read “Big Fat Lies. Is Your Government Making You Fat” by Hannah Sutter and “Life Without Bread” by Allan and Lutz
Papa Appiah
Lexeve1@yahoo.co.uk
Papaappiah.blogspot.com

ICED KENKEY - My Struggles With Obesity

2011-03-04T07:13:00.000-08:00

Iced Kenkey – My Struggles with Obesity – Part 1

I am not a nutritionist. Everything I say here is derived from my personal research and experience from my long struggle with obesity. I hope that writing this article will not only motivate me to continue my personal battle to maintain my weight, but will also inspire others to try to do the same. I welcome people more knowledgeable on the topic to chip in with some tit bits in the comments for the benefit of us all.
Loosing weight is not fun. Because, basically, being hungry is not fun. During the 1983 food crisis in Ghana, a man collapsed in the centre of Kejetia, and as is our wont, a few Ghanaians surrounded him and began to share ideas as to how best to help him;
“Leave him alone for a while. He must be tired. It’s too hot today” said Mr A
“No. Let’s take him to hospital” said Miss B
“I think we should buy some ice-kenkey, add some milk and give it to him” Mr C said.
On hearing Mr C, the collapsed man suddenly raised his head, rolled his eyes to the heavens and mumbled ever so softly;
“Listen to what Mr C is saying”
Obesity is a killer. There are no nice euphemisms for saying this. It increases your risk, not only of developing diseases like hypertension, diabetes, heart disease and stroke, but also of dying prematurely from complications of these diseases. It causes often forgotten problems like snoring and sleep apnoea with interrupted sleep resulting from blockage of the wind pipe at night and subsequent tiredness during the day. Erectile problems for men may also be worsened by obesity.
In women, in addition to the above, there is an increased risk of cancer, especially of the womb, but also of the cervix and breast. Excessive unwanted hormones produced by fat deposits interfere with the natural cycle of hormones so the monthly periods become irregular and achieving pregnancy becomes more difficult than usual. And if you do become pregnant, your risk of having a miscarriage, having an abnormal baby, developing diabetes and blood pressure during pregnancy or having complications during childbirth, are all increased.
In women seeking pregnancy, the single most important thing they could do to help themselves is to loose weight. Often, weight loss results in regular cycles and pregnancy soon follows, of course, if all other factors are normal. That is God’s grand design to maintain procreation in mankind at all times including periods of famine. You see, the last thing on a hungry man’s mind would be to have children. So God has designed us such that loss of weight increases the women’s fertility and enhances sexual arousal in men. How clever is that.
The strongest scientific evidence for this is in very large men and women who undergo surgery to, among other things, close part of the space in their stomach. (Bariatric surgery). It was found that, following surgery, women who had tried for years to get pregnant to no avail, suddenly became pregnant. Also, people who had adult-onset diabetes often realised, that they did not have to take their medication anymore and indeed, it is the belief among some scientists, that in the future, this kind of surgery may be recommendable for the treatment of adult-onset diabetes.
The official definition of an obese person is anyone with a body mass index (weight in kilograms divided by height squared) greater than 30. Recently, the waist to hip ratio has been found to be a better way of determining health. So all the young men thinking they are generally slim and alright, remember your little “pot belle” may mean that you have a higher waist lenght/hip length and make you prone to similar diseases as obese people. The people of South India are smallish people and yet they have a high rate of heart disease and diabetes. This has been found to be due to their higher percentage of body fat compared to others. So even if you are small, you may still benefit from watching what you eat.
I was a slim young man before I got married. So I have every right to blame the regular fufu from a dedicated wife for my obesity. Of course, the beer did not help either, as my wife is often quick to remind me. At my worse a few months back, I was 110kg. My mother, may her soul rest in peace, died of complications of diabetes and high blood pressure and at a routine check-up, I was told both my blood pressure and blood sugars were borderline. I had to do something.
Over the past few months, I have lost a total of 20kg. It has not been easy and I still have a daily battle to try not only to maintain the weight, but even to loose some more. As the weight fell off, I kept a little screw driver in my room to make new holes in my belt so they could fit better. Making a new hole was always a joy to me and that singular act kept me motivated.
My wife turned to me one morning and said a tad sarcastically, I thought, that I had become the young man she met again.
“What do you mean?” I asked suspiciously.
“Well, you know.....mmmh” My wife has a great sense of humour.
“So why didn’t you tell me before that there was something wrong?” I asked?
“I never thought of it before” she said “but I think I prefer you this way. Let’s face it, who wants a panting perspiring man on top of them?”
I have had my lapses. But the secret is not to give up but to get back on course as soon as possible. I remember that night when I was watching television with my wife. I had had my small portion of fufu but on this one night, the hunger pangs would not go away. Soon, my wife started to nod off. Normally, I would just go upstairs with her or allow her to sleep in the sofa and wake her up when I was ready to go. But this day was different;
“Go and sleep sweetheart” I said
“Oh, I am waiting for you” she said sleepily
“Go and sleep sweetheart, you are going to work tomorrow” I said
My wife looked at me suspiciously and went upstairs, but she did not sleep. She waited a few minutes and came quietly down to find me enjoying a huge bowl of gari, sardine and shitto. We both had to laugh.
But I am determined to battle on. I have put on some 2kg from recent lapses, but I am deliberately still using the last hole I made in my belt. I won’t loosen it, ever, even though it squeezes the hell out of me. For, it is a constant reminder, of the difficult daily battle I am faced with.
So, the next time you see me collapsed in Kejetia, please remember, not only to get the bottle of ice kenkey, but also to quickly loosen my belt. It just might be squeezing all the air from my lungs.
NB - Part two will detail how I achieved my weight loss
Papa Appiah
Lexeve1@yahoo.co.uk
Papaappiah.blogspot.com
www.facebook.com/papaappiah

All-Die -Be-Die-Reinforcing the Cycle of Fear -2

2011-02-28T17:09:00.000-08:00

All Die Be Die – Reinforcing the Cycle of Fear – 2
I am as much disappointed with President Mills’ response to all-die –be-die as I was with Nana Akuffo-Addo for uttering it in the first place. The response of our president should have been less of a promise of fire and brimstone, and more of humility and reconciliation, recognising that there is more that unites us than divides us, and that our common goal, after all, is for a more transparent electoral process, of which Ghana can be well proud. Sometimes, a threat of a security red-alert, in our experience, has the potential to cause even more panic and fear amongst the populace than an off-the-cuff all-die-be-die comment.
So, rather than promising rain of fire and brimstone, President Mills should have risen above all of us, mere mortals, and realized, that Nana Akuffo-Adoo may have been reckless in his utterance, but in reality, all he was crying for was an electoral process fair to all, and staining the presidency with the blood of Ghanaians may not, in truth, have been his remotest wish. He could have referred to the fact, that he had been friends with Nana for many years and knew what he stood for. He could have offered to do what he could, including, yes, meeting Nana, other political leaders and the electoral commissioner at the appropriate time to discuss pertinent electoral issues, to help make our system better. He could, on the other hand, have taken the opportunity to admonish Ghanaians to exhibit more civility in our national discourse to enable us continue to enjoy, the fruits of our hard-earned democracy.
Ghana would have listened. For in so doing, President Mills would have succeeded in casting himself in the mould of that great emperor in days of yore, in front of whom was dragged a man pleading for his life. The emperor had only to blink and this man would be beheaded by the single stroke of a soldier’s sword. But he looked into the man’s eye, and for no apparent reason, said, “I pardon you!” That was power! In pardoning a condemned man and giving him back his life; he had exuded more power than if he had done the expected. Who in Africa does not know of our security forces and the havoc they can reek when unleashed on unarmed civilians? Libya is a stark reminder. We do not need any more reminding of security forces and red alerts and “acting within the laws of the land”!! A reconciliatory speech would have been a much more powerful tool, in attempting to unite the country behind efforts at achieving our common goals.
Nowhere was this more in evidence, than in President Obama’s recent speech in Tucson, Arizona. When a crazed gunman went on the rampage in Tucson, shooting a democratic congresswoman in the head and killing a few of her associates and bystanders, America was deeply divided in its views as to the reasons or motivation behind this tragedy, with the majority of democrats alleging, that utterances by Sarah Palin of the Republican party, had in no small measure, helped to create the environment that may have facilitated this crime.
President Obama did not promise fire and brimstone. He cleverly tried to avoid pointing the finger in any one direction –“...none of us can know exactly what triggered the vicious attacks. None of us can know with any certainty what might have stopped these shots from being fired or what thoughts lurked in the inner recesses of a violent man’s mind...” and then took the opportunity to plead for and encourage more civility in America’s national discourse – “......it is not a simple lack of civility that caused this tragedy, but rather, only a more civil and honest public discourse can help us face up to the challenges of our nation in a way that will make our children proud “ He added “what we cannot do is use this tragedy as one more occasion to turn on one another...” In one speech, Obama had managed to diffuse all the tension surrounding the tragedy, while not neglecting the damage that could potentially be caused by extreme polarization of views in American society.
The fact of the matter is, that even America, the America of George Washington and Abraham Lincoln, with hundreds of years of democratic experience to count on, is still struggling to control extreme polarization of views and lack of civility in national discourse. So while all-die-be-die was wrong and was roundly condemned by many of us, and rightly so, Ghana had expected a more measured response from our president, rather than further reinforcing the cycle of fear with threats of security red alerts!
Ghana is not doing that badly. And our democracy will grow. Our democracy will grow out of its youthful exuberance, and maturity will bring along the realization, that freedom of speech comes with responsibility, and humility and reconciliation is no sign of weakness.
But while our democracy toddles along, partially blinded by the sweet innocence of youth, we cannot afford not to learn from the history and experiences of others. For, as Steven Turner, the English biographer and poet once said – “history keeps repeating itself. It has to. For, at the end of the day, no-one really listens.”
Papa Appiah
Lexeve1@yahoo.co.uk
Papaappiah.blogspot.com

ALL DIE BE DIE - Reinforcing the Cycle of Fear

2011-02-15T05:07:00.000-08:00

All Die Be Die –Reinforcing the Cycle of Fear
Nana Akuffo- Addo is not one for making “boom” speeches and neither should we expect him to be. The least Ghanaians should expect of a potential leader, in this new era, is a man who thinks carefully before speaking and who means every word he says. That is why we must take his “all die be die” comment rather seriously. We seem to be moving from an era of intimidating military threats at June 4th parades to a more sinister call to Ghanaians to be prepared to shed blood to make one man president, thus perpetually reinforcing the cycle of fear amongst Ghanaians. Ghana deserve better.
Nana Akuffo -Addo is determined to be president. It is his democratic right. In Arthur Kennedy’s much criticized book –Chasing the Elephant into the Bush – Lord Commey was said to have objected to being excluded from Field Operations in the NPP campaign “It is wrong to exclude the National Organiser from this and I want to put this on record” he is quoted to have said. Nana acknowledged Lord Commey’s comments “but since it is MY PRESIDENCY that is at stake”, he had responded “I am taking responsibility.” It is our hope, that one man’s personal and strong desire to be president does not cloud his judgement to the point of insinuating, however subtly, that others should be prepared to die for the course.
After all, what is there to die for? Let us, for the sake of argument, ignore every electoral malpractice and intimidation that occurred in the Ashanti Region in the 2008 elections and concentrate on what was purported to have happened in the Volta region and ask whether a single drop of Ghanaian blood is worth shedding for that. While strongly condemning any form of electoral malpractice and while advocating the institution of sensible measures to prevent the stuffing of electoral boxes and intimidation and sometimes violence to electorates, I wonder whether there are grounds for anyone to urge “an eye for an eye” policy and risk driving our country into the kind of electoral violence that has decimated other African countries.
What are a few “stuffed boxes” compared to the hundreds of years of systematic brutalizing and imprisonment of the black population in apartheid South Africa. Yet, Nelson Mandela did not suggest “all die be die.” He recommended a policy of reconciliation, of forgiveness and of an all-inclusive rainbow nation. “Forgiveness is a powerful weapon” he said “It liberates the soul and removes fear..... We have to be better than our enemy thinks we are. We have to surprise them with compassion, with restraint and with generosity. This is not time for petty revenge; this is the time to build our nation...”
And so where are the great leaders of our times when we need them in Ghana? Where is our Nelson Mandela? Where is our Aung San Suu Kyi, who continues to preach peaceful democratic change in Burma in the face of intense provocation and long imprisonment? Where is our Martin Luther King, who dared dream, in the face of gross injustice and oppression, and at a time when the life of the negro was “crippled with the manacles of segregation and discrimination”, that his four little children “would one day live in a nation where they would not be judged by the colour of their skin but by the content of their character,” while at the same time urging his people not to “seek to satisfy our thirst for freedom by drinking from the cup of bitterness and hatred”. All die be die? Indeed!
At the end of the day, all die no be die. Men die with honour for great courses like defending their land from invasion. So I doff my hat to the great Ashanti Warriors and King Cetshwayo and his Zulu warriors who fought and died against British aggression. I doff my hat to Sergeant Adjetey and his fellow ex-servicemen, shot and killed in cold blood for daring to peacefully demonstrate in their own land. But to die in a rather peaceful country like Ghana to make one man achieve his ambition of becoming president would be, dare I say, unpardonable.
Ghanaians can be accused of many a weakness. We may be too friendly, too hospitable and, maybe, a wee too laid-back for our own good. However, nobody, nobody can ever accuse our people of wearing the doomed cloak of stupidity. And that is why we remain a beacon of hope and inspiration to the rest of Africa.
Papa Appiah
Lexeve1@yahoo.co.uk
www.papaappiah.blogspot.com
www.facebook.com/papaappiah

A Drink For Komfo Anokye

2010-06-20T16:20:00.000-07:00

A Drink For Komfo Anokye

2010-06-20T16:18:00.000-07:00

A Drink For Komfo Anokye

2010-06-20T16:14:00.000-07:00

A Drink for Komfo Anokye
Things did not go as planned this weekend. I had anticipated an afternoon watching the Black Stars wallop a weakened Australian side and then proceed to the Imperial London Hotel in a celebratory mood for the grand dinner of former workers of the Komfo Anokye Teaching Hospital. As fate and Asamoah Gyan’s right foot would have it, my mood was not nearly as good as I had expected but that is an issue I intend to revisit later.
A group of dynamic and progressive nurses who had previously worked in the Komfo Anokye Teaching Hospital had gotten together to form an association to raise funds for the hospital. And they had done a good job, even adopting ward B3 for special attention. This dinner was a call to everybody who had been associated with the hospital in one way or the other to come and contribute to a good cause.
It was a well-organised function in the kind of slightly over-the-top manner that only nurses can manage. A contribution of 500 pounds per association member meant that they were all able to afford the same kente design for a special cloth for the occasion. A senior doctor had been sponsored to attend from Ghana and the attendance was nothing if not impressive. And the ladies looked beautiful, very beautiful indeed. Ghanaian music boomed a tad too loudly on the loudspeakers but all was set for a wonderful evening. The dinner started exactly at seven o’clock, and the reason was, that the hotel had been booked for a specific time and we were going to have to stop at exactly twelve midnight.
The MC was good. He related a good history of the special relationship between Komfo Anokye and King Osei Tutu. Komfo Anokye was actually an Akuapim and had only met and befriended Osei Tutu in Denkyira. He talked impressively about how Komfo Anokye planted the sword that has come to represent the soul of the Asantes and the way he commanded the golden stool from the sky into the lap of Osei Tutu. Finally, he mentioned how Komfo Anokye had left to look for a cure for death. After 3 days, he had returned to see the town in mourning, having presumed his death. Saddened by this, he had turned round, walked away and was never seen again. It reminded me of what Mark Twain had once said, “Never let the truth stand in the way of a good story..."
For a thirty pound ticket to attend a Ghanaian function, the last thing I was expecting was a couple of thin slices of lamb, two pieces of roast potato, some leaves and a dessert which happened to be just glorified “boflot”. But “who was I to say?” It was all for a good cause. As we toiled through this miserable concoction that the British adore, a middle aged woman with an air of authority made a grand entrance into the hall, attendants in tow, and walked majestically to the high table to be shown her seat. We were informed she was the Deputy High Commissioner of Ghana to the UK. She had been two hours late!! And she was a deputy. How late would the boss have been? I wondered.
We all stood up for the Ghana National Anthem. I have never heard the Ghana National Anthem sang with so much enthusiasm and passion. It was quite obvious that the wine was slowly achieving its noble aim of easing our natural inhibitions. The Deputy started to speak and gracefully apologized for coming late, but she had an excuse! She had been to so many Ghanaian functions where she had been early, only to find she was about the first to arrive. So on this occasion, she had decided to do some shopping first. Brilliant, Madam Deputy! Excellent excuse! Thanks for helping to propagate the zero-tolerance-to-African-punctuality policy of Uncle Atta.
Before the serious business of the day began, it was thought necessary to stimulate our senses with a horror film on the squalor and degradation evident on Ward B3 of the Komfo Anokye Teaching Hospital. There was one scene where faeces were seeping under a door that led into a mal-functioning toilet. When the lights came back on, there were tears on the faces of a couple of the ladies at my table. But what were the tears for? Do a few years in Europe make one so oblivious of the reality of life at home? Were they tears of guilt for having left when they could have helped? Or was it guilt for having contributed, in small and varied ways to the mess. The conversation began.
On my table, by sheer coincidence, were two doctors, four nurses, a laboratory technician and a revenue collector who had all previously worked in KATH. They talked animatedly, perhaps a trifle angrily, about how on earth conditions had been allowed to deteriorate that much. There was a mention of the Jubilee House and the presidential jet. There was a heated debate about the need to have celebrated Ghana at 50 at such expense for people to enrich themselves when conditions like these existed in one of the nation’s flagship hospitals. There was talk of corruption at high places and the recent news that some NDC functionaries had already built mansions in the short time they have been in power.
The conversation wandered off, to how much Government revenue was lost in the first place due to corruption in the hospitals. The revenue collector told us how they were able to pick out the illiterate patients and divide one ticket for two people so they could keep the money from the second patient in their own pockets. The laboratory technician told of how they took money directly from regular patients like diabetics so their tests could be done quickly. “Those who tried to be clever and insisted on getting their receipts” he said, “we put at the back of the queue and would probably not be attended to till evening.” The nurses told of how they kept their own intravenous fluids which they sold at exorbitant prices to needy patients rather than providing them with the government infusions. The doctors talked of all the illegal money they collected from patients.
One nurse told a story, confirmed by a doctor, of how the floor tiles in the D-Block which had been laid when the hospital was first built and which, except for the odd broken one in places looked very good, were all stripped off by a local contractor. New ones were laid, except that most of it came off in a few months and the floor looked much worse than it was before the renovation.
So who is to blame? It was obvious, that we are all, in our own small ways and by our actions and even inactions, responsible for the deterioration of the Komfo Anokye Hospital. In the end, the money to be collected at this function would only go in providing some bed sheets and for doing some painting to paper over the cracks. What Ward B3 needed was serious government funds to do major structural repairs which a few drinks in a London hotel and ten pounds into a bowl could not do. Perhaps, though, it was a start in helping to repair damage we had all helped to cause in the first place.

The Black Stars of Ghana - A Hidden Agenda

2010-06-16T16:50:00.000-07:00

The Black Stars of Ghana - A Hidden Agenda
In 1990, the Indomitable Lions of Cameroon, following an abrasive and skillful performance at the world cup, won the admiration and respect of Africa and the world at large. That was the year the attention of the world was drawn to the brilliance of players like Roger Milla, Omam Biyik and Emile Mbou-Mbou. The Lions had a team that could have won the world cup. In the end, however, a combination of inexperience and overconfidence saw them outwitted by a rather average English side. Whiles the Lions have struggled since then to make an impact on the world stage, they remain the most feared and respected team in Africa.
Yet, before Cameroon qualified for their first world cup in 1982, while their club sides like Union Douala had been doing well in CAF championships, the Lions were virtually unknown and the most popular team in Africa was the Black Stars of Ghana. Even today, the Black Stars remain the team most Africans hold in the deepest affection, and there is a reason for that.
Ghana was the first black African country to attain independence and when Kwame Nkrumah declared, that “Our independence is meaningless unless it is linked with the total liberation of the African continent”, it was a clarion call to the rest of Africa to rise up and fight for the right to self governance. This statement reverberated round Africa and Ghana indeed became a hub of nationalist activity. President Mugabe of Zimbabwe and Hastings Banda of Malawi were amongst the many that lived in Ghana en-route to subsequently leading their own countries to independence.
Nkrumah was a strong advocate of pan–africanism, a socio-political philosophy that among others, calls for a politically united Africa, having been inspired by the writings of black intellectuals like Marcus Garvey, W. E. B. Du Bois, and George Padmore. For Kwame Nkrumah, therefore, Ghana’s independence was only a first step towards attaining the ideals of pan-africanism. It was essential therefore, that as many countries in Africa as was possible, were helped to become independent. His tireless effort and influence helped fuel independence struggles across Africa and resulted eventually in the founding of The Organisation of African Unity.
When the Black Stars was formed, it constituted as much a political tool as a national football team. The Black Stars epitomised Nkrumah’s view of a new African personality and identity - An African ready to fight his own battle and in his words, to prove to the world, that the black man was fully capable of manning his own affairs. Nkrumah fully understood the importance of sports in winning friends and influencing people. The Black Stars thus became ambassadors of Ghana, spreading not only Nkrumah’s gospel of pan-africanism, but also hope and inspiration to the rest of Africa.
Progress of the Black Stars at the time also reflected Ghana’s economic and political dominance of the continent. In the early sixties therefore, a collection of ball jugglers, including Baba Yara, Edward Acquah, Ofei Dodoo, Osei Kofi, Wilberforce Mfum and Jones Attuquayefio, not only won the African Cup of nations twice, but also toured round Africa, charming people with Ghana’s brand of football and making friends. It was a successful public relation exercise and to this day, many Africans only remember the good old days of the Black Stars. In one of his interviews following the 1990 world cup, Roger Milla told a journalist who was surprised how far African football had come, to wait till he saw Ghana. Interestingly, this was at a time when Ghanaian football was at its lowest ebb.
A succession of coup d’états, political upheavals and economic instability, and perhaps a possible loss of aura meant that the Black Stars went on the decline in the late sixties and early seventies, till the African Cup of nations were held in Ghana in 1978. Then, players like Abdul Razak, Addae Kyenkyenhene and Adolf Armah led Ghana to victory over Uganda in the final in Accra. Four years later, in 1982, the team travelled to Libya and whisked the cup away from under the noses of the Libyans. A seventeen year old Abedi Pele was in a team that also included Opoku Nti, Kofi Badu, John Essien, Albert Asaase and George Alhassan, who, in both physic and goal-scoring ability, was a Didier Drogba of his time.
This was the last Black Stars team that relied entirely on home-based players, for a revolutionary wind was blowing in football across Africa. A good performance by Cameroon and Algeria in the 1982 word cup meant that, European teams, especially in France, had started showing interest in signing African players. Ghana, for one reason or the other, was late in attracting European interest. So in the 1984 African Cup of Nations for instance, while the eventual winners, Cameroon, boasted Europe-based professional players like Nkono (Espanyol), Milla (Bastia) Mbida (Bastia) and Toube (Mistrostwa), Ghana’s only professional was Abdul Razak who played for Arab Contractors of Egypt.
Cameroon continued to dominate African football in the eighties while Ghana actually failed to qualify for the African Cup of Nations till 1991, when a certain wily old German coach, Burkhard Ziese gathered Ghanaian Europe-based professionals from far and wide including Opoku Nti, Abedi Pele, Tony Yeboah, Tony Baffoe and Ali Ibrahim and combined them with crack local players like Emmanuel Armah, Frimpong Manso and Chairman Ampiah to form a new exciting Black Stars team that did not concede a single goal en-route to qualifying for the 1992 African Cup of Nations. Burkhard Ziese got the sack!
The year 1991 was a particularly exciting year in Ghana football. For, apart from the “rebirth” of the Black Stars under Ziese, it was in the same year that Ghana won the then Under-16 world cup for the first time, starting the era of wholesale transfer of our youth to Europe. Odartey Lamptey, Mohammed Gargo, Isaac Asare and Yaw Preko who had excelled in that competition were drafted into the senior team formed by Burkhard Ziese. The future looked bright for the Black Stars. We had an embarrassment of talent. Abedi Pele was at the time one of the best players in the world and Tony Yeboah was making headlines in Germany.
That we won nothing and did not qualify for the World Cup still baffles Ghanaians. The team was split along tribal lines that stemmed from a reckless decision of the authorities, after the exit of Burkhard, to strip Kwesi Appiah, an Asante and a proud captain of both Asante Kotoko and the Black Stars, of the captainship of the Black Stars and offer it to the then star of the team, Abedi Pele. Amazingly, one of the reasons given for the decision was the fact that Abedi spoke both English and French well. This one stupid decision was at the bottom of all the problems we subsequently encountered in the nineties and early part of this decade.
It was not until the middle of this decade when a new Black Stars, under the charismatic leadership of Stephen Appiah and with players like Michael Essien, Sulley Muntari and John Mensah who had all graduated from the junior national teams, that Ghana finally fulfilled its ambition of qualifying for the world cup. We did not set the competition alight as Roger Milla had predicted, but we were the only African side to get to the second round, beating the USA and the Czech Republic along the way, and then succumbing to a rampaging Brazilian side.
The year 2009, like 1991, is an important landmark in Ghana football. For the first time in Ghana, an under-17 side graduated to form a powerful under- 20 team following the inclusion of new players like Dede Ayew, the son of Abedi Pele, who became captain and led the team not only to the African championship but also to become the first African team to win the world under-20 championship. The youngsters who excelled in that tournament, including Inkoom, Adiyah, Ayew and Jonathan Mensah were drafted into the Black Stars team that had been the first African country to qualify for the 2010 South African World Cup. They brought along with them, a good helping of enthusiasm and a winning mentality.
So, as the 2010 World Cup kicks off amidst pomp and pageantry and the deafening sounds of the vuvuzela, this new Black Stars, a combination of exuberant youth and steady experience has come to offer the world, the same old charm, goodwill and warm friendship that their ancestors did so many years ago. Again, like their forebears, there is a hidden agenda. This time, however, it is not pan-africanism. It is to win the World Cup.

Papa Appiah
www.papaappiah.blogspot.com
E-mail - lexeve@live.com

Please Leave Milovan Rajevac Alone

2010-06-15T01:59:00.000-07:00

Last season, in a game between Manchester City and Arsenal in the Premiership, Adebayor, who had in the previous season been an Arsenal striker, scored for Manchester City against his former club. What happened after that has now become folklore and will be described in footballing circles for generations to come.
For, Adebayor, peeved by incessant attacks on his dedication and application by Arsenal fans prior to his departure from the club, run the whole length of the football pitch to kneel in front of the Arsenal fans to celebrate. A rout nearly broke out as the incensed Arsenal fans charged forward, baying for the blood of the footballer.
Football etiquette is dynamic, for players and managers develop certain mannerisms and behaviour every new day. There was a time when a striker scored a goal and just run off to celebrate wherever he chose. It seems these days that a goal-scorer has to acknowledge the person who gave him the pass in the first place, so they turn round and point towards the assistant in a show of appreciation. Goal scorers who forget to do this are now scorned upon. Nobody knows where this came from, but it seems fair and right and is thus encouraged.
Even more interesting is the refusal of footballers to celebrate when they have scored against a former club. Adebayor’s antics were extreme, but it would seem perfectly alright for a footballer to celebrate with the team that currently paid his wages. But then again, who can possibly blame a footballer for appreciating, that while they remain thoroughly professional and will strive hard to actually earn their living even if it means scoring against a club that was once good to him, it would be unwise, even foolish to exhibit any behaviour that might offend his previous employers. A wise man once told me, that when you walk out of a door, whatever the circumstances, make sure you do not bang the door, for the reality of life is such that, you may have to come walking through that same door again someday.
Footballers and football fans all around the world understand this, and so, how Ghanaians were expecting Milovan Rajevac, having just thrust a sword into the heart of his beloved nation in the course of his professional duty, to go hugging Ghanaians and running around the pitch in celebration, is beyond me.
Serbia is a newly independent country, having separated from the previous Serbia and Montenegro, which had also been part of the previous Yugoslavia. The country is ablaze with extreme nationalistic sentiments. This is their first world cup as an independent country and an opportunity to lift up their flag to the rest of the world. They qualified as winners of a group that included France and were looking forward to a good opening game. To have been licked by a well-drilled Ghanaian side, coached by a Serb, would have irked badly.
What Milo was not going to do was make matters worse by openly celebrating with Ghanaians. And indeed, would it have been hypocritical for him to have done so. For, let’s face it, if he had not been working for Ghana, he would have been holding aloft the Serbian flag, singing aloud the Serbian national anthem and urging them on to victory. Which Ghanaian ever put the love of their job above the love of their family? Why are we then expecting the coach to be different? What would happen to his family in Serbia if an impression was erroneously created of him being a traitor? Never underestimate what football can do to people. The assistant coach of the Black Stars should have understood the sensitivity of the situation and not gone making a fool of himself with his over-exuberant celebration.
After all, what are we celebrating? Winning one football match in the world cup? Did anybody see the Germans after their 4-0 victory over the Australians? There were no celebrations as such. Because the Germans, with all their experience in playing in and winning the world cup, understand, that this is just one victory in seven, if they intend to win the world cup. There will be time to celebrate later. At the moment, as far as the Germans are concerned, there is work to do. It shows how inexperienced Ghanaians are with the whole world cup experience when we go overboard with celebrations after winning just one match. What does it say of our mental state in relation to the world cup, compared to the Germans? The Germans truly believe they are going all the way, Ghanaians are thankful for one victory. That is the difference.
So, rather than having a go at a poor coach who stubbornly stuck to his professional ideals and helped Ghana win, we should be thankful to him. He put his job first, and that is more than can be said for most Ghanaians.

Papa Appiah
Papaappiah.blogspot.com
Lexeve@live.com

Vuvuzela at the Ghana-Latvia Game

2010-06-08T23:12:00.000-07:00

Ghana- Latvia - National Anthems

2010-06-08T23:09:00.000-07:00

They Came From Far and Wide

2010-06-08T23:07:00.000-07:00

There Is Hope - A Ghana vs Latvia Review

2010-06-06T01:39:00.000-07:00

There Is Hope – A Ghana vs. Latvia Review
One can only beat the opponent placed in front of one and the Black Stars did just that, beating Latvia by a goal to nil. And you should have been there; at the MK Dons Stadium in Milton Keynes in the UK. Ghanaians from all walks of life trouped to the stadium in their numbers and if Latvia had had half as many fans as the Ghanaians, we could easily have filled the stadium.
And the atmosphere was ecstatic – atenteben, congas, horns, brass band, beautiful Ghanaian women shaking their precious assets to samamo music – one could not have asked for a better outing. A few Ghanaians tried to make a quick buck by setting up tables to sell all kinds of Black Star paraphernalia, only to be led away by fussy security men claiming they had no Trading Standards permission to sell. One quietly wondered how much money these security men would have made if they were operating in Ghana. What a waste.
The music from the public address system built up to a crescendo as the two teams walked in. I had to prompt my two boys to stand up as the Ghana national anthem was played and I saw other people do the same to their kids. You can’t really blame these kids.
Coach Milovan Rajevac has had his fair share of criticism but I seemed to understand what he is up to when the game started. Basically, this coach intends to play a 4-2-3-1 system. He intends to employ two holding midfielders, one of whom, Anthony Annan will hardly go past the centre line. The other, a kind of replacement for Michael Essien will be a box-to-box midfielder. When we are under attack, he links up with Annan to form a solid barrier in front of the defence but in attack, this midfielder can join in and possibly deliver shots from the edge of the opponent’s box. This is a “Boateng” position. Kevin Prince or Derrick will occupy this position.
Kwadwo Asamoah will be in the centre of the attacking midfield trio. On either side of him will be Owusu Abayie on the right and Muntari or Ayew on the left. In attack, the two wing midfielders move up to join Asamoah Gyan to form a 4-3-3 system, but they drop into midfield when we loose the ball. This is a clever system that ensures that while the team defends together, attacking options are not compromised.
In the first half, Coach Milo employed Prince Tagoe on the right of the midfield trio in much the same way as Jose Mourinho used Eto’o on the right in Inter Milan’s champion league campaign. The advantage of this is, that while the striker goes back to help in midfield and defence, there is always the danger of him stealing quietly into the box to cause havoc, as Eto’o proved, especially in the game against Chelsea in Stamford Bridge. Prince did his best in this role, but I do not think he fits that well into the role and Quincy is the best man for the job. Prince's role may have to be coming in from the substitute’s bench to join Asamoah Gyan, especially if we are desperate for a goal in matches where we fall behind.
Some Ghanaians love to hate Dede Ayew but boy is he a player! This is the first time I have seen him play live and I will say, that Sulley Muntari will have to really up his game to stand any chance of shifting him. And he plays in such a whole –hearted manner that one can only admire. On one occasion in the match, he chased a ball that was going out for a Latvia throw-in and almost injured himself sliding on the concrete perimeter. I overheard somebody question why he was getting himself injured when this was just a friendly. But Dede knows no other way of playing. He gives a hundred percent or he does not play. At the end of the game, Ghanaians surrounded him in their numbers to show their appreciation.
Anthony Annan, in a translated Fante parlance, sticks to the ground like a stone. (Otei fom de beba). This smallish tiger put up a man-of-the-match performance that won him the admiration of all present. Like Dede, he was never afraid to put a foot in even at the risk of injuring himself before the world cup. He reminds one of good old Stanley Aboraah of Asante Kotoko and Black Stars fame. Best wishes to Stanley, wherever he may be.
Kwadwo Asamoah’s position is secured and Stephen Appiah may have to contend with cameo appearances late in games to use his experience against weary defences. Asamoah Gyan remains our best striker and there is no challenger for that role. I saw Dominic Adiyah for the first time today. He did his best to make an impact and showed lots of enthusiasm. He actually scored but was ruled out for off-side. Smallish he may be, but you do not necessarily have to be big to be a striker. The great Tostao was not big, Jermaine Defoe is not big, and Wayne Rooney is not big. One cannot help but think, however, that Adiyah needs to build a few muscles in the right places to enable him compete. I am not one of those who believe merely training with AC Milan is enough. I’d rather he was playing competitive matches regularly and scoring, even if it were in the third division. My personal opinion is that while Adiyah may be an asset in four years; this world cup may have come too soon for him.
Kevin Prince Boateng was obviously trying to avoid an injury prior to the world cup, and yet he managed to put up a decent performance. I have seen this guy perform several times in the premiership. He is a fighter and a winner and when the whistle goes in South Africa, he will be ready. Ghanaians should have no fear. Derrick Boateng also did very well in the second half. He has the physic and touch to be a big influence in midfield. I did not see him tackle, but again, who wants to get injured before the world cup. Good player.
Thank God Mensah went through the match without injury. He forms a solid rock with Vorsah. Paintsil and Inkoom will have to compete for the right full back and whiles Addy huffed and puffed in left back, he may find it difficult to completely displace Sarpei. The coach will have to work in these last few days on the quality of our crosses. Whiles our full backs overlap beautifully, the quality of crosses leaves much to be desired.
The quality of the opposition meant that Adjei was hardly ever tested. On the one occasion he was called on to deal with a cross, he fumbled badly. Yet, most times he looked confident and composed. He has built some muscles that make him look more matured. My personal opinion is that this guy should be maintained in the post for Ghana. We have a week to build him up physically and mentally. He is tall, young, intelligent and a quick learner. With the right support, he will deliver the goods. Richard Kingson has done his bit for Ghana but it is time to face reality and send him packing to the bench.
In the last ten minutes of the game, it was obvious, that the players, impressed by the kind of reception they had got were eager to reward us with a goal. They fought very hard and when it finally came, it was a delightful shot from Quincy that sent the stadium into ruptures. We all run unto the pitch to hug our heroes after the game and bid them farewell and Ghana should rest assured, that Ghanaians in the UK have not let them down. We went to the stadium in our numbers to wholeheartedly receive the boys. We built their spirits, motivated them, blessed them and sent them out to battle on behalf of our country. And from what I have seen, trust me when I say, they will not disappoint.
My starting line up;
========================Adjei======================================================
Paintsil ====== === Mensah=============Vorsah===============Sarpei=================
=================Annan======Prince Boateng=========================================
Quincy =================Kwadwo Asamoah===================Ayew======================
======================Asamoah Gyan=================================================
Papa Appiah
www.papaappiah.blogspot.com
Lexeve@live.com

No Apology, Mrs Duffy

2010-05-05T13:26:00.000-07:00

Bibiani is a little town in the western region of Ghana. Growing up in this town, I would often be woken up at dawn by the heavy boots of weary miners as they trod back and forth from the mines they worked at, digging gold for Mr Smith.
As a little boy, I would often stand and watch, away in the distance, the huge shameless monstrosity of an edifice that was the mine, belching endless volumes of smoke over the hills and into our bedrooms. The fumes hung in the air, lending a perpetual unpleasant smell to the environment. Many a man succumbed to horrible diseases, and tuberculosis was especially prevalent in the rather overcrowded ghettos that served as quarters for the miners.
When as kids we stood fascinated by the mauve-coloured soil in parts of the town, we had no inkling, that this was pollution at its worst and that our environment was being mercilessly degraded. We often enjoyed a game of football in the large stretch of land rendered grassless by the chemicals that flowed from the bottom of the mines nearby.
Poverty, rancour and disease reigned in this rather polluted environment, in the squalor of the ghettos. For, Bibiani, like all the other mining towns in Ghana, was one of the poorest towns one could ever see. The only half-decent buildings in the town were the bungalows over the hills, in the European quarters, where the Smiths lived. There was the European Club, complete with the best entertainment gadgets of the time, and the African Club, where once a week, we sat on bare concrete floors to watch a film of Mr Smith’s choice, often extolling the virtues of the empire and its rulers.
Every now and again, in Bibiani, heavily guarded vans would leave with their belly full of gold to be loaded unto trains bound for the port city of Takoradi, from where the gold would leave our shores aboard a British ship, never to return. And the few scattered railway tracks in Ghana were built by M r Smith, and interestingly, they all go through mining towns and end in the port of Takoradi. Thus were our natural resources so efficiently exhausted by Mr Smith. In fact, shortly after independence in 1957, the mines in Bibiani had to be shut down because there was so little gold left, that it was no longer considered economically worthwhile to mine. Poor miners were laid off and the town collapsed into a heap of depression and disease, from which it is still yet to fully recover. And the gold, my gold, would go over the seas to the ports of Liverpool, Bristol and Southampton to help build great institutions like the National Health Service and provide council houses to Britons at a pittance, while we remained in the squalor of our overcrowded, rat-infested, disease-filled ghettos in Bibiani. I owe you no apology Mrs Duffy.
Rochdale will have to go some to match up to the environment in Bibiani, despite the influx of “all those European immigrants” Mrs Duffy is worried about. Whiles Mrs Duffy’s concern was about Eastern Europeans, I believe, as Yasmin Alibbai- Brown wrote in her article in the Independence, that they were used symbolically for deeper indigenous worries. Being a black African, I take exception to her attack and believe my right to be in this country is being questioned. The Eastern Europeans are here by right, but we did not invite Mr Smith to Bibiani. Mr Smith did not have to face an immigration officer with a nasal twang telling him he was a liar, that he was not merely visiting, but actually intended to stay, change our culture and steal our gold. There was no Maasticht Treaty; there was no Australian-style point-based system to test whether Mr Smith belonged to tier 1 tier 2 or 3. There was no system to cap the number of Mr Smiths that entered Bibiani.
Mr Smith actually invaded our land, a gun hidden behind his back, a bible in his hand and whisky in his pocket. He came, violently abducting and selling the most productive people in my country into slavery. He came, and set up schools that forced students to wear blazzers in 32 degree Celsius heat and taught them the history of great English kings of yore, thus producing young men, confused as to who they really were and with little knowledge of their own rich heritage; of Komfo Anokye, Yaa Asantewaa and the great Asante Warriors. He came, and in the words of the Ghanaian poet, Kofi Awoonor, uprooted the tree that once stood and blossomed, and built in its place, a huge senseless cathedral of doom. I owe you no apology Mrs Duffy.
Mr Smith did not integrate in Bibiani. He stayed in his European quarters which were out of bounds to the likes of me. Neither did he offer libation to the seventy seven gods of Oguaa. He rained his culture and traditions unto us, to an extent, that while churches in England today are filled with octogenarians, the churches in Ghana overflow with young vibrant young people seeking solace in God for the myriad of problems they have to contend with.
I do not blame Mr Smith for all our problems. Ghana has been independent for over 50 years and a combination of poor management, corruption and military coups has partly left us in the predicament we are in. I am talking about the gold that was mined by Mr Smith for over a century in Bibiani. With that amount of gold, he could at least have left us with basic infrastructure to keep us going. So for instance, instead of scattering a few railway lines through mining towns to cart gold to the port, he should have provided a more extensive railway line with the convenience of the people at heart
And so, when poverty bites too hard and our weary bones can cope no more, we leave, for greener pastures in far away lands, in much the same way as Mr Smith descended on us. And where else to go, than to the land of the gentleman who patronized us and brutalized us in equal measure and who, only yesterday was digging gold from my backyard. Sure, he would understand.
So I owe Mrs Duffy no apologies. I walk down the corridors of the NHS with my head held high and look at its walls with pride, full in the knowledge, that Bibiani has played its part in establishing this august institution, and if indeed Mrs Duffy’s opinion is the feeling of the majority of the British populace, then I weep for Britain.
I came here for economic reasons. You have a problem with that? I am the little boy from Bibiani whose grandfathers died in the pits and suffered horrible diseases digging gold for Mr Smith. I have come to make my life better. And I intend to stay, my God will I stay, till I have had my full fair share of the honey that flows in the Social Security system in this country.

Author – Papa Appiah

Yes Sir Master - Worries of A Diasporan Brother

2010-01-02T02:46:00.000-08:00

It was Christmas day in 2008. I woke up to an eerie silence, only interrupted by the sizzling sound of the electric milk van that served fresh milk, to my neighbour. Through the window I could just about glimpse the flakes of snow, rendering a certain solemnity to the morning and capturing in my mind’s eye, images of reindeers and winter wonderland I had seen on Christmas cards. I turned round and looked at the beautiful woman who lay besides me, and yet to recover from the exertions of the night before, when we had been at a party organised by a friend of mine with a surplus to declare.

It had been as parties always are on this land. In Ghana, adult parties were for adults. You left the kids at home, in the care of Aunt Efua, Araba the maidservant or with the wife of Mr Alhassan next door and went out to have fun. In this country, you went with the kids, who would run up and down the stairs with other children, as you tried to engage in some adult conversation. Every now and again, one of them would barge in crying, having been hit by Mr Ampah’s son. A stifling sense of unease would hang in the air as you consoled your kid and tried to make excuses for the son-of-a-bitch who had hit him.

“Oh don’t worry Mr Ampah, you know how kids are” You would say.

When in actual fact, what you really wanted to say was something akin to;

“If you don’t talk to that stupid son of yours, I’m going to kick him in his little bum”

Then, just as you were silently gloating about how well-behaved your children were compared to Mr Ampah’s, you cringe as your son would come in, and right in front of everyone, pick fried fish from the tray with his left hand. It would then be Mr Ampah’s turn to do the patronizing, as you tried to scold your poor son:

“You know the culture in this country” he would attempt something that ridiculous “quite different from what we are used to”

“Bloody idiot” I would think. Outwardly, however, there would be a civilized general discussion about the difficulty in bringing up kids in a foreign land where concepts of discipline are different, and to what extent we should insist on imparting our own cultural values to our kids. So for instance, while I scold my son for using the left hand to pick food, they go to school and see everybody, including the teachers, sometimes picking with their left and wonder why dad makes such a fuss.

Inevitably, there would be a mention of how the Indian kids, even when born in this country, spoke their mother tongue and were well- steeped in their parents’ culture. Fair enough, but the Indians often live in their own close- knit communities with grandparents, aunties and friends. They have their own shops and often their own schools. What happens when the closest interaction between your kids and anyone else, apart from when they go to school, is with a Brazilian childminder? On and on we would go, and all because of my son’s troublesome left hand.

A Ghanaian party, as far as I am concerned, should be for Ghanaians. I do not mind the odd hungry Nigerian or Zimbabwean, or the foreign partner of a Ghanaian. But this is an opportunity for one to really relax amongst one’s own kin, discuss NPP and NDC, Hearts and Kotoko, insult or praise Rawlings and Kuffour, listen to successful, and often not so successful immigration stories, and exaggerate perceived racist attitudes towards us at work. You do not expect to spend the evening explaining the recipe for groundnut soup to two English blokes from work the host had invited. Good riddance when they soon made their excuses and left. They could not have been having much fun.

The food had not been bad at all. There had been an assorted array of the best of Ghanaian culinary skill on show. There was waakye and banku and jollof and ripe plantain and beans. My only disappointment was that there had been no mposuo (pepper soup). How can you not have mposuo, prepared with a good helping of slightly smelly pieces of goat intestine and skin, at a Christmas party? And I wondered whose clever idea it had been to bring some of those wrapped paper that English people tug on at Christmas parties, when a piece of paper with a joke would fall out, and is read to everybody? The obvious lack of spontaneity in this meaningless activity was as unghanaian as could be.

Soon, the dancing had begun. For that, one needed a louder volume of music. Anytime the volume was raised, however, our host would come in and turn it down. He soon explained that the neighbours were not very friendly, and he did not want anyone calling the police. We all understood, but it was very sad indeed. We danced to Amakye Dede, Daddy Lumba, Kojo Antwi and Ben Brako, sprinkled occasionally with Ofori Amponsah, Daasebre Dwamena and Samini. We forcefully resisted a young nurse who had recently returned from Ghana with some of those CDs by Aunty Atta or Sister Esi featuring ABC or QYZ. While we danced, the kids snored away in different corners within the house, exhausted from the vigorous activity, and oblivious of the music and merry-making.

“Merry Christmas, my dear”

The shuffling around the room had woken up my wife

“Merry Christmas” I said

I hugged my dear wife and promised, that by the same day next year, we would definitely have moved the building project back home forward beyond her wildest imagination. I promised to continue to love her with all my heart. I reassured her, that through all my shortcomings and apparent careless joviality, I really appreciated how lucky I was to have a woman, as beautiful and as sensible as she was. We exchanged gifts and then went to wake up the kids who tore down the stairs to open the parcels Santa had left under the Christmas tree. I think they got a playstation whatever, which they spent the rest of the day playing. My wife and I would watch them, eyes glued to a TV screen, and fingers pounding away at controls. We would then look in the windows and see all the snow and not a single soul in sight. We looked at all the food around that we literally had to beg the boys to eat.

How could we blame them for not being enthusiastic about the fried chicken? They had been eating chicken all year round. And what about the biscuits, and cakes, and chocolates? Big deal. Surprisingly, there was an overwhelming feeling of sympathy for them. Had they really ever experienced Christmas? That exhilarating feeling when Dad returned from work on the 24th with the chicken to be slaughtered. Often, this would be the first chicken we would be eating the whole year. Sometimes, these wise chickens, sensing imminent danger, would manage to escape, when we would all happily chase it round the neighbourhood and down the fields till the eventual triumphant capture. We would watch as Uncle Ebo stepped on the chicken’s legs and slashed its throat and join in as Mum poured boiling water unto it and plucked the feathers. Meanwhile, Araba would be roasting the groundnuts for the soup in a pan with a layer of hot sand at the bottom. If you were nice to her, you could get a few nuts as a gesture of goodwill in this festive season. It was all part of the joy of Christmas.

Displayed proudly in the sitting room, would be the box of Piccadilly biscuits Dad would have bought. We would go and stand by it, taking in its aroma and salivating at the prospect of the handful we would be getting the following day. Every now and again, we would steal into the bed room and quickly try on, yet again, the Christmas clothes that would have been bought for us. Outside, we would join all the kids in the neighbourhood in the moonlight, as we ran around with miniature fireworks. Away in the distance, the thumping drums of the Apostolic Church would reverberate in the warm night air, further fuelling the intense anticipation.

You were woken on Christmas morning by the smell of steaming chicken as the soup was prepared before we went to church - that unique smell of chicken, that for some reason, one can never obtain in Europe. It could merely have been the fact that we ate chicken so rarely, that it so powerfully aroused our olfactory senses. That smell of steaming chicken was as much a part of the Christmas experience as anything else.

When the big Christmas fufu came, we would eat quickly, wiping and licking all the traces of soup from our bowls. We would eat our portion of chicken but leave the bones for special treatment as we chatted with our friends later. We would dress in our Christmas clothes, complete with paper hats and spectacles, and join other kids to walk round, sending good tidings to friends and relatives in the neighbourhood.

The highlight of the day would be a visit to Nana Awotwe. Nana Kwamena Awotwe was a great grandfather of mine who had been to the war and subsequently managed a retail shop till he retired. They said Nana Awotwe was wicked. Every morning, he would make for himself a cup of Milo, add a freshly baked loaf of bread dripping with melting margarine, and go to sit on a balcony overlooking the family compound. What he would say is better told in Fante. Roughly translated;

“Rich men are enjoying, poor men are suffering

“Look at Kwesi Atta (a nephew of his), he has not been able to afford any food this morning”

As I grew up, I came to understand, that Kwamena Awotwe was actually a good man who could barely tolerate those of his relatives who wanted to depend on his retirement money.
On Christmas day, he would serve us each a bottle of Fanta and tell us again, the same old story he had told every Christmas as far back as I could remember;

“Truth is important” he would say, “I was the only man our white commander trusted in the war

“Work very hard, for hard work never killed anyone

“Remember, wherever you’ll be and whatever you may be doing,

“That YES SIR MASTER, never spoil work”

Good old Nana Awotwe. May his soul rest in perfect peace.

We looked again at our boys, as they sat alone in the corner, eyes glued to the TV, frantically punching away at their playstation controls. What a life!

Wishing you all a Merry Christmas

Papa Appiah

Lexeve@live.com

www.papaappiah.blogspot.com

Forced Joviality of the Guilty-A Journey to Cape Coast

2009-12-01T13:45:00.000-08:00

The Forced Joviality of the Guilty – a journey to Cape Coast

I had been late in getting a ticket at the Government Transport, and as most of the schools in Cape Coast were re-opening on the same day, tickets had been hard to come by. The next best thing, I thought, was to go on a big Neoplan bus. One hoped and prayed, if somebody had invested so much money in purchasing a bus, that they might have invested in getting a good driver. And hopefully, one who would not have taken a quarter bottle of akpeteshie just for the road.

I queued for a ticket at the Neoplan station and shifted uncomfortably from one leg to the other as people who had not joined the queue went by and got their tickets. I felt like protesting, but my multiple multi-coloured suit cases gave me away as a “bugger” and I didn’t want to be accused of being “too-known”.

“Cape Coast, Cape Coast, Cape Coast!!! Fanteland, odokono ke fish! This is your line!!!” Atta Kofi the bookman was at work.

“Oh jejemeje Atta!” the big lady in front of me, who actually smelt of fish, responded. “We are all human beings and yet you take bribes and let people go to get tickets while we remain in the queue”

Atta Kofi turned to the woman and my heart missed a beat.

“Oh ahoofe, my beauty queen, you look much “sweeter” when you smile. Cape Coast, Cape Coast!!”

Everybody laughed. It took much more to upset a bookman. Atta Kofi turned and momentarily caught my eyes. He looked down and saw my luggage and possibly dreamt of silver and gold.

“Officer, come with me, let me start packing your luggage. You’ll sit in front”

Not wanting to be used as a pawn in his verbal duel with the other passengers, I refused.

“No I’m alright, let me buy my ticket first” I said

He looked at me in the way that made me feel I was a fool to refuse a good offer.
“Some people be “too-known”!” he said “You be Tony Blair?” Everybody laughed. I got no sympathy. I was always going to get a “too-known” tag, whatever I did.

In the bus, I watched the utter confusion as passengers got on the bus only to remember they had not been to the toilet and had to get down. I had to endure the young lady on my left shouting instructions over my head to her relatives outside the bus. There were others munching ravenously at turkey tails and babies crying out in anger at the discomfort of the heat in the stationary bus. Occasionally, the bus would wriggle its waist in protest as the bookmen tried to force even more luggage down its belly.

Outside, within the parking area, pools of muddy water from the rain the previous night meant people had to lift their trousers in a Michael Jackson stance before moon walking over them. There were vendors and more vendors and yet more vendors.

“Ice water!”

“kosua nie!”

“ankaa wo ha!”

I noticed the writing on the various buses and remembered a song by Nana Ampadu I had heard on the radio which said, the writing on a vehicle depended on how new or old it was. I noticed how true that was. The new buses were often ambitiously named, “Road Master, For the Love of a Girl, I love my Car, Good Father and I shall return. The older coaches, however, had more humble inscriptions like Slow but Sure, Mind Your Own Business, We shall Overcome, the Lord is My Shepherd, I shall Never Want.

The cacophony of blaring car horns, shouting vendors, abusive alcohol- reeking bookmen and crying babies all underneath the hot Accra morning sun was as good a welcome as anyone could expect and I was having a good time. I was, till Atta Kofi came on the coach, a stern look on his face. All the previous joviality had drained off his face. He wriggled his finger around in a counting motion and then announced that this coach actually took seven people in a row rather than six, in spite of the fact that there were actually six seats in a row. There were mumblings and insults and curses and more insults but Atta Kofi was unmoved. The reshuffling meant that I was now sitting with one thigh on a seat, but with the other wedged uncomfortably in the gap between two seats.

Finally, the driver got unto the bus, shoved a few crumpled notes into Atta Kofi’s hands and then bowed his head in a solemn personal prayer for the “battle” ahead. The sound of the engine when it came was reassuring and then the coach bobbed and weaved its way through human and vehicular traffic to get out of the station and unto the road to Cape Coast. The little babies, thankful for the refreshing breeze, soon fell asleep

“Let us pray!”

This was a gentleman who had stood near the driver’s seat directing people to their seats and being overly nice to everybody.

“Let us pray and commit this journey to God. ….Lord we come against all principalities and powers in the name of Jesus!! We destroy any plans the devil may have hatched for this journey in the name of Jesus!! Guide us safely to our destination oh Lord and once we get there, help us so we will be successful in whatever our mission may be. Amen!

“Amen!!” we all responded in unison.

“I am sure some of you know me” there were a few bows of approval from some of the passengers. “I have been doing the rounds in this station for the past five years. I go and come because people can’t have enough of my medicine.

“I am in demand because there are several men who need my help. If there is anyone here who takes a woman to bed only to admire their beads, then he needs my help.” You could sense the man was warming up.

“In fact, if you are here today and you are the kind of man who takes a woman to bed only to discuss her O’level results, then you need my help. For, let’s face it, you are not the minister for education!

“If you are not careful, women get to know your secret and then they start to make fun of you - Mr Mensah, they would say, I will sleep in your bed tonight, Oh Mr Mensah, may I sit on your lap? Mr Mensah, till death do us part…”

The sale when it started was slow, people not wanting to be seen to be too keen to advertise their erectile dysfunction. Then a gentleman at the back shouted;

“Give me one for a friend of mine. He is really suffering”
There was laughter and with the ice broken, the men started buying more enthusiastically. I gave money to the young gentleman in front of me to buy one for me and then pretended to be asleep to avoid the accusing looks from the young lady sitting on my left.

The coach sped through Winneba, then Mankesim and then arrived at Nyamoransa where we were stopped at a police barrier. The driver angrily picked a few notes, crumpled them up into his left hand and then let his left arm dangle loosely on the side of the bus through the window. The policeman stole up the driver’s side and with military precision took the money from him. Normally, that would have been all the police checks done for the day, except that this time the policeman had counted the money and being dissatisfied with the amount, had come back to the driver before he could move.

“Driver, get down!! Get down immediately!

“Master, I beg, rain de fall but the ground dey hard. I beg next time” the driver begged

“I say get down immediately!” The policeman was determined.

The delay annoyed the passengers who started, almost in unison to abuse the policeman.

“Papa Police, let us go! We haven’t got the whole day”. One passenger said

“You have been collecting bribes the whole day. Sure you must have enough” another passenger said

I was expecting a reaction from the policeman but he just smiled “You go, I’ll get you next time!” he said, and then turning to the passengers with a twinkle in his eye, continued “Fante people. What are you in a hurry for? Are you not just going to eat kenkey and sleep?”

We soon arrived in Cape Coast and got down only to realize my luggage was already packed into a taxi and a young driver waited to take me to my destination. Before he moved, however, I asked how much he was going to charge. He mentioned a ridiculous amount so I asked to get down. Seeing I was determined, he gave me the right fare and set off.
“Is there some economic crisis in Europe?” He enquired jovially. And this was before the credit crunch.

“Why?” I asked

“Because these days “buggers” are too tight-fisted. Sometime ago they never haggled over fares but now they are worse than the locals.” He was funny but I tried hard not to laugh. First it had been Atta Kofi, then the policeman and then this driver. I was determined not to condone this forced joviality of the guilty.

Papa Appiah

Lexeve@live.com

Yeeye Aka Akwantuo Mu - Worries of a Diasporan Brother

2009-12-01T06:02:00.000-08:00

Yeeye Aka Akwantuo Mu – Worries of a Diasporan Brother

My wife was cutting my hair the other day. Yeah my wife cuts my hair. You have a problem with that? I mean, what is the point in going to sit for precious hours at one of the two Caribbean barber shops in Leicester on a Saturday, just to have a haircut? And, let’s face it, they don’t come cheap either. It used to be eight solid pounds every two weeks for me and five pounds each for my two boys. So my wife bought a kind of barber’s machine and started experimenting with my kids. I watched from afar with interest, and as soon as the pot holes had begun reducing considerably on my boys’ heads, I playfully offered myself for more advanced experiments, and there has been no turning back.
.
So, as I was saying before you ever so rudely interrupted, she was cutting my hair the other day, and she called out to me;

“Asuo!” she said

“Yee!” I said

“You are loosing all the hair on the top of your head”

“Ok” I said, not in the least interested. I’m loosing my hair and so what? People are loosing their heads, never mind their hair, in this damn stressful country we have opted to live in.
She paused momentarily and then continued;

“So what’s happening to the building project at home?”

“Ahaaaaaa!” Now I understood.

You see, my wife is an Asante and I am a Fante. So, dare I say, our priorities are slightly different. On Saturday mornings when we are both at home, she will often sit quietly and watch me as I enthusiastically toast my bread, preferring it a bit more brown and crispy, add a slice of cheese and then a blueberry muffin with a cup of Twinning’s Classic English Breakfast Traditional Tasting Tea. She would shake her head sadly and say:

“Wo, w’aka akwantuo mu!”

When I had had enough of her nagging, I would often break into song, my favourite being one by Shane McGowan of the Pogues:

Last night as I slept
I dreamt I met with Bohan
I shook him by the hand as we passed the break of day
I questioned him on his views
On the crux of life’s philosophies
He had but these few, and simple words to say
He said
I am going, I am going
Any which way the wind might be blowing
I am going, I am going
Where streams of whisky are flowing

In other words;

“Osofo gye w’ahom. Daa yenom!”

Have a nice weekend my fellow Ghanaians.

Papa Appiah

Please visit http://www.papaappiah.blogspot.com/ and leave a comment if you can

The Bishop's Candlesticks

2009-11-28T17:08:00.000-08:00

The Bishop’s Candlesticks

Author’s Note – Though similar events happened in the St Augustine’s College, the story and characters in this book are all a product of the author’s imagination. Any offence is deeply regretted

The historical town of Cape Coast, founded by the Portuguese in the 15th century was the capital of Ghana before it was moved to Accra in 1877. The Cape Coast castle, a huge edifice of doom that sits with a royal elegance along the beech was where most slaves were held before their journey on the Middle Passage. Across the road from the castle was the Anglican Church. The road meandered between these two structures and dipped round mud huts inhabited by fishermen and dirt-littered beaches to the Victoria Park, complete with its bust of the famous queen. Along the beeches, the fishermen often sat smoking, mending their nets and singing the praises of the ninety-nine gods of Cape Coast. The odd fisherman you saw approaching rather surreptitiously from the seaside had probably visited the natural water closet, for in many places, the beeches were sadly, nothing more than glorified toilets.

From the Victoria Park, the road led to the yellow Town Hall, a miniature version of similar administrative centres in the United Kingdom. From here the road crawled over the Fosu Lagoon, home of the god of similar name. Fishermen walked through this lagoon, trailed by baskets attached to their waist and holding nets which they hurled every now and again into the water to harvest the popular tilapia which, when matched with etsew, was a delicacy in Cape Coast . The road then sat quite frighteningly by the sea, separated from it by a narrow strip of sand with tall coconut trees till it reached the St Augustine’s College.

Established by Irish catholic missionaries in 1930, it is but one of the several top secondary schools for which Cape Coast is famous. This all boy institution excelled in many things but had strong competition from bitter rivals and equally good schools like Mfantsipim and Adisadel College. And the girls, Holy Child School and Wesley Girls were not bad either. Because the St Augustine’s College and the Holy Child School were both catholic institutions, there seemed to be an unwritten agreement of friendship between them and indeed, the two schools co-operated in most things. A similar relationship existed between the two Methodist schools, Mfantsipim and Wesley Girls and so on. Every St. Augustine’s boy harboured a secret desire to have a girlfriend in Holy Child and vice versa.

Every Saturday, Augusco boys would troop in their numbers to Holy Child, all impeccably groomed. It did not matter if the shirt you wore or the nicely polished shoe was borrowed, you just had to be seen in Holy Child every now and again. Visit your sister; visit your aunt, your cousin or your niece. It did not matter. A visit was a visit, and you had to be seen. They would go, and when they had run out of things to say, would relate events in Augusco over the past week – who had stolen what and who had been suspended. Everything that happened in Augusco was news in Holy Child. However, surprisingly very little news ever travelled beyond the walls of Holy Child. The girls basically kept quiet and turned the boys into laughing stock.

There was the occasional scandal generated from childish trivia and testosterone-fuelled stupidity. Five students from Augusco had decided one night to go to Holy Child and teach some girls a lesson. One of them had jilted his girlfriend and to get her own back, the girl had written to his friends to say he suffered from premature ejaculation. The boys had crawled up through the forest around the hilly Holy Child at around 8 pm when the girls had been at prep. They had stolen quietly into the girls’ dormitory, lay on their beds and taken photos of themselves. They had then picked up souvenirs of panties and braziers and then, disguised in balaclavas, had headed for the classroom of the former girlfriend where they had forced the frightened screaming girls to stand on their tables and hold their ears. The nun on duty had heard the screams and run over but she had been overcome and forced to join the girls. After gesturing and posturing for a few minutes, they had bolted with their souvenirs. The girls had not been fooled. The authorities in Augusco had been alerted, an urgent roll call had been held and the five boys had gone back to school to find teachers waiting by their beds. Even long after they had been dismissed, they would sneak in every now and again to wild cheers and applause from admiring students. Thus were heroic status attained in Augusco in those days.

On your normal day, however, the relationship between the two schools was cordial and the Bishop’s Candlesticks, the school band of St Augustine’s, would often perform in Holy Child. This was an event everybody looked forward to. As the old St Augustine’s School bus bearing the famous musicians and their instruments laboured up the steep hills of Holy Child, leaving in its trail a thick fog of pungent smoke, the girls would run amidst wild feverish screams to meet them.

Ebo B!! B!! Ebo Ebo B!! Ebo B!!

This was Ebo Bentil’s day. The girls loved the shy, quietly spoken, tall handsome lead singer of the Candlesticks.

Ebo B!! B!!

The screams would continue as lesser men alighted and began unloading musical instruments.

Ebo B!! B!!

As the school prefect of Holy Child and a few senior girls would converge near the bus.

Ebo B!! B!!

As the great man would finally get down from the bus amidst deafening cheers, a broad but uneasy smile on his face, henchmen in tow. You had to be within the Ebo B circle of friends. I f you were a girl, you had to know somebody, who knew somebody who knew Ebo Bentil. He was monarch of all he surveyed.

Before the show began, the boys would go through the tiresome ritual of tuning their instruments. It would begin with the keyboards man playing one key after the other while the guitarist; neck craned and with a face contorted as if in pain would tune his guitar, stopping occasionally to gesture frantically to the over-enthusiastic drummer to quieten down. Sometimes the impatient girls would burst into song

“All we are saying don’t waste our time!”

To the melody of the John Lennon classic, Give Peace a Chance, to which the Augusco boys in the audience would respond;

Oooooooooh Saaaaas!!!!!!

Whatever that meant! But it was all good-natured fun, inspired by the intense anticipation, with no harm intended.
Finally, silence!
The drummer would roll, and the keyboards man would begin the melody to the Bob Marley hit,

One love, one heart,
Let’s get together now
Feel alright

And finally the great man would appear, and you would not hear a single line he sang. Sometimes, while he sang, screaming girls would lurch unto the stage, kiss him and slip passport pictures into his pocket with their names at the back. Back in school, Ebo Bentil would sit down with his friends and amidst jokes and laughter would go through the passport pictures and decide who Ebo should pursue. The rest would then be generously passed on to friends, henchmen and everyone else.

Look out for subsequent serialization of Papa Appiah’s forthcoming novel, The Bishop’s Candlesticks, in your popular Ghanaweb

Papa Appiah

Let's Go For It Boys! Ghana To Win World Cup

2009-11-27T01:30:00.000-08:00

In the history of mankind, great deeds have often been achieved when least expected. The ability of the human spirit to transcend expectation and soar over the horizons cannot be underestimated. And so as our dear Black Stars start to prepare for the world cup, Ghanaians call on them to remember, that nothing is impossible, if only we believe.
They have a responsibility. A responsibility to help sever the psychological shackles of colonialism, which has so often, impaired our development as a nation and as a people. The very warped mentality that others are simply better than us and we have no prayer competing.

Let others underestimate us at their own peril. We are a proud nation and a royal people. We are the sons of Yaa Asantewaa, inspired by the indomitable spirit of Shaka the Zulu. We shall attack when the enemy least expects and return in glory, marching to the sounds of atenteben, and hoisted aloft the shoulders of our proud people. This is Ghana we are talking about –the Ghana of Osagyefo Dr Kwame Nkrumah and all our great leaders long gone, the Ghana of CK Gyamfi, Addo Odamtey, Osei Kofi, Robert Mensah. and Baba Yara.

We are four times winners of the African Cup of Nations, two times winners of the FIFA under 17 world cup, the first African winner of the FIFA under 20 world cup and bronze medallist at the Olympic games. We are one senior world cup win away from having a better footballing pedigree than England, Spain, Portugal, Holland, France and many of the so called advanced countries with all the resources at their disposal. Let’s go for it boys!

Let’s go for it, for we have come together this far. We have reached the cross roads and there is no turning back. Hand in hand, we shall traverse the storms as we head towards the light at the end of the tunnel. Throughout history, underdogs have triumphed in adversity. In 1974, Mohammed Ali, faced with the unenviable task, at the tail end of his career, of dethroning the young, strong and apparently invincible George Foreman had to summon his most inner spirit and reserves of strength and determination for the battle.

Preparing for the fight was no child’s play. In his own words, he rustled with the alligator and tussled with the whale. He handcuffed lightening and threw thunder in jail. He murdered a rock and injured a stone. He hospitalized a brick and made medicine sick. That is Ali for you, but the message was clear, he left nothing to chance. And the result was a famous victory in the Rumble in the Jungle that shocked the world.

Milo, my dear Milo. Which idiot said you can’t stand up to Fabio Capello? Who said the only brilliant coaches in the world are the famous ones we know of? Talent and skill are important but a modicum of luck and being at the right place at the right time also helps. Even the great Alex Ferguson came within a hair’s breath of being sacked from Manchester United in 1990, after a string of poor results. But for a goal scored by Mark Robins in a 1-0 FA Cup third round win against Nottingham Forest in Jan 1990, many believe that Ferguson would have lost his job as United manager. Ferguson survived, of course, and went on to build a dynasty at Old Trafford that has lasted over twenty years.

Brian Clough was a virtually unknown coach who took Derby County from the bottom of the then English second division to become champions in the first division and subsequent semi finalists in the European cup. He was later to lead a small provincial English club, Nottingham Forest, against all the odds, to back- to- back European Cup championship triumphs. When asked who he thought the best English coach was, he admitted that he was not sure, but felt he was in the top one. Such was the confidence of the man.

So Milo, this is your opportunity to shine to the world, and when the time comes, twenty million Ghanaians will be with you in spirit as you stand on the touchline, looking into the eyes of Fabio Capello. Have no fear. Be brave; be strong, for God is on our side. We are a blessed nation.

And we are not going to get a better chance, for many years, to triumph. This is a world cup being played on African soil, where the ghosts of all our brave forebears murdered by the wicked invaders, will rise to fight for us. We can count on the support of our brothers, and as the Satellites showed in Egypt, home support can take us a long way.

Let’s go for it boys because man for man, you are among the best in the world. Michael Essien, you are one of the best midfielders in the world. Even the great Steven Gerrard vaporizes into thin air at the very sight of you. You are a leader on the pitch. You have to lead off the pitch as well. Stephen Appiah, Ghanaians fasted and prayed and God has rewarded your humility at the right time. When you regain full match fitness, there is no midfielder in the world that can stand up to you. Sulley, Insha Allah, the best left foot in the business. The three of you form an impregnable midfield barrier that can hold its own against any team. The youngsters like Annan and Asamoah are there to give a hand when your weary legs give way. Who said we have no depth.

Amoah, you are an intelligent striker and a very respectful guy off the pith. On the pitch, however, you have to roar like a lion and tear into the Robert Carlos of this world. You can apologize after the match. Gyan, this is your time to shine and prove Ghanaians wrong. You are doing it in the French league and are going to do it for your nation. Paintsil, Addo, the Rock, Jonathan Mensah, Adiyah, the Ayew brothers, Laryea Kingston, Dramani, your nation summons you to duty.

Together, we shall defend the red, gold green and the black star. We shall rustle with the alligator and tussle with the whale, handcuff lightening and throw thunder in jail, and in the end, against all the odds, we shall bring the world cup home, one warm July night, in 2010.
God bless our homeland Ghana.

Papa Appiah

Lexeve@live.com

Ghana Cannot Win World Cup

2009-11-27T01:24:00.000-08:00

The United West African Team

Kingston (Gha)

John Paintsil(Gha) Kolo Toure(Cote) Mensah(Gha) Taiwo(Nig)

Eboue(Cote) Yahya Toure(Cote) Essien(Gha) Muntari (Gha)

Drogba(Cote) Adebayor (Togo)

The above is a world cup winning team. Apart from the quality of players on display, just consider for a moment what our bench would be like – Alexandre Song, Joseph Yobo, Obi Mikel, Obafemi Martins, Mathew Amoah, Diarra, Kanoute and Solomon Kalou. No individual African country can, at the moment win the world cup. It is just not going to happen and Ghanaians who have already started dreaming about winning the world cup should stop before they get a heart attack. I mean well, actually.
We just do not have the depth! May God forbid that Michael Essien and John Mensah should get injured? Who would be replacing them? No country won the world cup merely relying on its first eleven.

Our players, very much aware of the situation, have started displaying the kind of indiscipline and complacency that comes with knowing that they are virtually irreplaceable. Just look at the situation in England-Michael Owen, Peter Crouch, Jermaine Defoe, Darren Bent, Agbonlahor, Carlton Cole, Wayne Rooney and Emile Heskey- all strikers who would easily grace our team, are fighting hard, not to necessarily play in the world cup, but for the chance to just be on the plane to South Africa. Competition for places is fierce and the players would never adopt the kind of attitude our players are showing. And definitely not with Fabio Capello in charge. Angola may not have been important, but how many matches do we have between now and the African Cup? Each game is an opportunity for the coach to try new strategy and promote team bonding. Our players could easily have found excuses for not going, but going awol, well that is a different matter. It sends all the wrong messages to the rest of the team, who now eagerly await the outcome.

And we need to build our local league. The fact of the matter is that every Ghanaian playing regularly in the Serie A or in the premiership would automatically be in our team whereas Marchello Lippi in Italy has about 300 Italians to choose from in Serie A. Our top Europe-based players; and I use the word “top” advisedly, very much aware that even in the European league we have world class players like Messi, Drogba, Gerrard, Torres, Essien etc and decent competent professionals like Paintsil; are Essien, Mensah, Paintsil, Muntari, Asamoah, Appiah, Amoah, Gyan and Addo. How do we expect to get a strong competitive team if we have ten players whose places are assured because there is virtually no one else? We should be able to build our local league to the point where playing in Europe does not guarantee a place in the national team and we can easily get ten equally good local players to compete with their foreign-based counterparts.

And who said that is easy. It is not! But we must start attempting the difficult things. The promise by the current government to ensure there is a modern stadium in each regional capital is a good start. We should encourage youth development, and I mean youth and not smallish married men, not only in the national teams but at club level. If these youngsters develop properly and still want to play in Europe, then at least we will, like Brazil have over 100 top Europe-based players to choose from rather than 10. And the competition would be such that the standard at home would still be high. Much as I know that good players do not necessarily make a good team, we do need good players to form a very good team.

We need our youth supporting our local teams. I have mentioned this elsewhere to a mixed response. The fact of the matter is, when we were kids, we all watched Tony Yeboah on TV on Saturdays playing for Eintract Frankfurt. We wished him well and wanted his team to win because of him. But we did not all become “strong”Eintract Frankfurt “fans”. We supported Dwarfs, Hearts and Kotoko. My concern is the current trend in Ghana for youngsters to be “fans” of big foreign teams, to the extent that it has become almost unacceptable to wear a Kotoko shirt on KNUST campus. Ghanaians in the Diaspora should not take exception to this because I know that football fans in a foreign land would necessarily adopt teams wherever they are to enhance their enjoyment of football, especially when it is almost impossible to watch our league matches outside. However, if the current trend amongst youngsters in Ghana continues, who will be supporting our teams in the future? Rather, if we should become a middle income country, thanks maybe to Jubilee fields; the Liverpools and ManUs will be going to establish shops in Ghana, to exploit us even further.

And what quality of coaches do we have? At the national level, we have to contend with second rate European coaches. The Fabio Capellos, Arsene Wengers and Alex Fergusons are where they are for a reason. They have done it year after year at the highest level of football. You cannot ask any more than that. Milovan Rajevac? Where did he come from? Would he be considered on the short-list for England, Italy, Holland or Brazil? Why is he good enough for Ghana? Is it because we cannot attract or even afford the best? If that is the case, then why do we suddenly believe we can go and beat the very best? The coach might do well because he has a few reasonably good players but we are taking a risk that none of the top teams in the world would take. How will he do if he has to pit his wits against Fabio Capello? We just do not know.

We need to establish a West African College of Coaching or something of the sort who will offer a prestigious coaching badge that only the best coaches in Africa could attain. People who have played football at the highest international level and who pass requisite entry examinations could be fast-tracked into the programme. This college would also hold mandatory refresher courses for its members to renew their license. If this was done, we would begin to produce local coaches confident enough to hold their own against the very best in the world. It would be a start and definitely better than having to always rely on Europeans with doubtful credentials.

But if we are looking for instant results, then we have no choice but to fast forward Africa’s dream of unification with a United West African Team in 2014. Tell me we cannot win the world cup with the team above.

Papa Appiah

Lexeve@live.com

Stealing in the Name of the Lord - Ghanaian Gospel Music

2009-11-27T01:21:00.000-08:00

“If only you were to me like a brother
Who was nursed at my mother’s breast,
Then if I found you outside
I would kiss you and no one would mind…”

These are not the lyrics of a “wiase ndwom.” These are words from the Song of Songs in the bible. And there are more. For whoever wrote Solomon’s Song of Songs appreciated the beauty of poetry and understood that poetry nourished the human soul. Song of Songs enriches the bible and its story of love adds to the politics, murder, miracles, adultery, magic and wars that grace the good book. For the bible is after all, a human story, with all the attendant strengths and weaknesses.
In times gone by, Ghanaian musicians, the poets that they were, sang about life as they experienced daily. So when Egya Koo Nimo remembered the experience of failing examinations in Europe, he wrote “Adesua ye ya.” When Kaakeku wrote “Driver nyi na meware no” where he claimed even a driver who was out of work could earn money as a bookman and this job security made them ideal husbands, Kwabena Onyina responded with “Ye no Waawa ma Yenkodo” where he extolled the virtues of farmers.
Every now and again when the “spirit” descended on them, Ghanaian musicians would sing in praise of their maker and his bountiful gifts to mankind. So for example, Bob Pinodo’s most popular song is “Eye me se, Mento Ndwom Nnyi Awuradze Aye”, though he was not usually a gospel singer. Every now and again, CK Mann, Nana Ampadu and Pat Thomas would depart from their usual styles and sing gospels. When you bought their albums, you were exposed to a variety of emotions that made the listening experience richer. Gospel music belonged to everyone. Nobody criticised them for singing gospel, for sinful as we all were, we understood, that they had as much right as anyone else to praise their maker and I am sure angels rejoiced in heaven whenever the musical platform was used to honour His name, irrespective of who the singer was.
My earliest recollection of gospel music as we have now was when Prof Kofi Abraham released great songs like Enkaa Akyi, Fa Wadesoa, Okwan Bi and Di kan Ma Mendi Wakyi in the seventies. His pioneering role inspired other gospel singers like Yaw Sarpong, Asiedu Teku and many others. Even then, gospel remained a minority genre. Then the great mushrooming of Evangelical Churches began as every bible school student got a vision that God wanted them to establish their own church. Ghanaians left the traditional churches in droves to attend these new churches that had a style in message and in worship that appealed to the youth.
Suddenly, it was not enough to have been baptised into churches that had been in existence for hundreds of years. For salvation, one ought to have made that crucial step towards a pastor to receive “the baptism of the holy spirit.” Suddenly, you were either with us and going to heaven or with them and going to hell. Suddenly, you were either one of us and listened to gospel or one of them and listened to “wiase ndwom” Sales in gospel music blossomed and a multi-million cedi industry was born.
The young reverends, bishops and evangelists, once they could as much as whistle a tune, joined the industry. Their titles lent some credibility to their records. Listening to their records became a religious experience and the financial rewards were enormous. So if the pastor could not sing, then maybe his wife, who would also often carry the title of Reverend, might be able to get an album out. Few missed this opportunity to make hay while the sun shone. Any churchgoer who could sing a bit and was able to save some money also made a gospel album. It did not matter whether they started going to church last week.
With a churchgoing community ever ready to fork out to assist Brother John or Sister Mary, a profit was almost always assured. Not having to face the harsh unpredictable reality of the music market however meant that often times quality was compromised. In fact gospel songs are the best-selling and yet the worse produced music one could hear on our airwaves. Not only that, whiles our hi-life and hip life artists invest large sums of money to make good videos, our gospel artist hardly see the need to do that and their typical video consists of the singer waving a white handkerchief by a fountain while Brother Kwesi and Sister Jennifer dance stiffly behind. Lack of competition breeds over-confidence and the Ghanaian music lover is the one who suffers.
I dare anyone listen to Prof Kofi Abraham’s albums in the seventies and compare with recent releases to see whether thirty years on, the quality has changed. In fact, the quality and musicianship on Prof Abraham’s records is much higher despite the vast improvement in studio facilities recently. Ghanaians are being taken for granted. People invest as little as possible in gospel and rely on the loyalty and sympathy of churchgoers to sell their records and make millions in profit.
Listen to Ghana Beats on a Sunday and try momentarily ignoring your Christian inclinations and the sympathies thereof and you would be surprised how bad the music is. Most of the songs sound the same and it soon becomes obvious that in most cases, these are people out to make a quick buck. Gospel lovers have no alternative but to put up with this. We have been indoctrinated to believe, that Ben Brako’s well-produced Baya album for instance is “wiase ndwom” even though the bible allows for expression of diverse emotions and the album actually addresses pertinent social issues.
Our experienced, talented and successful artists are no longer coming out with the occasional good gospel piece for fear of being ridiculed and accused of doing it “just for the money” Daddy Lumba’s “Mesom Jesus” – a brilliant song on all accounts was ridiculed. People could not reconcile the Lumba of “Obi ato me so boo” and the Lumba of “Mesom Jesus”. The churches have thus high jacked gospel music for good.
There is absolutely nothing wrong with people making a good living from ministering to their countrymen through song and I am sure every lyric is heartfelt and the personal lives of the singers are an example to us all. However, if people are going to be discouraged from listening to good conventional Ghanaian music such as is produced by Kojo Antwi, Ofori Amponsah, Dr Paa Bobo and Samini then the least that we’d expect is gospel music of similar quality. Unfortunately, at the moment, this is not forthcoming.

Papa Appiah

Lexeve@live.com

Real Madrid Fan? Don't Make Me Laugh (2)

2009-11-27T01:14:00.000-08:00

My friend visited me from Ghana, a young graduate of the UST, the future of our country. One day, he proudly wore an Asante Kotoko shirt around the house. I couldn’t help but exude some pride as well. So I shouted across to him

“Fabulous!!!”

He smiled back shyly and said, that he could hardly wear this shirt in the UST these days

“Why?” I asked

“Because you would be jeered at”

“Jeered at?” I asked.

“Yes, because most people these days are either Lipul (Liverpool for you) or Man U. You would be looked down upon.

Where? I thought. UST? My UST? The same UST of Aboagyewa and Katanga? The same UST where Asante Kotoko and Hearts of Oak fans used to stay up all night singing ahead of big matches?
So where has it gone wrong? I am not naïve. I understand that we live in a global village. Live European football is now more available than we could ever have dreamt of in our day. And yet it seems bizarre, that Ghanaian youth somehow seem to think, that identifying with a foreign club is some status symbol that places one ahead of ones peers.
Real Madrid fan? Don’t make me laugh! For I insist, that true fans of any club come from the same city or belong to a generation of fans of the club. So indeed, Newcastle fans are invariably Geordies and Liverpool fans Scousers. These are people whose families have probably been fans for generations and who would often have been taken to the stadium for the first time by their grandfather or great grandfather. These are people who eat, drink and breathe their clubs. For them, supporting the club is a way of life rather than merely a hobby. Indeed, most of them would be happy to sell their last piece of jewellery, just to purchase a season’s ticket.
And it is no different in Ghana. Asantes support Asante Kotoko, Ga folk support Hearts of Oak and Fantes support Ebusua Dwarfs. Any Asante who supports Hearts may have been born and bred in Accra. Our Northern brothers often support Kotoko only because in the early days, there were no teams in the north and Kotoko was the nearest team for them. Thus do we have generations of Northern Kotoko supporters.
If you are a Ghanaian who has watched “Lipul” a few times on TV and enjoyed their style of play, then it is only proper that your enthusiasm is tinged with some modicum of modesty. You can NEVER be a Lipul fan. You are an admirer at best. Even Hicks and Gillet who have staked their reputations and finances on the club are derided by the fans as outsiders. That should give you a fair idea of where you rank in the scheme of things.
And why should it be anything else? Ghana is a proud country with over a 100 year history in Association football, since Excelsior was formed in Cape Coast in 1903. We are the country of Baba Yara, Osei Kofi, CK Gyamfi, Sir Cecil Jones Attuquayefio, Abdul Razak, Abedi Pele and Tony Yeboah. We are the four times winner of the African Cup of Nations, two times winner of the FIFA under 17 cup, bronze medallist in the Olympics and recently World Champions in the under 20 world cup, thrashing England and Brazil along the way. In fact, we are one senior world cup win away from having a better football pedigree than England and already, I hear whispers of the possibility of that happening in South Africa.
And so we continue to dream. of a warm July evening in 2010 when amidst firework, Skipper Stephen Appiah would lift aloft the world cup while the red, gold and green and the black star danced excitedly in the southern winds. But how realistic is that? Marcello Lippi and Fabio Capello have each got about 300 top flight football players to select from. If we are to be honest, Ghana has only 10 or so players playing in top teams. Where is the depth? What will be the quality of our bench?
We need to build our local league. We need to build infrastructure at the grassroots. We need to develop our league to the extent where good players are happy to stay and play, as happens in Egypt. Then players like Stephen Appiah would not mind playing in our league in much the same way as Ronaldo is now playing in Brazil. And we cannot achieve that when our youth become second rate supporters of some foreign clubs, rather than fans of Bofoakwa Tano.
Brazilians admire English football, but they love their Flamingos and Botafogos more. Their youth are not parading false allegiance to some foreign power, in what after all, is an extension of the brainwashed mentality of old, where everything foreign is superior.

PAPA APPIAH

Real Madrid Fan? Don't Make Me Laugh

2009-11-27T01:09:00.000-08:00

When I first came to the UK, I felt the need to attempt to integrate and I would visit a pub every now and again to have a beer. Often, there would be a premier league football match on a big screen. Sitting in the corner and minding my own business, I would sip my drink and enjoy the match. I couldn’t help but be a bit self-conscious, especially when I was often the only black man in the “neighbourhood” (apologies to Malcolm X)
On this one occasion there were two black men in the “neighbourhood”, myself and another guy who sounded Caribbean. There was a match between Manchester United and Liverpool on the screen and this other black guy, apparently a Man U supporter, was getting increasingly animated. He would kick every ball and shout loudly at the screen if the referee made a decision he did not agree with, all in good humour and perfectly normal for a football fan. Or so I thought till one burly white guy spotting a Man U shirt walked up to him and asked;
“So you a Man U fan yeeh?”
The guy smiled
“Have you been to Manchester? Do you know Old Trafford?” the white guy asked
“No”
“I was born five minutes from Old Trafford” He said
This would have been fine if he had been trying to start a normal conversation. His demeanour and tone was laced with a hint of sarcasm, a direct challenge to the guys claim to be a Man U fan when he had no link at all to the city. He walked away and my friend the Caribbean sounded much quieter after that. I left as soon as I had finished my drink and never visited the pub again. I knew my place.
I continued to follow the premiership of course, but I always felt I had to have a good reason for claiming to support any team. For come to think of it, I am a fan of Cape Coast Mysterious Ebusua Dwarfs. That will never change. It’s in my heart. There is a good reason for that. I grew up in Cape Coast where as a little boy, my dad would take me to watch the likes of Robert Kofie, Scorpion, Ennin, Edzie, Joe Carr, and Apah at their best. I cannot suddenly become a Man U fan, though I can admire them and wish them well.
So I started off by supporting Arsenal, because at the time, they paraded the highest number of players of African descent, with the likes of Kanu, Lauren and Patrick Viera in good form. Then suddenly, Michael Essien came to Chelsea and I jumped ship. I wanted to support a team with a Ghanaian featuring regularly. Then Sulley Muntari came to Portsmouth, and I felt, that since Essien was now well settled, I had to support Sulley at Portsmouth. Then Paintsil went to Fulham and John Mensah came to Sunderland and now I am confused. Yet, am I proud that Ebusua Dwarfs remains in my heart and I see the European teams for just what they are – a well-packaged product for our consumption, in much the same way as Christianity, chocolates and whisky were given to us.
So next time you see a Ghanaian who claims to be a staunch supporter of Real Madrid or Barcelona, do not be impressed. For, whilst it is interesting to follow these world class footballers, the intensity with which some Ghanaians are pretending to be fans is becoming frightening.

Papa Appiah

Lexeve@live.com

Ghanabase.com Ghana Music News :: Interview with Alexander Gyesi-Appiah | interviews

2007-05-09T05:05:00.000-07:00

Ghanabase.com Ghana Music News :: Interview with Alexander Gyesi-Appiah interviews

2007-01-14T08:09:00.000-08:00

PAPA APPIAH – MEMORIES OF
AFRICA

There was a time in Ghana, not long ago, when musical preferences were as polarized as political inclination, or even worse, support for Hearts or Kotoko. Many Ghanaians listened to Nana Kwame Ampadu, A.B. Crentsil or C.K. Mann. But the youth of the time, especially those in our educational institutions, even when they listened to “Agartha hwe menim” privately, liked to be seen by their peers to identify with black American music or reggae. So when we all had those Saturday nights in secondary school we loved so much, we did not play One Man 1000 or Obuoba J.A Adofo. We listened to Michael Jackson, Lionel Richie, Brass Construction, Earth, Wind and Fire, Bob Marley, Peter Tosh and Eric Donaldson.
There was George Darko, a man very few had heard about. He came and said, that if the thumping funky drum beat was what our youth craved for, then why not oblige their wish, and still sing our hi-life. “Akoo tse Brofo” was born and hi-life was never the same again. The youth took to the new style and were now happy to listen, not only to George Darko, but to Rex Gyamfi, C.K Frimpong and many other musicians, mainly within the diaspora, who came back to impress us with the new synthesiser sounds then in vogue. Daddy Lumba was to follow that trend and has become arguably the most successful exponent of that style.
There was Reggie Rockstone, a man very few had heard about. He came and said that giving the youth the thumping funky drums and the synthesiser sound was not enough. We could actually rap our language in the same way the MC Hammers of America were doing at the time. Hiplife was born and singing was gone. The Lord Kenyas and S Does were to follow.
There was Okyeame Kofi and Okyeame Kwame, who in releasing Maasan Aba, proved to all and sundry that a combination of rap and local hi-life rhythms worked exceedingly well. Hiplife was thus given a broader appeal and Ghanaians from all walks of life began to enjoy it. The rest, as they say, is history. The days when musicians like Abrantee Amakye Dede and the late Senior Eddie Donkor had to serve apprenticeships for many years before going alone are long gone. Young intelligent people are coming straight out of our educational institutions and going straight into music. Tic Tac, Obuor, Ofori Amponsah and Obrafuor, to mention but a few, have raised the musical bar to dizzying heights.
There have been a few musicians over the years who have refused to follow any trends and stubbornly maintained their own styles. Kojo Antwi’s music defies classification. It’s just bloody good music. Amakye Dede’s music is hilife but the style is unique. Ben Brako came at the height of the bugger hi-life revolution but sang a unique kind of hi-life that has stood the test of time. His Baya album released about sixteen years ago is still selling.
Then there was Papa Appiah! No you haven’t heard of him. I heard his music only yesterday and felt moved enough to write this piece. His newly released Memories of Africa album is very special indeed. Like Ben Brako’s, most of the songs are probably hi-life, but very much unlike anything you may have heard before. The eight songs on the album also differ so much from one to the other, that were it not for Papas ever present passionate, emotional, gravely voice, you could well be listening to eight different composers. Adjoa Serwaa on track 1 is hi-life but could well be jazz. The title track, Memories of Africa, is penned in the pan-african style of which Osibisa is the most famous exponent. My favourite track is however the up-tempo catchy All night Long on track two which is sure to send music lovers, well, dancing all night long.
In making this album, Papa put together a collection of crack musicians including Alfred Kari Bannerman of Bombaya and Osibisa fame on guitar, Love Papa Kwabina on drums and Emmanuel Afram on bass. Tony Robinson and Garry Birtles are the regular horns men of the Beautiful South and their melodious rhythms impart a certain solemnity to the sound. Paulina Oduro and Gloria Wiafe Akenteng, ably directed by sound genius Adam Ellis of Deadline Studios in Leicester, UK, sound like angels and complement Papa’s voice admirably. Papa Appiah plays the rhythm guitar on the rather emotional track 8 – I’ll be Gone.
Papa Appiah has a few things in common with Ben Brako. They both insist on their own style irrespective of whatever is in vogue. They both used the services of the best instrumentalist of the time. They are both fantes. They both released their debuts at an older age and last but not least, they both went to St Augustine’s College in Cape Coast. I think it’s something to do with the sea breeze at Augusco. They are all a bit cr…… (I won’t tell you which school I went to).
The writing at the back of this CD aptly sums up the feeling in this wonderful piece of work….
For all of you who have left loved ones at home and dream of happier days long gone…
For all those who yearn for bantama kelewele, kwasiada anopa mmotuo and circle kenkey and fish…..
For our people back home who toil to keep our dreams alive….
Memories of Africa…. Enjoy it.
John Watson, freelance journalist

2007-01-12T15:21:00.000-08:00

MEMORIES OF AFRICA

Memories of Africa, the new album by Papa Appiah may someday become
a hit, or it may not. Be it as it may, posterity will remember Papa Appiah as the guy who came from nowhere, did his own thing and left, leaving a train of baffled music lovers behind.
This album is distinctly Ghanaian and yet different. Are you confused? You are not alone. For while hye me bo (track 4) and all night long (track 2) are distinctly hi-life, adjoa serwaa (track 1) has an obvious jazzy influence to it. The title track could easily have come from an Osibisa repertoire both in the nature of the nostalgic lyrics and the guitar rhythms. Is old tradition (track 5) reggae? What about the mid-tempo love (track 6)? This album goes beyond conventional classification. It is Papa Appiah’s music and the tracks differ so much from one to the other, that were it not for the ever present passionate, emotional, gravelly voice of Papa, one could well be listening to eight different composers. You would never get bored listening to this album.
Shunning the current trend of computer programming, Papa put together a crack team of top musicians to make this album. The pan-african guitar rhythms stem from the one and only Kari Bannerman of Boombaya and Osibisa fame. Love Paapa Kwabina does his own thing on drums. Gary Birtles and Tony Robinson are the regular horns men of the Beautiful South and they lend a certain solemnity to the tunes. Paulina Oduro and Gloria
Wiafe Akenteng do a brilliant job on the backing vocals. The message in the album cover aptly sums up the feeling in this piece of work;
For all of you who have left loved ones at home and dream each day of happier times long gone…..
For all those who yearn for Bantama kelewele, kwasiada anopa mmotuo and circle kenkey and fish…..
For our people back home who toil daily to keep our dreams alive…..
Memories of Africa…..enjoy it.

John Watson
Freelance journalist
.