A NOT TOO WORTH WHILE PRIZE

##Just remembered this......[sitting one morning in class,i received a phone call from an obviously unknown number,...to make things simple,i had won a certain soccer prediction competition on t.v.....the silky feminine voice on the other line took my details and asked that i reported to their office with an I.D for collection of my mobile phone prize.......][hurray!i was the happiest guy in class....i knew i was going to get one of the Galaxies or blackberries of this world----(y) ,but was that to be?you'll find out...............[Four days later,i cut short all schedules of the day after twelve,dashed down the O.M.P office for my prize.....At the gate of the building numbered six,a little distance off the Electoral Commission office around Ridge,an above middle aged man quipped,'"where you dey go?soccer academy registration?"'--i retorted,'"naaa adey go take my prize from the reception'"...........ok pass here,then go straight,then climb the steps,after <come see me>!!!he added.....[i went up,and met this lady at the front desk,all-smiling and polished..[i would not wait to be asked for my I.D...my name is Kingsley,here's my I.D.....]she gets up and makes for an inner room...returns and throws onto the table one of those RLG phones,which i wouldnt have even picked from the ground on my way to school mpo.........[looking on,and smirking at the box on the table as if to say,aarrggg what embarassment,.......i signed the form...picked up the "konko" and left....[at the gate,the watchman asks,"'charley some water for your man'"---already disappointed and distraught,i said to him,[massa the money finish oo],he looks at me and shakes his head with a plastic smile,no worries boy,good day!!!,it would have been worthwhile perhaps,,,,watching t.v or sleeping,instead of wasting my time chasing after that "prize"-O.M.P then Metro t.v paaa,you shock fans oo..

NELSON MANDELA,THE EPITOME OF SERVICE

##On July 18 this year,i did a story on the commemoration of the annual Nelson Mandela International day.....though he was taken ill at the time,the world duly celebrated this man the world over....during the interviews,i spoke to a number of people to find out what they would do in a minute to remember at the time,the ailing South African anti apartheid icon and his enormous service to humanity,..interestingly and surprisingly,people--men and women told me they didnt know of Nelson Mandela,then i began to ask myself,what at all do we listen to,watch and read as a people?though am not as old,at least at a point in life,i learnt about Nelson Mandela....some social studies and African studies lessons........so i was amazed to find out that even some older people had not a shred of an idea about this great man...........his demise for me,was expected,but sad,considering his age and constant recurrence of his lung and other infections..........he had had enough of worldly torture and required some much needed rest..........the massive outpouring of grief and consolation messages that have come in from all over the world,including the U.S who themselves had different opinions about the man they placed on their terrorist watch list until somewhere in 2008,tells me something.......he spent his entire life,serving humanity,what a great man...one of the few genuine African and World leaders has left us..........a worthy example to all.......Very fundamental lessons,im sure have been learnt from his life.....[service service servic]....R.I.P.P Madiba Mandela........GREAT GU

WOULD WE EVER CHANGE-WHY ALWAYS US?

 IRKING MOB ACTIONS AND INSTANT JUSTICE

In this era of modernization and society’s development the world over, it is gradually becoming almost a crime indulging in various acts of what used to be normal correctional activities aimed at reforming society’s derelicts and serving as deterrent schemes to ward off repeated offences or crimes in parts of Ghana. Mild social punishments and community works which served and continue to serve as retributions to offending individuals in other advanced jurisdictions like the U.S and the United Kingdom are just not working in our part of the world.

Committing crimes has become some form of fashionable way of life among especially the youth of this country that even measures purported to be correctional are no longer serving the purposes for which they were promulgated[fines, custodial sentences or both]. There have been instances where convicted criminals who complete their custodial sentences cannot but return to their old ways and even indulge in even greater crimes; there’s one key reason why this is so, though not in all instances.

People released from prison are more often than not discriminated against in our societies, and generally not accepted. It is for this and a few other reasons they return to committing such crimes, especially theft, robbery and other serious crimes, deemed beneficial to the perpetrators.

In Ghana and other areas deemed typical hideouts for criminals are almost always targeted by security and law enforcers in an attempt to expose wrong doing. It is always in the media; [three suspected robbers gunned down at Nima, Five alleged notorious serial robbers nabbed, but two die in shoot-out with police at Ashaiman, murder in suburb of Accra- two suspects grabbed by community patrol team of Sodom and Gomora and the like], even during electioneering periods and national undertakings police personnel identify such areas as possible flashpoints for the eruption of disturbances and unacceptable activities. The media has also done ‘very well’ in portraying areas of these kinds as seriously notorious and crime-prone[massive stereotyping].

Mob action and instant justice have often characterized the way people in some areas deal with ‘social enemies’ and misfits. I have been a witness to a number of such actions, where irate mobs have taken crime punishment into their own hands. At Kojo Sardine-Labadi one time, a middle aged man was burnt to ashes by angry inhabitants of the area when he allegedly couldn’t escape after a massive midnight raid one evening. Another occurred around trade fair where a suspected robber was stoned till he got lifeless.

These are very gory scenes one would not want to see on a regular basis. Various human rights activists and advocates have vehemently condemned such acts and advised that individuals should not take the law into their own hands in fighting crimes in general. They argue that these ‘inhumane’ acts-for want of a better word violate the very human rights such people should have.

International organizations concerned with human rights have also made their voices heard on the subject condemning any such acts of mob attacks and instant justice attempts, citing, it defeats the purpose for the existence of institutions such as the courts and tribunals.

At about 11 am November 5,2013……while on my way to Newtown from the Ghana Institute of Journalism to catch an appointment, and walking through the ‘corners corners’ of ‘dreaded ’circle, I met yet again another mob action. Apparently a man had stolen a mobile phone from the congested circle lorry park and was bolting when he was apprehended and beaten up severely left, right and center by angry guys around the place. 

Helpless as the guy was, he would not admit the crime, the more he protested the more severe the beating and manhandling got.

I waited to catch a glimpse of the activity among the packed mob that followed the procession all the way. Someway somehow I stole my way among the thickening to get a quick shot of the guy.He was being beaten with no sign of the security agencies around.

I said to myself; for how long would we continue this way? Even if criminals would not learn, would we as a people not also learn?

Maybe after reading this, your tendency to partake in such unlawful mob actions would be deflated and a more cautious eye-opening style approach you would adopt and adapt. It’s long overdue. Something is definitely wrong.

Kingsley komla Adom

Ghana Institute of Journalism

kingsleykomla@gmail.com-21st November 2013.

‘So long a struggle’-short story authored by yours truly

‘So long a struggle’-Written in a biographical account, the main character, Elorm is a young village boy who was born post-independence of Ghana and finished middle school in a village, Tsyome Sabadu.He had no chance of getting further education anywhere and had to leave the village for the city where he learnt a trade, wood carving and mastered the art.

After learning the trade, he had to then establish himself, raise a family and live a decent life. But how would he do this? He had no money; therefore he had to travel to Nigeria where a lot of Ghanaians at the time 1970’s had flooded in search for pastures green, albeit illegally. His family had a running feud with ‘Christianity’ and an endemic situation in which the men were simply unable to keep to one wife, those that did, happened to be fleeting and they got separated.

Poverty was the nickname of the people in Tsyome Sabadu, and education was considered a reserve for the first children of the paramount chief, who was Elorm’s grandfather, with each of his six wives. Elorm had vowed to change the traditional antecedents in his village. He wanted to stand out-get a meaningful job, stick to one wife, be a responsible husband and father, and educate his children if he got any.

It is for these and many other reasons he travelled illegally to Nigeria and then last of the trips to Koutonou-Benin in order to raise some money, come back to Accra, open a furniture shop and live a decent life.

The romantic nature of ‘so long a struggle ’makes it a slightly different form of non-fiction writing in contemporary Ghanaian literature. It exposed the personal encounters of this young determined man, Elorm, in his quest to be a hero.

This is the abridged version of the entire story which I have summarised into a little over 5000 words,and it is important to note here that the story mirrors the actual life struggles of his father.

                      

CHAPTER ONE

It was Tuesday afternoon,half past two in the village capital. Huge flowery trees and shrubs which lined the dusty and bumpy road acting as silent watchmen ushered Elorm into Jasikan Training College from the outskirts. He had been sent to Agbenyega, the principal of the college in order to get some further education after middle school form four in 1972. He was not the biggest of creatures, but by divine design, was a very creative seventeen year old boy from Sabadu in the Volta Region of Ghana.

Though Papa, his grandpa, was a paramount chief, poverty was endemic in his immediate family, and education was solely a reserve for the first children Papa, had each with his six wives.

The reality of life held that, Elorm would not get further education unless his eldest sibling foots the bill, in the event he made headway himself.

Agbenyega,his uncle, had been the principal of the training college from 1960 and was in his twelfth year as head of the college; his children were in Demonstration School, where foreign teachers and those from outside the region, posted to the training college, had their children attend boarding school.

Every time Jean, and Castro, two blonde adventurous sons of Paolo Da Costa, the then vice principal, visited the Agbenyegas, Elorm would take them to the farm grasshopper hunting and snail picking. The kids absolutely loved tiny creatures, and whenever they were coming, they brought along with them crumps of biscuit and bread they had left over during breakfast to pay Elorm for his kindness.

The principal’s bungalow was about a kilometre away from the school, only the huge and extremely tall palm trees which lined the aisle of the road appeared visible from the premises.

Elorm spent the better part of his stay at the principal’s home, washing his car, cleaning the compound, and helping in his farm. Every day, he polished the principal’s shoes, laid his bed and ironed the clothes the principal’s wife washed. Agbenyega would scold him whenever he mislaid the bed and put the grey patterns of the bed spread towards the head-side of the bed, instead of the rear.

He delighted in teaching the principal’s sons basic arithmetic and elementary poems. He wove baskets with palm fronds, which he got from the incredibly tall palm trees on the compound, and sold at the Jasikan central market sometimes.

A year elapsed, and the prime reason Elorm was taken to the principal had hit a first snag. Dejected and broken he left to his poor mother, Mama back at Sabadu. His dream of making a decent life and living a more responsible life different from what was prevailing in his family had come crushing at his feet.

Mama, on her first of many trips to Accra, made friends with the son of Togbe Ntor, and the numerous times she went to baby-sit little Rebecca at Caprice, she would visit Master. Master was the owner of [Guildon Wood Works], a carving establishment, small and hidden in the cracks of the neighbourhood.

She took Elorm by the next available bus to Accra, one fine sunny afternoon, after carting cassava from the farmhouse to the business market, to get him into apprenticeship. The entry commitment was two cedis, back then in 1973, but family acquaintances and old friendship would prevail over payment as Master took little Augustine in.

With his dream to succeed firmly on his mind, his job was cut out in steel, all he had to do was to work extremely hard to enable him start off to a flyer.

Efo, his elder brother who began as a labourer at the Tema commercial bank and lived at Ashaiman had gotten Afi pregnant while learning a tailoring trade at Kpando; he had to begin a premature and unplanned family. He had risen over the years through the ranks, to become the clerk to the manager at the bank. Whenever his boss needed some coffee or mild tea at the office, he rang a bell which vibrated at Efo’s desk-he would then prepare the tea for the boss.

He was Elorm’s guardian, while he learnt carving in the city. Naturally gifted with such depth of creativity and artistic inclination, he performed well all his years as an apprentice, bought a few carving tools, a photo album, a bag and a few clothes.

Master would take him along to meet his clients for whom he made furniture. One such client was Mr. Adjepong, an above middle aged, well-built Ashanti man, and rich with grey beard covering two-thirds of his oval face, who had come to the city of Accra to live with his family.

Elorm had carved excellent doors in 1976, which beautified his ballroom and warmly welcomed visitors at the entrance of his balcony, the awe of the entire neighbourhood.

Mr. Adjepong was a mechanic who worked on cars and motor cycles. His spare parts supplier and friend, Orwell was a bald Nigerian man. One fine morning, after the sun had risen, the skies were as blue, and busy city life had begun with men and women walking up and down the street in search of daily bread, he visited him at his residence to transact a business deal, when he saw exquisite and lovely, carved doors Elorm had made in his house.

Orwell would not think twice, he needed to get some for himself .He brought spare parts from Nigeria to trade with Mr. Adjepong, at a time when,there was an influx in the numbers of Ghanaians in Nigeria doing menial jobs in an attempt to seek pastures green.

Orwell claimed he knew a furniture company in Nigeria that needed expert wood carvers and promised to take Elorm along if he was interested.

Without informing Master, he took a decision to go with Orwell to Nigeria. Orwell promised the furniture shop owner was willing to pay him well and Elorm,feeling it was a good offer would plan to follow him to Nigeria, little did he know the consequences that would follow his rash decision.

He was overly confident things would work out, though he did not have travel documents, he trusted Mr. Adjepong and quickly one evening, while city business was gradually winding down, the domestic animals and birds were seeking their abode, and congestion had begun thickening in the city centre, he dashed down to Efo at Ashaiman to inform him about his impending travel plans, so he could stand in as witness to the whole arrangement.

Orwell promised to foot the bill of the entire journey to Nigeria. Life was to begin for Elorm.

CHAPTER TWO

Sporting just pair of ‘tunaabu’ Khaki trousers, a pair of heavy black Kumasi-made sandals, which had its soles as thick as a five-inch block, and a shirt, he met Orwell at Preston hotel in Asylum down.

Elorm and the other guys the night before, drank their heads off, had enough barbecue, and popcorn at the Caprice night bar and danced to some burger high life music. It was their last night together before the trip.

That night at the hotel, he met Osei, he was a stout, bearded man. He wove Kente far away at Bonwire in the Ashanti Region and had this funny little accent. He constantly kept using ‘r’ in place of where ‘l’ should normally be, mentioned ‘friend’ as ‘fliend’,’bread’ as ‘blead’ and the like. He was a very comic character.

 One of Orwell’s female mistresses at Kumasi had linked Osei to him, with whom Elorm was travelling together with Orwell. At the hotel, Elorm began shaking in his boots; the reality of life had just hit him right in the face. No travel documents, no money, no relative, yet he was going to Nigeria to “hustle”.

Orwell had falsified some old birth certificates and travel documents with the names [Sunday Chwukwu] and [Mba Orulemi], looking tattered. These names he gave to Elorm and Osei respectively, which they would use to cross the Aflao border.

He introduced them to the customs officials.

“When Ghanaians repatriated Nigerians some years ago in the 1960’s, my elder brother Oge, left his two children behind, and he asked me to come and get them, here they are.” –Orwell said to the customs officials, to whom he passed the awfully old documents and some coins.

It was an arduous journey.

At Togo-side, and at about midday, with the sun as hot as red fire, and scorching so hard that the skin of a newly born baby could burn, amid busy brisk normal business activities, the three boarded a bus from the Togolese capital Lomѐ to Koutonou, Capital of Benin Republic.

Koutonou was not too far away, as Elorm stuck out his head to sneeze, after the bus had gone past a really dusty rough road leaving clouds of dust particles spread all over the atmosphere.

The customs officials were busily extorting monies from people at the border- there Orwell paid some money and the journey continued all day, till dusk. The sun had set, with the darkness casting its shadow over the entire circle-shaped orange sun-image.

Tired, and weary, they got to the Nigerian Border and made for Lagos and then to Badagre after the stop over. At the Nigerian capital, Orwell and the two Ghanaian boys put up with his friend in a small hamlet, just across the ‘forty first Akakpo street’ pub.

Night had fallen and night business was rife. Men parked their cars across the street to pick up their mistresses, the beggars had invaded the pub to continue business from where they left off after 6pm; while children hang all over the place gathering bottle tops for the next day’s Mathematics class lessons.

At about four the next dawn, the chirping of the town birds and crowing of the cocks woke them up, and immediately they proceeded on their journey. They got aboard another bus to Anambra State’s capital, Onitsa. Orwell was a very smart old fellow, he would not take them through the direct route, he knew how smart Ghanaian boys could be, for fear of the boys running back to Ghana, he took them through a lot of indirect and complicated paths.

From Onitsa, they got aboard two more buses. Little Elorm closed his eyes whenever the buses went past very huge Lorries loaded with goods of market folk, before arriving at Isulo, a very small village, which itself comprised five other villages, dotted with a number of small buildings, tall coconut trees and customary Hausa speaking men and women having their usual early morning Muslim prayers before a bustling day. One had to be Nigerian to be convinced of the survival of ardent traditions and culture in these parts of the country.

CHAPTER THREE

Orwell led the assembly into a compound; a big one, knee-level walls bounded the entire premises, and in the room where they met four young black guys who welcomed them, hang an ancient portrait of the legendary Ako.

He was one of the best of his days, at Isulo.He made portraits of politicians and wealthy men as well as artworks of customary Nigerian tradition and culture. Ako was also prominent in the Isulo village for his children and women rights activism.

A lead member of the Association of art workers, and the conglomerate of human rights advocacy institute of Isulo, he had championed a course that helped save some fifty two children who were held hostage in 1968 by pirates on the Atlantic.

Elorm and Osei were offered some water and kola nuts after minutes of predictable introductions.

“Adɜn, ode monso aba ha annaa?” One quizzed- to wit, why, has he brought you guys too?

Kwesi was a kente weaver too from Bonwire, Ekow was a shoe maker, and he made very beautiful cloth-embroidered slippers and shoes for ladies with locally made cloth. Kwame, the fairest among the guys was a blacksmith who was busily masticating crumps of red kola nuts and Kweku, the bare-chested guy was a carpenter.

 The only means of exchanging information from Isulo to Ghana was via letters. Orwell’s wife, Ikechwukwu was the attendant at the village post office, Orwell directed that all letters from Ghana be given to him, which he read and burnt all the time. Communication channels were virtually blocked. It was almost like life in a jungle.

Orwell went to the central market every time to purchase the materials (leather, glue, nails and local material fabric) for the boys to fix the slippers and weave kente. Though the few naira he gave to them was woefully inadequate,they had no choice.

Osei, Elorm’s travel friend from Bonwire was an expert in weaving. He could do the sewing and stitching of the clothes at the same time, with or without the weaving equipment.

That evening, the Ghanaian boys, had a good smoke on the isolated corridor, which served as walkway for visitors and church members who came to fellowship in the church premises Orwell’s father had built after which they retired to bed.

Early the next day, Elorm approached Orwell and asked for the company he told him about back in Accra. Orwell responded,

 “In actual fact, Ibi now I wan establish the company,oooo my father die years ago wey he get church for the premises so I want  make carved doors and donate to the church, which go serve as samples give then people who go come fellowship for here”.

Elorm could not complain, Orwell gave him a calendar and showed him pictures he should draw. He wanted very detailed carvings which would take a lot of time to complete. He took him to a very obscure room, with just a five by eight inch window, where he asked him to do the work.

 Ventilation in the room was terrible, stale air had collected in the room for the past months and was almost breath-seizing. In a foreign land no money, no relative, no friend and language understanding deficiency; except for the ‘broken English’ it was always going to be a tough time at Isulo for Elorm and his ‘hustle’ mate ,Osei.

Doors Orwell directed him to work on were extremely tall, double the heights he used to carve in Ghana, way taller than he was himself and broader too, but of course Elorm’s determination would spur him on; he finished the carving and polishing within two weeks to the utmost amazement of Orwell.

“I think say ego take two months to finish this by which time I go fit organize some more give you”, Orwell said.

He would not pay all of the money agreed between the two for one door and when Elorm had finished carving the four doors, and demanded the rest of his money, Orwell said,

 “I take the rest of your balance defray all the money I spend transporting you people from Ghana, and you for even add some more”. Hard luck!

Frimpong, the corn mill operator in Orwell’s compound had run away from the village, he was not being sufficiently paid. The mill, old and rusted was left lying in the shop for years. Orwell said to Elorm, “Manage this corn mill, while I organize some more carving for you”.

3:30 am every day, even when the birds were still asleep, and had not begun singing, and the Muslim neighbours were not awake to offer their routine prayers, the village folk would come knocking at his window.

“Operator Biokporo”- Operator come and grind for me.

Operator Biokporo”- Operator come and grind for me.

For two months, Elorm operated the corn mill, during which time; Orwell came to Ghana to take more boys to Nigeria to work for him. He had a ten-acre maize, cassava and wheat farm, reared grasscutter and rabbits, at the outskirts of Isulo village and needed more hands to work there since the rainy season was over.  One of them ran back to Ghana upon reaching Isulo after merely hearing the stories of the accosted ‘hustlers’.

CHAPTER THREE

No sooner had he began finding his feet than a radio broadcast at noon on Monday in 1980 was made. All illegal foreigners, residing and working in Nigeria were to leave the shores of the country in two weeks.

His dream was to be again, truncated. Many of the Ghanaian ‘hustlers’ had purchased television sets, radio sets, refrigerators, sound systems, and irons among other appliances which were relatively cheaper in Nigeria, and the idea was to show to their relatives and friends of what “ good life” they had in Nigeria during their stay.

Bullet, one of the Ghanaian guys, wanted to open a record store in Accra. It was one of the few businesses on the rise in the country. He made a box in which he put all his sound systems, speakers, tape recorder and a turntable, safely locked it and into the articulator truck he put it, when the trucks stopped by the village square to pick up all the Ghanaians out of the country.

At this point, talking about substantial amount of money, capable of establishing a furniture shop was a wild dream for Elorm. Another fruitless journey had been climaxed by repatriation.

Ghanaian girls were at the time indulging in serious prostitution [ashawo business] at pubs, drinking spots and hotels.

It was good business for Ghanaian men who were engaging girls in sex trade. What these men did was to gather the innocent girls from Ghana and take them to Nigeria, spread them all over the place, where they wooed their men clients at drinking spots, pubs and hotels for payment after offering sexual service.

Upon return after their respective nights in the homes of all shades of Ibo and Yoruba men, all the monies were taken from them, the girls had very little of the entire proceeds.

A number of them, the girls contracted deadly diseases, HIV/AIDS, gonorrhoea, syphilis, even money to purchase make up kits was hard for them to come up with, despite the monies they made from sleeping with men.

On the journey back to Ghana, about fifteen articulator trucks, packed with Ghanaian strugglers with their belongings got stranded in the middle somewhere.

 The journey was one other hell of a time, and for three whole weeks, the Ghanaian citizens were stranded in the trucks, and massive traffic had choked between Togo and Benin borders. Ghana then had also closed her borders, same as Togo.

Ghanaians who were still left in Lagos-Nigeria were bullied and their belongings seized by Nigerians, the deadline had elapsed, they had overstayed their welcome.

Many people died in the trucks, men and women alike. The ashawo women,worst affected. The sort of activities they engaged in, demanded regular cleaning of their body and use of cologne.

In the absence of cleaning, they stunk pungently. Some men who stored food on the truck, had sex with the hungry women before handing them the food, in the full glare of everybody on the trucks. Elorm was in there, he recounted that about 150 people may have died on the trucks, still alive, and hoping that soon there would be a way, for he had a will.

After three weeks on the road, the head of state of the former British colony got wind of the dire situation of the stranded Ghanaian citizens and after thorough flight surveillance; ordered that the border be opened. There were still more obstacles ahead, the Benin border would still not be opened, and people were still dying, the Akan speaking clique of citizens made a decision, there had to be a way of getting out of calamity.

 A Grande demonstration was planned, but they had to contend with arm-wielding security officials at the borders. Clad in red arm and head bands, they confronted the guards at the gates, while the tussle ensued the trucks broke loose the iron bars with lightning speed, one truck after another, had access to the routes straight into Ghana on top speed.

A big relief for Elorm at last, they were in Ghana. It was another unrewarding and wasted journey; especially witnessing other people die right before his eyes, and the offensive smell of their carcasses.

No phones and no money for most of the returnees, there had to be a public announcement on radio for people to go and identify their broken relatives and dead ones, following the repatriation.

CHAPTER FOUR

Back in Sabadu, education was not prioritized; men married multiple spouses even in obvious poverty-stricken circumstances. Elorm’s family was a family that had a multiplicity of issues and struggles. Men who got married never kept to one wife, those that did broke up at some point.

Papa and Mama were separated and the greater part of Elorm’s life and the lives of his other 6 siblings were shaped by Mama. It is for these and many other reasons that Elorm took it upon himself to change the status quo.

 He wanted to be an exception to all the village antecedents. He vowed to work hard, get established in the city, marry just one wife and stick to her, and educate his own children, if ever he got the means.

After a few months, he decided to go back to Nigeria. But past experiences in Isulo,held back his conscience; so  Elorm decided to try Benin Republic, maybe his fortunes would change.

Koutonou – Capital City, Republic of Benin, was the hub of economic activities in the country, and housed many of the government and diplomatic services. The streets of the city were congested with beggars, cripples, and lepers; all these dregs of society who harassed people and attacked them just so they could get a few coins for a living, were all over the place.

People, who drove around the streets of the Benin capital, hoped the traffic lights never turned red as they approach the intersection. Many others had to make thousands of unplanned diversions to avoid them on a daily basis.

Elorm could not imagine himself in the shoes of these calabash-holding beggars, the government of Benin, everybody in the city blamed for mismanaging state resources and not creating jobs for the many citizens.

He had to join the teaming numbers of unemployed young folk, and he hope that one day in the city, favour would smile at him.

Sey was Senegalese, Papio was Togolese, Akratsa and Bambi were Zambians and then Osa was Nigerian, these were the people he met and lived with in one apartment upon arrival in the Koutonou.

All these guys, had different jobs they did in the capital; some decent, others morally unacceptable. From hand to mouth, he lived, at the city market; he would go and cart foodstuffs the market women brought from the villages, to the market from the main bus terminal for a fee.

Nine months passed, there was no carving work the whole of the City, carving was not a thing the people were doing. At the time, there was an influx of French furniture manufactory in Republic of Benin, and all the carpenters did was ordinary French furniture for sale.

Elorm later found a group of wood workers at the centre of the city, where he carved little designs on French wardrobes and room dividers that had already been made, an invention the Beninois absolutely loved.

Every weekend, six of the guys would go to the Kotonou market to get foodstuffs. Meat and fish were quite expensive, so meals were generally light on meat.

A range of foods including Akassa-fermented corn dough food, Aloko-fried plantain, and Amiwo-corn dough made from tomato puree and other spices, Beye-roasted peanut cake boiled in oil, Moyo-tomato sauce with onion and pepper Elorm ate during his time in the Benin capital.

As the proverbial “good things come in small packages” would apply, it was in Benin, the least likely of places, that Elorm raised a reasonable amount of money in 1986.

He raised 170 CFA francs over a short period, and quickly decided to come down to Ghana to establish a workshop. With the amount he rented a parcel of land not too far away from the sea shore from a GA landlord, purchased some wood, iron sheets, and working tools. Life had now started to take a leap into Elorm’s dream.

                          

CHAPTER FIVE

“He, who finds a wife, finds a good thing and obtains favour from the Lord”-Proverbs 18:22. Though Elorm knew very little about this, it was time to get a wife. While in Benin, Afinor who was a girl Elorm wanted to marry had finished technical school and with directions to Koutonou, she managed to travel all the way to see Elorm. She was the daughter of Nutakor; a business man based in the city.Afinor was light skinned with naturally gifted long hair almost brushing her back, long sexy legs with incredibly nice gastrocnemius muscles, and worked with a construction firm in Accra.

The two had planned to get married once Elorm returned to Accra. But then Afinor was the hot, out-going party type chick, who would not miss a party or a friend’s get together for anything. She went to all the clubs there were in, Labadi. Women like these were always going to be expensive and difficult to keep.

Elorm recalled events of his village, how all the men had problems with their marriages and in order to prevent this he would not even attempt sealing marriage with Afinor.

With time, he got to know the people around and always went to buy bitters from a beer bar across from the road, opposite the huge Apollo Restaurant.

A number of young ladies lived there and every time, they passed in front of Elorm’s shop and he would say to himself, “these are wife materials”.

Dogbe was the owner of the bar; he was a sprayer, who did finishing works on ceilings, and cars. His wife Daavi virtually ran the bar, and had brought to live with her, five girls from the village.

Vic, a young pretty twenty five year old ewe-speaking girl, who sold toffees on a table top just in front of the bar, was one of the many girls, whose fathers did not cater for. Her mother single handedly raised her in a small village called Botoku in the Volta Region-Ghana and sent her to Dogbey in the city to help learn some trade; hair dressing, tailoring or other. 

She found herself on a table top selling toffees and chewing gum which patrons at the bar bought to keep their mouths freshened each time they visited the bar to have a good drink, Elorm occasionally met her whenever he also went for some tots of bitters.

The two struck acquaintance. Dogbe as protective as other parents, would beat the hell out of Vic if she ever went out and reported late; he would have none of that.

Girls of Vic’s age and below in the area had corrupted themselves.

It was common to see girls as young as fifteen, with babies strapped behind their backs, and still pregnant, looking all unkempt and with water running down the nostrils of their babies.

Marriage was not a priority for girls there, just pre-marital sex and enjoyment of life. Teenage pregnancies, teenage motherhood and prostitution among young girls were endemic. It was for this reason; Dogbe would not take it lightly whenever Vic reported home late.

In May 1987, Elorm took a contingent to Botoku, where he performed the traditional marriage rites and brought Vic back to Accra. He had found a good thing, a wife.

                       

CHAPTER SIX

Marriage life began, just around this time, Mama, fell ill and was admitted at the Margaret Marquarte Catholic hospital at Kpando. For three weeks she was at the hospital, conditions worsened by the days and doctors just could not diagnose any medical defect Mama was supposed to be suffering.

She was an elder in the village Catholic Church and almost every day the church members visited and prayed with her at the hospital. Deteriorating as the condition was there had to be decision. Tina Elorm’s elder sister who was then a practicing nurse at Koforidua, Efo, the commercial bank clerk and Elorm, travelled and brought their sick mother to live with Tina at Koforidua.

Weeks passed, months passed and her condition didn’t improve. Elorm and his wife Vic moved from Wireless to Trade fair after having their first son, to occupy a single room chamber and hall apartment, of a big compound house, off the main road and opposite the magnificent International Trade Fair Centre at Labadi.

Elorm bought a car which he converted later into a yellow and red taxi cab, for sales generation. Ken began schooling at St. Thomas school. He would drop him off at the school before going to work each morning. The family attended St. Michael’s Catholic Church at Burma Camp every Sunday.

A step at a time, Elorm’s work was progressing; he had his second child, King later in 1992.

 Alcoholism and smoking were still a vital part of Elorm’s life. Whenever he got a lot of money, he spent some stocking his room divider with alcoholic beverages.

At the least provocation, he would beat up his loud wife. King was five and at Nicolet School. It became persistent, every day he would beat up his wife at the least of provocations, and after picking King up from school, one night, little King,looking all melancholic and frustrated asked  his daddy,

 “Daddy, please are you going to beat mummy again today?”

This struck Elorm and sent shivers down his system, he vowed at that moment that,

“Never again would he lay his hands on a woman to beat her in his life”.

His aim of keeping to one woman and being a responsible husband had just re-emerged in his mind. 
kingsley adom-ghana institute of journalism
kingsleykomla@gmail.com