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 Do Sikaman Mothers deserve their day?

Sikaman Palava

Sometimes children forget that while they were in the belly of Mummy, Daddy was paying the bills. So it isn’t Mummy alone who bore the child. Daddy contributed a seed and funded the bills till Mummy was sent to hospital to produce the baby.

When the baby is brought home bouncing, everyone congratulates Mummy, not Daddy. At this point in time Daddy doesn’t count. After all, what is the big deal about settling an­te-natal and maternity bills? And what is money compared to labour pains?

Certainly, a Mum’s woes do not end with the delivery of a kid. Breast-feeding, sleepless nights, sick baby, cry baby cry, too much stress handling a tiny human being. The man’s woes also do not end unless of course, the man is a cockroach.

And if he truly is, Mum will surely tell the kid when he grows up. “Your daddy isn’t a daddy,” she’d say. “He is a cockroach! When I gave birth to you, he saw another woman and followed her like a he-goat. The bastard didn’t look after you!”

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SWEET

So it comes to Mother’s Day and the kid is forever grateful o Mama for making a human being out of the seed of an idiot. She prays for Mum! Sweet Mother!

Come Father’s Day and everyone wonders whether a day like that exists. Very little publicity on JOY FM. Fact is that JOY doesn’t particularly believe in the day, but offering some sponsored airtime to interview people about their daddies would just be fair.

And for the sake of honouring one’s father, no one ever said anything ugly about Daddy. I am still waiting to hear something like this.

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“While I was lying in the belly of my Mama, my Daddy took off with the woman who is now my step-mom. My Mum is a wreck all because of my Daddy. He beat her, neglected her and finally divorced her. On this occasion of Father’s Day, I wish my father will roast in hell at the Second Coming of Jesus Christ!”

Fact is, it isn’t all fathers that deserve accommodation on hell’s bar­becue stand. Some fathers are really fathers – caring, supportive, groom­ing, educating and putting you on a firm academic ladder. Only about 20 per cent of men are irresponsible and warming up for hell if one exists.

And who says all mums are mums? In some communities, any woman who is lucky to hit 65 years is automatical­ly branded a witch, not because she is a witch, but because she is supposed to be one. If she isn’t a witch by 65, then what is the use of her old age?

So you’ll find very terrifying reports of grandmothers who are accused of causing accidents by re­mote-control, mothers making their sons-in-law impotent, or if they are lucky half-impotent, or removing the wombs of daughters-in-law.

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Go to Gambaga and you’ll be wel­comed to a witch’s camp. When you clock 60 and your eyes get a little red, you are certified and gazetted a witch and banished to the camp where you’ll one day perish. Backwardness?

WINE

On Mother’s day last Sunday, I remembered my mum who is no more. Very noble lady who saw me through university when my Dad was on pen­sion. I took dark wine in honour of her and blessed her.

My kids asked me what the family would be doing on Mother’s Day, “I have no mother!” I replied. But they had a Mum and they wanted some­thing done for her. I got interested.

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“Will you pound fufu for her?”

“Yes”, they said.

Okay! I also said for once, I’ll go to the kitchen and prepare the soup. I ordered a large whole chicken, assembled the garlic, peppers, spices, tomato (fresh), tomato (paste) and got to work.

I undertook surgery on the chick­en, washed it nicely and put my- self to the test. Generally I’m not a good cook. When I was in Legon, my girl­friend taught me how to cook sweet potato pottage using fish and palm oil, and I have not forgotten the skills. But preparing Mother’s Day chicken soup was quite a challenge.

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I needed advance catering skills.

Half way through, I realised I was burnt in three places and decided that enough was enough. I wanted to give up, but wouldn’t that be untoward? I plodded on and mixed things together and fixed the cooker fire on ‘medium.’ I left the rest to God! He knows best!

When it was done, I plucked out a piece of chicken to sample. I en­joyed it! But I needed to get the nod from my kids! They will be doing the presentation to their Mum to honour her. If it was badly prepared, it would be dishonourable! “Over to you Edem, Emefa, Eyram and Elom” – the Four Es!

DESERVE

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The question is do mothers really deserve Mothers’ Day? It was when I witnessed part of the delivery of my last-born child that I started respect­ing women.

I was at work when a call came “Your wife has been sent to clinic. She is in great pain.”

I was confused and just could not continue what I was writing. I tried to concentrate without success. I packed out and headed for the clinic. I want­ed to meet the new child and touch it. But nay!

My wife was lying on a bed groan­ing. “The doctor says the baby is not coming so he’d have to send me to the theatre if it doesn’t drop by 8:00 pm.” She was sweating like nobody’s business.

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I went home, took a hurried bath and returned and witnessed the labour of my wife. It was frightening and horrifying. She couldn’t lie and couldn’t stand. She had been injected to induce labour and the baby just wouldn’t come. I regretted having made her pregnant.

Mothers really deserve their Day!

This article was first published on May 15, 2004

Merari Alomele’s

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• A mother’s woes do not end with the delivery of a child

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Features

Cry of the poor

The poor constitute the dregs of the society

Everywhere, the poor constitute the dregs of the society. They are the have-nots and the down-trod­den who always feel economically dizzy, politically sleepy, socially tired and are religiously confused. Their worth is never recognised in society and everyone forgets that without the poor, society can never be complete.

Some people believe that the poor will never go to heaven. So very unfor­tunate since the majority of Africans are congenitally poor.

My former classmate, Kwame Korkor­ti, for instance entertains the convic­tion that the eventual destination of the poor is hell. I have always protest­ed the senselessness of this notion, but Korkorti advances arguments to back his point.

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According to him, a poor man is a sinful person by virtue of his empty pocket. Because he has no money, he may think about making ends meet through stealing, which is against the Bible; he does not give alms to the poor, and because he is perpetually broke, he is always temperamental and will slap you if you rob him the wrong way.

According to Korkorti, St. Peter, who is at the gates of Heaven, does not admit such people. He cites an example that immediately a poor man approaches the gates of Heaven, he would be turned away because he would be smelling heavily of akpetesh­ie, to which Peter will refer him: “Thou shall not drink local gin, especially bitters…”

In contrast, says Korkorti, a rich man does not pilfer, he gives alms, is cheer­ful and will always forgive a fault. And when he gets to the gates of Heaven, he will not smell of mahogany-bitters or raw akpeteshie. He will scent of either Mathews Wine, Jackson’s Special Cocktail, Irish Cream or at least Guin­ness. Peter will be too willing to get him registered on the list of qualified entrants.

It is quite unfortunate for Korkorti to perceive the poor vis-a-vis the rich, in such a disparaging manner, but I do not blame him since the very nature of society makes him think that way. Who haven’t always thought that a poor person is a wicked person? And most people regard the rich as next to God just because they can cause food and drink to flow by just issuing a simple command.

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In any situation, the have-nots are always in a disadvantaged position. When a boy whose father is a poor farmer completes sixth form and applies for an overseas scholarship advertised in the papers, his chances of clinching the award is virtually nil when a boy who has a rich father also applies. Even the manner of interview­ing the two candidates can be highly disparate, not forgetting the circum­stances under which each of them attends the interview.

Indeed, on the morn of the in­terview, the poor lad arrives at the appointed time after having taken Koko and Koose. The previous night, he had taken Kokonte and light-soup. Now, he feels quite drowsy, albeit confident. The rich man’s son had oats and milk against bread and cheese. He washes these down with Vitamin C laden orange-juice and appears at the interview bright and exuberant.

His father, who is in the same golf club as two of the panel members, has also done his homework satisfactorily. The questions that would be thrown at his ward will not be too difficult. Even if they are difficult, the boy must not be seen to be failing.

Eventually, the scholarship award is presented on a silver platter. The poor farmer’s son goes back home disen­chanted. He had not been born with a silver spoon in his mouth. Moreover, he does not look like a scholarship holder, because he appears anaemic.

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Dear reader, imagine that at a big so­cial function in the capital of Sikaman the Master of Ceremonies describes the chairman for the occasion as follows: “Ladies and gentlemen, lend me your ears. This is Mark Antony speaking… The chairman for this ocсаsion is a man we all know. Presently, he is unem­ployed, sorry redeployed…

“Our honourable chairman is a prod­uct of Kordiabe Junction Secondary Boarding where he obtained a school certificate in 1969, lest I forget, with distinction. However, he could not proceed to sixth form because his poor father, a cocoyam farmer could not afford to buy his school uniform any longer. As for his school fees don’t talk about it. It is a taboo!”

At this stage, invited guests will start wondering whether the MC had not forgotten the life-history of the hon­ourable chairman, or is he mistaking him for another person? The MC must, however, complete his job.

“Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests, since our honourable chairman could not afford the school fees, he decided to get employed. He worked with a private company as a junior clerk where he marked time for ten years before he was promoted to the post of a clerk. As a clerk, he marked time again till the company went bank­rupt. That was when he was forcibly redeployed against his wish.

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“Currently, he is unemployed and finds difficulty in procuring one square meal a day. Ladies and gentlemen, permit me to introduce to you, the chairman for this wonderful occasion, Mr Kofi Owuo alias Death By Poverty.”

If Kofi Owuo was indeed present and stood up in a faded Jumper and khaki shorts with a pair of worn out charlie woté (one red and one green), and a lousy moustache, and smiles rather broadly, what would you as an invited guest do? Will you applaud, or would you start glancing at the programme to see how soon the vote of thanks will be delivered so that Kofi Owuo could be left to his woes and poverty?

The chairman of any big function today is chosen by special criteria. He must have a car which is in good condition, especially with a good starter, with which he’d drive to the function. He must be able to afford a decent suit, preferably a three-piece; or a bright traditional wear of Kente or Adinkra.

He must be able to smile like a rich man, talk like a rich man, laugh like a rich man, and sneeze like a rich man. He must have had academic exposure in renowned universities in countries abroad including Australia, Canada, war-torn Liberia, crisis-filled Kuwait, US and Surinam. Such is society. He must be the chairman of the Board of Directors of one company or another.

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Even in his family, the poor man is not respected, be a father, a grandfa­ther or an uncle. During an extended family meeting his opinions are not sought. If he tries to make even a sensible point, his age-mate who is rel­atively rich will remark: “My friend if you’ve drunk akpeteshle, go and sleep. We want people of sound mind who can talk sense. Look at how your eyes are red. Too much akpetsshie!” The appro­priate thing the cousin should have said is, “We want people who have money to offer their views.”

Of course who doesn’t respect and tolerate a rich person and scorns a poor man. Even rich ugly men are considered very handsome. You dare not think he is ugly, because society’s eye does not perceive the world in such simple terms.

But the poor are also human. They may be luck-less, born into poverty and hopeless in life. However, they serve society in numerous ways. They clean our gutters, sweep our offices, cart foodstuffs, tend our gardens and watch our homes.

It is for this reason that Teddy Alor of Tema, Site 21, says that if every­one were to be rich, there would be no society. Social stratification is in­dispensable to the continued perpet­uation of every society since every member of a society plays a distinc­tive role and performs functions.

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We may not carry our poor folks shoulder high. But let us give them the due respect and help them out of their miseries.

This article was first published on Saturday, August 18, 1990

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Just in time part 1

Esaaba and Baaba were the only children of their parents. Es­aaba was two years older than Baaba. They had a good, comfort­able upbringing, but Mama and Dada just could not hide the fact that Baaba was their favourite.

They were both good in school, but Baaba was brilliant, all the way to university. She had a sharp mind, she was witty, and very pretty. Boys followed her like flies, and she had a way of shrugging them off without offending them.

Baaba was the practical type. She took her time, and got things done. Esaaba came out with a second class upper in Biochemistry, and Baaba got a first class in Pharmacy. For most of the time they got along quite well, but sometimes they had strong disagreements which only worsened when their parents took Baaba’s side.

When that happened, Esaaba would drop the argument or back out of the issue of contention and walk away. That often made things much worse. Two years after grad­uation, Baaba married a doctor she had met in the university. He was certainly a great guy, both in looks and character.

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They had two kids in two years, and settled down to a peaceful life. Esaaba was still living with their parents and at the age of twen­ty-eight, was not showing any sign of settling down with a guy. Initially their parents only dropped hints every now and then that she should be giving the issue of marriage some consideration.

She would also drop a word or two to indicate that the issue of mar­riage was certainly on her mind, but that she was firmly convinced that it was wrong for a woman to even attempt to look for a man.

The time she was convinced would certainly come, and she was not going to force it. Then Stanley Forson appeared on the scene. He lived with his family at the entrance to the Estates, whilst they were at the other end, some five kilometres away.

He attended an engineering school in Germany and came home to es­tablish a shop that provided hi-tech servicing for Mercedes Benz, Golf and other German cars.

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He was obviously doing well, and often travelled to Germany. He vis­ited a few times, and we went out to some restaurants. Mr and MrsEs­sel took a great liking to him, espe­cially when he brought them gifts when he returned from Hanover, where he was previously based.

One evening they called Esaaba and asked her what she thought of Stanley as a husband. It was obvi­ous, they said that he was interest­ed in her, and the least she could do was return the affection he was showing her.

Esaaba replied that she was doing enough to reciprocate the time Stanley was spending on her. She had cooked a nice meal and invited him to supper, for example, and he had certainly enjoyed himself. She had also bought him two shirts, one on his birthday and the other when he was leaving on one of his trips to Germany.

And she called him regularly, even when he was in Germany. But while they had developed a good friend­ship, Stanley had not even come close to indicating any interest in a relationship, let alone marriage. She said that the best thing to do at that time was to wait, and give him time to sort out whatever issues he had. But they had other plans, and they put them into motion without informing her.

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She learned later that they invited him home one evening, and virtual­ly told him that having known him and his family for many years, they considered him a decent young man with a great future. They had nat­urally taken note of his friendship with their daughter, and wished to assure him that if he had any issues regarding the future of the relation­ship, he could count on them to find a solution.

They went further to say that marriage was an institution that was built over time, that there was never an ideal time to get married, but two young people can decide to join together and build a lasting relationship.

Two days later, Stanley invited Es­aaba out for a drink. He picked her up, and he drove to a snack joint nearby. After they had taken their first sip, he drew closer and said ‘Esaaba, we have been friends for a while, and I believe we know each other well. I think it is time we took our relationship to another level.

I would like to ask you, will you be my wife?’ He took a ring from his breast pocket and continued, ‘I got this for you. Of course, I am not asking you to start wearing it now. I would like you to take it, and when we eventually do the traditional and official ceremonies, you can start wearing it’.

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I tried to hide my surprise and thought of something to say. ‘Stan­ley’ Esaaba said, ‘I am really sur­prised. Thank you very much. What shall I say? Yes, we have known each other for a while. I am certainly interested in your proposal.

I will only make a humble request that you let me know your plans for the future. If I am going to be your wife, then I would like to know what plans you have for us. I hope you understand what I am saying.’

‘Yes, certainly. I understand you perfectly well. I think it’s in order. I just wanted you to know what my intentions are. In the coming days and weeks I will discuss my plans with you, then we can go forward. So will you accept the ring?’

‘Yes’, she said. Certainly. ‘You have already said that you will dis­cuss your plans with me, so on that basis I accept it’.Esaaba did not say anything to her parents about Stan­ley’s proposal. She spent some days wondering what exactly lay behind it. Although she always hoped to en­ter into a relationship, she had not thought about how it could affect her life.

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She was a Teaching Assistant at the Biochemistry Department, and she was considering two options. She could start a three year Mas­ter’s Degree programme at the Department whilst still a teaching assistant, or she could apply for a scholarship to do further studies, preferably in Europe.

If she was going to marry Stanley, then she had to review all those plans. She had not thought about them because they had not come up in the times she spent with him.

They had spent some time to­gether, but they had not discussed anything that indicated an interest in a future relationship. She had visited his home once, and never been to his workplace, even though she knew where he worked. She had no objection to a relationship with him, but she would wish to know more about him.

So she decided that whilst waiting for him to open up regarding his plans, she would also start making some moves. She decided to wait for a week or two, and visit him at his workplace. He went to the house on two occasions, but they carried on as usual, although she noticed that he spent a few minutes chat­ting with her parents each time.

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By Ekow de Heer

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