Wednesday, 29 January 2014

Are Homosexuals Human Beings?


The theme of the 1993 United Nations world conference on human rights in Vienna was Women’s Rights Are Human Rights. I was with the Civil Liberties Organization then and attended the conference. Why was it necessary, you might ask, to state that incontestable fact 45 years after the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, the very first article of which asserts unequivocally that “All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and rights?” Aren’t women human beings? Funny as it may sound, the status of woman as human wasn’t always “settled.” Indeed, a much earlier conference is believed to have been convened in France, circa 586 A.D., to resolve the question whether or not women were human!  It was my former colleague at the CLO, Chidi Anselm Odnkalu, now chairman of the National Human Rights Commission, who first mentioned this outrageous outcome of prejudice born of the fear of difference—whether it be racial, gender, religious, sexual, or even plainly ideological.

In having her humanity doubted, woman, the primal Other of history, the first to embody difference (ab-normal-ity, deviance from the perceived norm), shared a common fate with Africans, other so-called persons of colour, and many oppressed groups. Thus, as the great white men behind the American Declaration of Independence proclaimed the fact that “all men are born equal” to be a “self-evident” truth, their diction betrayed the exclusion of women from equal humanity. And it was not until 1920 that the 19th Amendment ensured political equality for American women by making them voting citizens in the self-vaunted land of freedom.

One of the disingenuous yet appealing justifications for the frightful antipathy to gays and lesbians in Nigeria is that same sex relations are foreign to African culture. Those who bay for the blood of homosexuals, who would have them jailed for 14 years even when billion-dollar thieves in government and business are awarded national honours—not to mention election riggers, wife beaters, child deserters and abusers, rapists, paedophiles, Daddy Overseers who fleece their flock and sleep with their female congregants (married and unmarried), etc.—justify their lack of Christian love, charity, or plain fellow feeling by resort to a cheap and convenient cultural nationalism. Respect for the equal humanity of gay persons, they say, is a foreign concept being imposed on us by the imperialistic West. And then without batting an eyelid, they quote from the Bible or the Koran—as if Christianity and Islam were African religions! But they fail to cite one African religious or cultural practice that punishes homosexuals with the force of law. Or an African jurisprudence that sanctions imprisonment as a form of penal justice.

In a series of essays published in December 2011 and January 2012 on the dangerous tide of homophobia in our land—see “Homosexuality and Nigeria’s Enochs and Josephs,” “Homosexuality, Biology and the Bible,” and “Sex and the Church’s Missionary Position” (The Guardian, 19 and 28 December 2011 and 9 and 10 January 2012), as well as “Ekwe and the Raging Army of God’s Protectors” (Vanguard, 23 January 2013); also available online, I asked the venerable Rev. Jasper Akinola, the spiritual-cum-political leader of the anti-gay movement, why, if he was the über-cultural nationalist that he claims to be, he scorned the Church of Orunmila and chose to be a priest of the Church of England? An Anglican congregation, if he needs to be reminded, founded and headed by King Henry VIII in protest against the Roman Catholic Church’s refusal to indulge his appetite for adultery.

A church, moreover, that was the ideological bulwark in Britain’s imperialist mission of colonial conquest through the “wiping out of the tribal (read cultural) memory” of the natives (to adapt Major Pilkings’s apt rebuke, in Wole Soyinka’s Death and the King’s Horseman, of Joseph, his native houseboy who, converted yesterday, had become the next day an unwilling native informer on the “primitive,” unchristian, ways of his recently colonized Yoruba people). I am yet to receive an answer from the retired primate of King Henry’s Nigerian converts. We know, however, that the purported defence of African values (defined by whom?) is only a fig leaf to cover an onerous legacy of the Abrahamic faiths: making a sin of sexual desire, whether it be hetero- or homo-social in nature. Not even after marriage—a social undertaking not to be confused with the natural, hormone-driven, impulse of sexual orientation—was sanctioned as an inconvenient solution was the problem solved.

But in blaming the West for something that has been present in every human society and in the animal world as well from the origin of time, the self-righteous army of God forgets that the West persecuted homosexuals until quite recently. Now more Catholic than the pope, they cannot bear to hear the same West that brought them the bible change its mind about any of its creeds and catechisms. “How dare you admit,” they shout, foaming at the mouth and wagging a finger at the Archbishop of Canterbury, “that gay people do not choose their sexuality any more than heterosexuals choose theirs, and then proceed to treat them as human beings equal to us virtuous heterosexuals? How dare you ordain a gay bishop in OUR church?”

The zealotry of Nigeria’s army of the faithful fits perfectly the ungovernable fervour of the reformed sinner who, once converted, must prove him- or herself more devoted to the cross or crescent than his pastor or imam. Thus, if Pope Francis, reminded of Christ’s admonition, “Judge not that ye may not be judged,” can say in response to the question of gay priests, “Who am I to judge?”, Nigeria and Africa’s religious leaders say, “We are the ones to judge and punish. God is too merciful and his judgement too long in coming.” This is the sort of holy frenzy that makes full-grown African men and women sing with all pious sincerity, “Wash me [Lord Jesus] and I shall be whiter than snow!”

But the question is inescapable: are homosexuals human beings? If the answer is yes, then they must be accorded their human rights and dignity. Sexual relations among consenting adults are no more harmful to society in same sex relations than in opposite sex relationships. If there be any harm, it is the mad rush in the name of a strange and false notion of African values and the dictates of foreign religious doctrines imposed by conquest, to erode the laws of privacy and civilized behaviour to criminalize what is at worst a sin, as if God cannot be trusted to punish that among other sins on judgment day. Yet, by pandering to the prejudices of a majority closed to reason, that cannot be persuaded by logic—recall that it was the majority that freed Barabbas the murderer and crucified Jesus—or scientific evidence such as is changing the mind of the West that once thought homosexuality was a disease, the result of a psychiatric disorder, to authorise the Draconian re-criminalisation of same-sex relations, President Jonathan may have unwittingly done the gay and lesbian community, all of rational humanity, a favour.

For the law will not make homosexuals disappear from, or cease to be born in, Nigeria. After all, where do homosexuals come from, if not from heterosexual parents? Persecuting them will only make that barbaric stance solidify Nigeria’s reputation as a country quick to descend on the weak, poor and vulnerable while straining every muscle to protect and honour the rich and powerful. Yet, it is invariably the case that whenever power has to resort to maximum force to have its way, it has lost the moral ground and is very close to defeat. And so to our brothers and sisters persecuted for being gay, I say take courage: the darkest hour of night is just before dawn.

This was originally published here and here.

Saturday, 18 January 2014

When we legalise discrimination..



When a law such as the Same Sex Marriage Prohibition Law recently passed in Nigeria is met with the kind of widespread support within Nigeria that we have seen, we know for sure that Nigeria is in deep, deep trouble. This is a country now firmly on its slide down the slippery slope of repression and discrimination against a segment of its own citizens. 

As a diversionary tactic, this law has been an unmitigated success so far. It has diverted the minds of long-suffering Nigerians from the real issues; the poor quality of life for its citizens which the country's successive governments have made sure to maintain for decades, the lack of security, the lack of basic services and amenities that are taken for granted by the populations of most of the other top-50 largest economies of the world, of which Nigeria is one. (Nigeria is the country with the 37th largest GDP in the world, according to the United Nations, The World Bank, the IMF and the CIA Fact Book, all authoritative sources.) It is also the only country, which, although clearly regarded as a wealthy country, has nearly 85 percent of its population living on less than $2 per day and classed as a Low Human Development country in the UNDP's Human Development Index, lower even than the Republic of Congo and Tanzania. (See the 2013 HDI Report here). 

Respecting the law is not what Nigerians are known for, (it would be hard to disagree with me on this). The presumption, therefore, that this law is likely to be badly abused is not unfounded. If anything, this is a highly likely outcome, and more so given that the law's application extends to non-homosexuals who are alleged to be associated with suspected homosexual persons. I foresee widespread abuse. I predict situations where scores are settled between adversaries with allegations relating to homosexuality being wildly slung about and the myriad consequences of such, of the sort that we cannot now even begin to imagine. In short, this is a very bad law. It is a law that allows for Nigerians to be arrested on the streets on the mere suspicion that they may have homosexual associations. I personally, feel nothing but shame at this point in time, for I am connected with a country that promotes and upholds such hate, ignorance, intolerance, bigotry and prejudice. 

I will conclude with this very apt posting by someone on Facebook:

"For 50 years, Nigeria has been undermined by violence and rampant graft. Their solution? Bash harmless gay people.
Barely a day after they started their anti-gay witch hunt, Boko Haram launches a major bomb attack. Glad the Nigerian regime is focusing on the real danger, the gays!" - Brian Farenell
I came across the following in today's Premium Times, a progressive Nigerian publication. 

"We, the undersigned, wish to ally ourselves with these voices of reason. We unreservedly condemn the Same Sex Marriage Prohibition Law and urge civil society and human rights groups to start a campaign that we hope will soon result in its abolition.
We also urge the eminent personages across the world who have condemned the so-called law to go beyond diplomatic gestures and put pressures on the Nigerian government wherever they can. Specifically, the United States and the United Kingdom should, forthwith, impose diplomatic sanctions (e.g., denial of visas) on all Nigerian functionaries, including journalists, the clergy, and policymakers associated with the passing of the law.
There are many reasons why every right-thinking person should oppose this law.
First, it is based on a spurious, uninformed and one-dimensional reading of ‘African culture.’ Second, it criminalizes a section of Nigerians for nothing other than their natural sexual inclination.Third, it ignores the fruits of many decades of scientific research which proves decisively that homosexuality is as natural as heterosexuality. Fourth, the law threatens to reverse the gains made by programs aimed at fighting the HIV-AIDS epidemic in the country.Fifth, it is absurd in terms of the jail time it stipulates for those who associate with LGBT people. Sixth, it casts Nigeria in a bad light for no good reason, putting it in the vulgar company of other countries where homosexuality is criminalized.Seventh, it gives law enforcement agents an open check to go after innocent Nigerians in the name of upholding the law. Finally, the law impinges on Nigerians’ freedom of speech and association, and expressly violates the rights of minorities in a free and democratic society.
It is not the business of any state, let alone the Nigerian state, to interpose itself in the private affairs of two consenting adults. Any human act or practice that does not infringe on the freedom of others cannot and should not be criminalized. Homosexuality does not harm us as a society and people. It is the hypocrisy, venality, and corruption that pervade our society that are the source of our problems.
Signed:
Ebenezer Obadare, Lawrence, Kansas, USA; Akin Adesokan, Bloomington, Indiana, USA; Wale Adebanwi, Davis, California, USA; Lola Shoneyin, Abeokuta, Nigeria; Jude Dibia, Lagos, Nigeria; Jeremy Weate, Abuja, Nigeria; Chido Onumah, Abuja, Nigeria; Amatoritsero Ede, Ottawa, Canada; Mojubaolu Olufunke Okome, Brooklyn, New York, USA; Olufemi Taiwo, Ithaca, New York, USA; Tejumola Olaniyan, Madison, Wisconsin, USA; Ike Anya, London, UK; Kunle Ajibade, Lagos, Nigeria,; Moradewun Adejunmobi, California, USA; Sean Jacobs, Brooklyn, York, USA; Adeleke Adeeko, Ilorin, Nigeria; Olakunle George, Providence, Rhode Island, USA; Wendy Willems, London, UK; Ikhide R. Ikheloa, Maryland, USA; Rudolf Okonkwo, New York, USA; Jide Wintoki, Lawrence, Kansas, USA"

Thursday, 7 November 2013

Dubai.. in pictures



























Atlantic The Palm
Burj Khalifa










The Burj Al Arab in the background
The Souk Madinat Jumeirah

Wednesday, 9 October 2013

Too rich for its own good..

This very interesting piece on the BBC News website caught my attention -


The Democratic Republic of Congo is potentially one of the richest countries on earth, but colonialism, slavery and corruption have turned it into one of the poorest, historian Dan Snow writes..
"The world's bloodiest conflict since World War II is still rumbling on today.
It is a war in which more than five million people have died, millions more have been driven to the brink by starvation and disease and several million women and girls have been raped.
The Great War of Africa, a conflagration that has sucked in soldiers and civilians from nine nations and countless armed rebel groups, has been fought almost entirely inside the borders of one unfortunate country - the Democratic Republic of Congo.
It is a place seemingly blessed with every type of mineral, yet consistently rated lowest on the UN Human Development Index, where even the more fortunate live in grinding poverty.
I went to the Congo this summer to find out what it was about the country's past that had delivered it into the hands of unimaginable violence and anarchy.
The journey that I went on, through the Congo's abusive history, while travelling across its war-torn present, was the most disturbing experience of my career
I met rape victims, rebels, bloated politicians and haunted citizens of a country that has ceased to function - people who struggle to survive in a place cursed by a past that defies description, a history that will not release them from its death-like grip.
The Congo's apocalyptic present is a direct product of decisions and actions taken over the past five centuries.
In the late 15th Century an empire known as the Kingdom of Kongo dominated the western portion of the Congo, and bits of other modern states such as Angola.
It was sophisticated, had its own aristocracy and an impressive civil service.
When Portuguese traders arrived from Europe in the 1480s, they realised they had stumbled upon a land of vast natural wealth, rich in resources - particularly human flesh.
The Congo was home to a seemingly inexhaustible supply of strong, disease-resistant slaves. The Portuguese quickly found this supply would be easier to tap if the interior of the continent was in a state of anarchy.
They did their utmost to destroy any indigenous political force capable of curtailing their slaving or trading interests.
Money and modern weapons were sent to rebels, Kongolese armies were defeated, kings were murdered, elites slaughtered and secession was encouraged.
By the 1600s, the once-mighty kingdom had disintegrated into a leaderless, anarchy of mini-states locked in endemic civil war. Slaves, victims of this fighting, flowed to the coast and were carried to the Americas.
About four million people were forcibly embarked at the mouth of the Congo River. English ships were at the heart of the trade. British cities and merchants grew rich on the back of Congolese resources they would never see.
This first engagement with Europeans set the tone for the rest of the Congo's history.
Development has been stifled, government has been weak and the rule of law non-existent. This was not through any innate fault of the Congolese, but because it has been in the interests of the powerful to destroy, suppress and prevent any strong, stable, legitimate government. That would interfere - as the Kongolese had threatened to interfere before - with the easy extraction of the nation's resources. The Congo has been utterly cursed by its natural wealth.
Limitless water, from the world's second-largest river, the Congo, a benign climate and rich soil make it fertile, beneath the soil abundant deposits of copper, gold, diamonds, cobalt, uranium, coltan and oil are just some of the minerals that should make it one of the world's richest countries.
Instead it is the world's most hopeless.
The interior of the Congo was opened up in the late 19th Century by the British-born explorer Henry Morton Stanley, his dreams of free trading associations with communities he met were shattered by the infamous King of the Belgians, Leopold, who hacked out a vast private empire.
The world's largest supply of rubber was found at a time when bicycle and automobile tyres, and electrical insulation, had made it a vital commodity in the West.
The late Victorian bicycle craze was enabled by Congolese rubber collected by slave labourers.
To tap it, Congolese men were rounded up by a brutal Belgian-officered security force, their wives were interned to ensure compliance and were brutalised during their captivity. The men were then forced to go into the jungle and harvest the rubber.
Disobedience or resistance was met by immediate punishment - flogging, severing of hands, and death. Millions perished.
Tribal leaders capable of resisting were murdered, indigenous society decimated, proper education denied.
A culture of rapacious, barbaric rule by a Belgian elite who had absolutely no interest in developing the country or population was created, and it has endured.
In a move supposed to end the brutality, Belgium eventually annexed the Congo outright, but the problems in its former colony remained.
Mining boomed, workers suffered in appalling conditions, producing the materials that fired industrial production in Europe and America.
In World War I men on the Western Front and elsewhere did the dying, but it was Congo's minerals that did the killing.
The brass casings of allied shells fired at Passchendaele and the Somme were 75% Congolese copper.
In World War II, the uranium for the nuclear bombs dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki came from a mine in south-east Congo.
Western freedoms were defended with Congo's resources while black Congolese were denied the right to vote, or form unions and political associations. They were denied anything beyond the most basic of educations.
They were kept at an infantile level of development that suited the rulers and mine owners but made sure that when independence came there was no home-grown elite who could run the country.
Independence in 1960 was, therefore, predictably disastrous.
Bits of the vast country immediately attempted to break away, the army mutinied against its Belgian officers and within weeks the Belgian elite who ran the state evacuated leaving nobody with the skills to run the government or economy.
Of 5,000 government jobs pre-independence, just three were held by Congolese and there was not a single Congolese lawyer, doctor, economist or engineer.
Chaos threatened to engulf the region. The Cold War superpowers moved to prevent the other gaining the upper hand.
Sucked into these rivalries, the struggling Congolese leader, Patrice Lumumba, was horrifically beaten and executed by Western-backed rebels. A military strongman, Joseph-Desire Mobutu, who had a few years before been a sergeant in the colonial police force, took over.
Mobutu became a tyrant. In 1972 he changed his name to Mobutu Sese Seko Nkuku Ngbendu Wa Za Banga, meaning "the all-powerful warrior who, because of his endurance and inflexible will to win, goes from conquest to conquest, leaving fire in his wake".
The West tolerated him as long as the minerals flowed and the Congo was kept out of the Soviet orbit.
He, his family and friends bled the country of billions of dollars, a $100m palace was built in the most remote jungle at Gbadolite, an ultra-long airstrip next to it was designed to take Concorde, which was duly chartered for shopping trips to Paris.
 
Mobutu, pictured with Jacques Chirac, was courted by the West for decades
Dissidents were tortured or bought off, ministers stole entire budgets, government atrophied. The West allowed his regime to borrow billions, which was then stolen and today's Congo is still expected to pay the bill.
In 1997 an alliance of neighbouring African states, led by Rwanda - which was furious Mobutu's Congo was sheltering many of those responsible for the 1994 genocide - invaded, after deciding to get rid of Mobutu.
A Congolese exile, Laurent Kabila, was dredged up in East Africa to act as a figurehead. Mobutu's cash-starved army imploded, its leaders, incompetent cronies of the president, abandoning their men in a mad dash to escape.
Mobutu took off one last time from his jungle Versailles, his aircraft packed with valuables, his own unpaid soldiers firing at the plane as it lumbered into the air.
Rwanda had effectively conquered its titanic neighbour with spectacular ease. Once installed however, Kabila, Rwanda's puppet, refused to do as he was told.
Again Rwanda invaded, but this time they were just halted by her erstwhile African allies who now turned on each other and plunged Congo into a terrible war.
Foreign armies clashed deep inside the Congo as the paper-thin state collapsed totally and anarchy spread.
Hundreds of armed groups carried out atrocities, millions died.
Ethnic and linguistic differences fanned the ferocity of the violence, while control of Congo's stunning natural wealth added a terrible urgency to the fighting.
Forcibly conscripted child soldiers corralled armies of slaves to dig for minerals such as coltan, a key component in mobile phones, the latest obsession in the developed world, while annihilating enemy communities, raping women and driving survivors into the jungle to die of starvation and disease.
A deeply flawed, partial peace was patched together a decade ago. In the far east of the Congo, there is once again a shooting war as a complex web of domestic and international rivalries see rebel groups clash with the army and the UN, while tiny community militias add to the general instability.
The country has collapsed, roads no longer link the main cities, healthcare depends on aid and charity. The new regime is as grasping as its predecessors.
I rode on one of the trainloads of copper that go straight from foreign-owned mines to the border, and on to the Far East, rumbling past shanty towns of displaced, poverty-stricken Congolese.
The Portuguese, Belgians, Mobutu and the present government have all deliberately stifled the development of a strong state, army, judiciary and education system, because it interferes with their primary focus, making money from what lies under the Earth.
The billions of pounds those minerals have generated have brought nothing but misery and death to the very people who live on top of them, while enriching a microscopic elite in the Congo and their foreign backers, and underpinning our technological revolution in the developed world.
The Congo is a land far away, yet our histories are so closely linked. We have thrived from a lopsided relationship, yet we are utterly blind to it. The price of that myopia has been human suffering on an unimaginable scale.
See original story here

Sunday, 6 October 2013

Nairobi, Kenya


I've really enjoyed spending the last few weeks in Kenya. I like Nairobi a lot and going forward, this is a place I intend to visit as often as I can. My holiday is coming to its end, and in a few hours I should be on an aeroplane ferrying me back to Europe; first to Paris, France and then onward to London; back to the drudgery of life in England, the stony and expressionless faces of the people you encounter on your daily commute; that cold, dull and dreary weather. Whatever one says about Africa, it remains the case that in the overall, people in Africa are happy; and certainly happier than people in Europe! I will miss Kenya and Nairobi in particular.

But of course there are other things that have to be said, issues that I have found particularly unpleasant. Class, is more of an issue in Kenya than it is anywhere else I've been to, except Brazil. With Brazil's history though, the wideness of the gap in the social hierarchy is explainable with a measure of rationality. Much less so with Kenya.There simply is no reason (save for greed and selfishness) why, for example, one kilometre from the splendid, clean and well maintained Central Business District (CBD) of Nairobi, is located Africa's largest slum, Kibera, where more than 2 million of Nairobi's inhabitants live, a significant proportion of the city's population.

Kibera is only one of several slum areas in the city. Indeed much of Nairobi is slummy, even those other areas such as Eastleigh, Juja Road and other such places that are not officially designated as slums. Its particularly bad because these slummy areas are largely neglected, almost as if the inhabitants (usually the poorer lower classes) are insignificant and irrelevant. Street cleaning, for instance, takes place only in the CBD and in those plush highbrow parts of town where well-to-do Nairobians live. Poor people, it seems, are not worthy of having their streets cleaned. 200 metres outside the CBD and every street corner is piled high with rubbish (garbage as my American friends will say), because, of course, there are no upper-class people resident in the vicinity. I have found it deplorable.

The society's sharp class distinction also means that there is much resentment between the classes. Being class-neutral myself, I have found it easy to hold conversations with all kinds of people. Indeed, the most interesting chats I've had since I've been in Kenya, have been with two separate individuals; one, Simba, a security guard and the other Moses, a bus conductor. Its interesting to see how truly insightful some of these so called "lower-class" people can be. But its the deep resentment that I observed which has touched me the most. In the aftermath of the Westgate Mall tragedy, I got the distinct feeling that there were quite a few among the lower classes who have little sympathy for the unfortunate victims of the terrorists. "Only well-to-do upper-class people could afford to visit Westage after all, so what did it matter if they died?" Quite troubling, I thought.. — in Nairobi, Kenya.

Tuesday, 16 April 2013



 

Award-winning African author Chimamanda Ngozi Adichie tells Jon Snow why her latest book Americanah mirrors some of the central issues of her own life: race, immigration and the power of hair.

Monday, 18 March 2013

Saturday, 9 March 2013

The real story of Nigeria


A valuable record of Nigeria's political history, good mainly for its factual accuracy, but perhaps less so for some judgements made by the film's maker. Nevertheless, this film is definitely worth watching and I was transfixed for the hour and a half it took to watch it from start to finish.

Tuesday, 5 February 2013

Adele, setting fire to the rain..

Thursday, 1 November 2012

Things that get you thinking..



I enjoy listening to the Professor Richard Dawkins speak..

Monday, 29 October 2012

Update Number Five

My last few days in Ghana were spent in Accra, but not before I had undertaken what I can only still think of as a difficult road journey to get there from Sunyani. The journey was difficult mainly because of the state of the roads in segments of the route. Stopping over for a while (and for a second time) in the city of Kumasi, my impression of the city as being the least attractive of the cities that I was privileged to visit in Ghana was only reinforced. Whoever it is that is charged with the responsibility for keeping the city’s streets clean deserves to lose their job, or their contract, because they are doing a very poor job indeed. Driving through the city centre was a nightmare not only because the area was overcrowded and the traffic was horrendous, but this was quite easily the dirtiest place that I encountered throughout my stay in Ghana. I couldn't get out of the city fast enough. 

But then once again Ghana redeemed herself when the coach in which we were travelling (George and me) pulled into a petrol station on the outskirts of Kumasi for a rest stop and the passengers all filed out in orderly fashion to use the spotless and very well maintained toilet facilities that were laid on for our use. It was difficult to make a connection between these excellent toilets and those ones that I had complained so vociferously about in my last update. However this reprieve wasn't to last long, for it was only a short while later and only a few kilometres down the Kumasi to Konongo-Odumase road that our coach came to an abrupt halt. And we remained stationary for nearly two hours too, apparently because some serious accident had occurred up the road ahead of us. No information was passed on to us, no explanation for the delay was provided and it seemed to me that none of the other passengers on the coach even realised that they were actually entitled to an explanation for the delay, or to be told the reason why they were being held up. Eventually, though, this information trickled down.

Some heavy-duty articulated vehicle had toppled over on its side in the middle of the road and having spewed all of its contents unto the road, made it impossible for traffic in either direction to progress until the debris had been cleared off the road surface and the wrecked vehicle moved to one side. Needless to say, all of this took several hours, for there was at least a one-kilometre-long queue of stalled traffic in front of us before we had even arrived at the scene. Even when we started to move, it was at a crawl, for several miles. And as if this unpleasant episode wasn't bad enough, we still had to contend with the stretch of very bad road around the town of Suhum about an hour later, that went on for miles and miles, which made an already difficult journey even more tedious than it needed to be. Finally and quite exhausted, (its amazing that we were so tired since we'd only been sitting in a coach), we arrived in Accra and fought our way through the city's very heavy traffic to the location where we were to stay for the next couple of days.  

How time flies when you have so much you want to see and do, yet so little time to see and do them. There was so much more I had wanted to see in Ghana, for starters all those touristy places like for example, the Elmina Castle. I didn't even get to see the sights in Accra itself, save for a brief visit to the Labadi beach. By the way, it was annoying that one was required to pay an entry fee to enter the beach area, and more so when there was nothing of any particular significance at the beach to justify having to pay just to be there. My flight back to England was only hours away and the appalling traffic conditions in Accra meant that it took hours just to get from one point in the city to another. 

What I could accomplish therefore during my brief stay in the city was limited, but I have resolved to return to Ghana sometime in the not too distant future, specifically to visit and spend time in Accra. I simply haven't seen enough of the place yet. There are people in Accra that I was looking forward to meeting too, whom I never had the chance to meet because I didn't have the time. And I feel really bad about that. But please guys do accept my apologies, I'll make up for it the next time I come. So with the awful traffic conditions in mind, I made sure to set out for the airport a good 5 hours before my flight. This was one flight I was not going to miss. 

The trip home - A person can only enter into the Departures area of the Accra airport terminal building by presenting both a passport and a ticket as proof that whosoever enters the building is a legitimate traveller. And although I understand the reasoning behind this strict policy, I cant but think of it as anything other than mean and unkind, because you are forced to bid only a perfunctory farewell to a loved one who was seeing you off at the airport, with whom you might have wished instead to share a lingering hug, (or perhaps even a kiss), as you parted from each other. And even so, you have no choice but to part under the watchful gaze of stern looking airport security personnel. 

Its even worse when you have several hours of waiting alone at the airport to do before your flight, since you've arrived early, hours which could easily have been spent enjoying the company of your loved one. So you get the picture of what actually happened to me when I found myself suddenly all alone in the departures lounge, clearing immigration and going through the usual security procedures. Thank goodness for mobile telephony, because although physically alone I was still able to keep in touch with George, who insisted on remaining behind outside the airport for a while after I had left him and entered the building.

And so my visit to Ghana ended and I made it onto the aircraft bound for Amsterdam. A quick phone call to say my goodbyes and settling into my seat for what was a night flight, I thought little of the rumbling in my stomach (and ignored it), as the aeroplane thundered down the runway, lifted into the air and the night lights of Accra spread out beneath us. But it was not long before that stomach rumble declared its malevolent intentions. It was not to be ignored! 

If you know of no one who has had diarrhoea while travelling on a 7-hour flight in a fully-loaded aeroplane with every seat occupied, look no further. It was absolutely horrendous having to trundle down the aisle every few minutes or so to use the toilet in the plane, cursing under my breath; wondering what the heck I'd had to eat on my last day in Accra that had landed me in this appalling situation; receiving those funny looks from fellow passengers and the plane's cabin crew; hoping desperately that there wouldn't be a queue for the toilet when I reached it, because after all there were close to 300 people on this aircraft, with perhaps six toilets between us. Thankfully this was at night and most people did eventually fall asleep in their seats. So there were visits I made to the toilet that went mostly unobserved. 

After a few hours into the flight the diarrhoea did settle down a bit, albeit temporarily, because shortly after touchdown in Amsterdam, while negotiating my route through Amsterdam's Schiphol Airport to reach my departure gate for my connecting flight to London, (for which I had to wait in Amsterdam for another four or more hours), the diarrhoea flared up again. So even while at the airport in Amsterdam, it was in and out of the toilet again, until I could bear it no longer and demanded to be shown to the airport's medical centre. Once there, I was promptly handed a high dosage of powerful anti-diarrhoeal medication by a very polite, black, Dutch lady doctor, who spoke halting English. Then I received a bill of just over 40 Euros, which I was informed included the fee for the doctor's consultation. The doctor assured me that I would feel better after taking the medication. And I did too, at least until I reached London and made my way home, but I didn't fully recover until at least after the second day after my arrival.

It was not a pleasant end to what had been a very interesting and enjoyable holiday, but it is the enjoyable parts of the holiday that I will focus on and which will remain embedded in my memory forever. In my mind I've already started toying with the idea of going off again to another interesting location. But will I visit Ghana again? Most definitely! I totally loved the place

Saturday, 20 October 2012

Update Number Four

Unplanned development is as prevalent in Ghana as it is in Nigeria, save for the scale of it, in which case Nigeria's may perhaps be greater than Ghana's. Nevertheless, even in Ghana, it is the case that most newly built homes are put up in areas where proper roads do not exist, nor is there any pipe-borne water to be connected to. And by the haphazard nature of the positioning of the electricity poles, it is possible to detect that even the electricity has been hurriedly connected to the locality.

In several of the areas that I have visited, houses (of questionable build-quality) have been constructed with seemingly no guidance whatsoever from any civic planning/building regulatory regime, nor with any regard to, or consideration for, things like safety, or access, as for example, access for the emergency services in the event of an emergency.
  
Houses seem to be built for two main reasons. Firstly, a house is built to fulfill what is seen as a requirement in the life of a truly successful person, to have his/her own home built from scratch. Secondly, much of the home building seems to be done for the purpose of exploiting what is in fact a severe housing deficit, by building substandard homes to be rented to hapless tenants, given the shortage of housing in general and the dearth of decent housing in particular.

The fact is that an inordinately large number of Ghanaians still live in housing that can best be described as inadequate. However, it must be said that there are also some very nice and well built homes, although often times these are located in places where you might wish you were wearing hiking boots (due to the awful state in which what passes for a road is in), as you navigated the terrain to reach such homes.

Water in many areas I have visited is not pipe-borne and is almost always supplied from a well dug at the time the building is constructed. In the more well-to-do households, the water from the well is pumped by an electric pump into an overhead tank, from which it is then distributed through the home assisted by gravity. The hope always is for the electricity supply to remain uninterrupted, for when it is interrupted, which happens often, its becomes impossible for the water to be pumped into the tank. As for what obtains in the less well-off homes, well, let me leave that to your imagination.
   
Toilets - I do not understand why all of my neighbours need to know about it every time I go to use the toilet. But apparently some feel differently about this, since this is precisely what happens in large parts of Ghana, where the idea of public toilets appears to have been embraced with a degree of enthusiasm that many of us living in the modern world would be unfamiliar with.

I heard an alarming statistic the other day on Ghanaian television, when some wise person while lamenting the generally poor sanitary conditions in the said public toilets, made the comment that 5 million Ghanaians do not have a toilet in their homes. Gosh, how shocking is that?! Strolling through the village to have a poo on the other side of town seems to be the reality, a fact of life, for many people here. It seems that many here can see nothing wrong with having to do this and don't seem to know any reason why they should have a toilet in their homes for their own private and exclusive use.

But then if public toilets is the way to go and if this is what you want to do, isn't ensuring that those public toilets are carefully maintained and kept scrupulously clean the only way to justify their existence?

I think there's a desperate need for legislation in Ghana making it compulsory for every home, and especially every newly built home, to have a toilet of its own. In my humble opinion, the culture of relying so heavily on public toilet facilities is outmoded and outdated and ought to have no place in the 21st century. It is even worse when you have to pay to use a public toilet that is merely a pit latrine, is filthy and offers only bits of old newspaper in place of toilet paper. Phew, that needed to be said, so there!

Transportation - Getting from place to place within a Ghanaian city isn't that difficult, what with the tidy and orderly row of taxis at the various designated points, each row for a specific destination. For example, taxis destined for say, Dumasua, line up in a row with the taxi at the very front bearing a DUMASUA sign on its roof, which indicates to the would-be passenger that this is the taxi to be boarded. It is a shared taxi that carries four passengers, but I understand that the taxis are also available to be chartered for exclusive use. Anyway, as soon as the shared taxi has filled all of its seats and destination sign is moved on to the roof of the taxi immediately following it in the row, it sets out (often being driven incredibly dangerously) on its rickety, bone-jarring, wobbly way, with not a seat belt in sight. From the very first day I arrived in this country, I've wondered everyday why there aren't more accidents on the roads..

And the taxis in Sunyani, the city where I've been for much of my stay in Ghana, are mostly old Opel and Vauxhall models, a fact that itself was a bit of a surprise to me. Even more surprising was when Kofi, the talkative taxi driver with whom I'd struck up something of a friendship, explained that almost all of the commercial vehicles in Ghana have been converted to run on liquefied natural gas (LNG), yes, the same gas used for cooking, (or is it liquefied petroleum gas LPG? I'm not entirely sure what the difference is). Anyway, this gas is said to be considerably less expensive than petrol and runs just as well as petrol, therefore its use makes commercial sense. Kofi, who showed me the tank for the gas that had been fitted into his taxi's boot, went on to explain how the conversion from petrol to gas is carried out. I thought this a wonderful idea and was quite impressed, but not having much knowledge about public transportation myself, wondered if this technology is being adopted more widely worldwide. And if not, why not?

Getting around the city may be easy, but getting around Ghana the country, from city to city, certainly is not. More about this in the next update, as I make my way through Ghana to Accra to catch my flight back home..

Friday, 19 October 2012

Melting ice cap: What has Greenland got to lose - or gain?



Interesting report from the Channel 4 News. Read the story on the Channel 4 News website here

Sunday, 14 October 2012

Update Number Three

I should start this update with an astonishing set of statistics. I see this is an addendum to my previous update, when I drew the comparison between Ghana and Nigeria on the percentages of their respective populations that are living below the international poverty line. 

According to the CIA's World Fact Book , the percentage of people in Ghana living in poverty in 2007 was 28.5% and according to World Bank figures, 28.59% in 2006. By contrast, the figures for Nigeria in 2010 were 67.98% living on less than $1.25 per day and 84.49% of the population living on less than $2 per day.

I thought this quite shocking for several reasons, but especially so given that Nigeria's oil export earnings alone amount to over $45 billion a year. Nigeria is the largest oil and gas producer in sub Saharan Africa and the country has been a major oil producer for more than fifty years. Its even more disturbing when one sees that only very few other countries have a higher percentage of their populations still living in poverty today, such countries as East Timor, Chad, Democratic Republic of Congo, Burundi and Madagascar. And Nigeria conspicuously, albeit incongruously, has been placed by the numbers among and alongside these 'poorest countries in the world'. You can't but wonder whether policy makers in Nigeria are aware of these shameful statistics, or even if they were aware, if they care at all.

But lest I forget, this is an update about my visit to the country Ghana. Therefore, I must resist the urge to embark on a literary rampage, pouring out my frustrations about my homeland Nigeria and the state in which the country is. So back to Ghana it is then.  

Its now week three in Ghana and I've realised that my distinctly western style and manner has worked to my disadvantage many times in my deep desire to go completely native. So I've made the conscious decision to ditch the RayBan-style, light-sensitive reactions specs, which look like really cool sunglasses, (when the reality is that they're actually prescription spectacles with thick lenses without which I could barely see a thing). 

Thank goodness for the "get a second pair free" deal that the opticians Specsavers were doing in London, which I seized upon shortly before I embarked on my trip to Africa. So yes, I do have a second, non-trendy pair that make me look straight-laced, plain and schoolteacher-ish. (No disrespect to schoolteachers intended :)). And then the clothing. I've dumped fancy t-shirts and shorts for the fetching, brightly coloured shirts, made of locally produced cloth, sewn by local tailors and commonly worn proudly by many locals. Jeans are truly universal and mine have stayed, but the sum effect of the transformation in my appearance is to make me blend in more readily, although there's still the problem with the local language, of which I have been able only to acquire a few words. Twi is not an easy language to learn.

Fufu Bar - I had never heard of a 'fufu bar' until i arrived in Ghana a few weeks ago. The fufu bar is akin to what in Nigeria would be referred to as a 'pepper-soup joint'. To be more accurate though, I'd have to describe the fufu bar as a cross between a pepper-soup joint and a 'buka' or 'mama-put'. Well, you'd know what I was talking about if you were already familiar with Nigeria, but for those who aren't, I shall describe my experiences at the fufu bar and draw comparisons as I go along with the Nigerian establishments that I mentioned. But then this of course is about Ghana, not Nigeria and we must not lose sight of that.

Now 'Twi" the language of the Akan people of the part of Ghana where I currently am, is a language which just like 'Yoruba' its Nigerian cousin, seemingly may only be spoken by shouting. In other words, it appears to me, the onlooker, that anything spoken or said in the Twi language (and indeed the Yoruba language for that matter), must be shouted in order for it to be understood. I've only made this observation or remark so as to set the backdrop for the sound (or noise) at the fufu bar, where Twi was the only language being spoken (shouted) in communications between patrons and bar staff and amongst the patrons themselves. It didn't help matters (in fact it energised the already very noisy chatter), that Ghana's national soccer team the Black Stars, were billed to play a major qualifying match against the Malawi national side later that day.

And in the middle of all of this was seated poor little me, not comprehending a single word of what was being said (or shouted) all around me, save for when the familiar name of a famous footballer was uttered. But then there was George, seated beside me, all the time at my side as he had been since I'd stepped off the aeroplane and out through the 'arrivals' gate at the airport weeks ago, his attention constantly focused on me, watching for and responding to every facial expression, answering every question my curious and inquisitive mind could throw at him, meeting my every need, offering me a place of safety from all that uncertainty, a place of warmth and comfort even during those violent night-time tropical thunderstorms that have characterised my stay here thus far..

Then finally the fufu arrives and is served in a large earthenware bowl, which I am kindly informed is known in the local language as potayua. The fufu itself looks a bit like the pounded yam of Nigeria, which I enjoy so very much when well prepared and served with a tasty, leafy sauce such as egusi or edikang ikong. But at this fufu bar, the fufu sat in what can best be described as a pool of 'light soup'. I'd heard of light soup long before I ever saw or tasted it and I'd always been curious to know what it was. But as it turned out, light soup is the same thing as what is known as pepper-soup in Nigeria. Indeed, light soup is what I'd always had (and enjoyed immensely) at that Ghanaian restaurant in Dalston, London, although I'd thought that it was pepper-soup that I was having. So you see, there's little difference between pepper-soup and light soup.

The only difference if at all, is the way each is eaten in Ghana and in Nigeria respectively. In Ghana, light soup is eaten in the way that in Nigeria the more substantial sauces such as egusi are eaten. In Nigeria, pepper-soup is eaten with a spoon and can be sipped like tea. Indeed, pepper-soup is often slurped when its hot, much in the same way that a person who doesn't know better slurps his tea from his cup. Please can you imagine having pounded yam with pepper-soup? Or to describe it more vividly, just imagine your lump of pounded yam sitting in the middle bowl of pepper soup? I couldn't do it and had to give up on the fufu in the end. But I sipped (and drank) the light soup as best as I could. The 'bush meat' that came with the soup was an absolute delight though and between George and I, not a single piece of it was left behind.

This report on the fufu bar would be incomplete without a comment or two on the assortment of drinks on offer, all alcoholic and all locally produced. First of all, there was something called kasapreko that looked a bit like a stout, but which I'm reliably informed is consumed in copious quantities and used by the bar's patrons to boost their appetites. Then there was "Alomo Bitters'. It must be bitter, I thought, so "no, thank you very much". And then the usual suspects, akpeteshie  and  burukutu, homemade gin and homemade brew (beer) respectively. But just in case you've started wondering, I had only a glass of water to wash down the light  soup and bush meat.

In the next update I'll be discussing my thoughts on more substantial issues like housing, roads and yes, the toilets in Ghana.  :)