chapter 8: jesus christ!

“blah blah blah praise jesus, blah blah hallelujah amen!”

i have mistakenly wandered onto a rolling sixth ring of hell. or heaven, i'm not really sure. either way, there's no escape.

disclaimer: if you are a born-again christian, don't understand sarcasm, or have no sense of humour about your religion, you should stop reading now. fair warning.

everywhere i go in ghana, i hear about god. or jesus. for fellow minions of satan out there, he was apparently some sort of saviour who dabbled in carpentry.

i've never really had a problem with christians before. i left them alone, they returned the favour. we both liked it that way. we had a deal, dammit! but it seems to be void here. the magic daddy in the sky is everywhere. on taxi dashboards and back windows, on tro-tros, on signs outside all manner of businesses. Every day on the ride into work, a billboard reminds me jesus is coming back, and am i prepared? hell no! the invocation of the holy name is so frequent and casual, i`m not sure even the big guy would approve. “god willing, the black stars will win the african cup.” “god willing, the traffic won't delay us.” “god willing, it won't rain today.”

even the supreme being needs a break, no?

so i'm on a bus from kumasi to tema, where i'll be covering the us navy`s curious new commitment to helping west african countries secure their waters against maritime threats. after waiting an hour for the bus to depart, i settle in for a long ride, hoping to do some research and maybe get some rest. suddenly, a man who's apparently a preacher stands up and starts slinging hellfire and brimstone.

that's right kids, an impromptu sermon! wheeee!

as impromptu events go, it ranks right up there with emergency root canals and passport lineups. i'm flabbergasted. i've had my share of weird religious eperiences here, like faith healers/snake oil salesmen, (get the full story here: http://www.jhr.ca/fieldnotes/index.php?view=section&iid=9447&sid=72) but the randomness of this one tops them all. i turn to my friend gloria who's riding with me and ask her what's going on. “he always does it,” she replies matter-of-factly. “for how long,” i ask. she shrugs.

with internal temperature rising, i consider my options:
1- be quiet and suck it up.
2- tell him to shut up.
3- get the slingshot out and get biblical on his ass.

option three is the most attractive, but unfortunately, i've neglected to pack my emergency giant-killing kit. i seriously consider option two, but i remember my gramma's sage advice to occasionally think before i open my big fat mouth. see gramma? i do listen! so i satisfy myself with childishly shooting the jerk dirty looks for the next hour. it has no effect whatsoever.

look, i'm not completely without spirituality, but what about my right to not have god jammed down my throat? it's a bus, not a church, and i'm a complete captive. it's one of the things that bugs me about this otherwise wonderful country. admit you don't go to church, and you can expect people to cluck disapprovingly and try to save you. i don't want to be saved, okay? that's not religious freedom, it's christianity run amok.

anyway, next thing i know the “preacher” is leading about half the passengers in the singing of hymns. the other half stare out the window blankly, presumably waiting for it to stop. and the “preacher” actually has the nerve to go down the aisle collecting money!

blood now boiling, i reconsider option three. turning my shoe into a projectile as a substitute for the slingshot is looking pretty attractive. may god have mercy on my black little soul.

chapter 7: chop chop!

as another steamy day dawns in ghana, neighbours and strangers alike are greeting eachother, i`m preoccupied with thoughts of the day's work, and somewhere, everywhere in fact, the sleazy engine of corruption is kicking into high gear. yes, it's another average day in the land with a gift for the casual grift.

corruption and bribery has been a big part of the scintillating debate leading up to next year`s presidential election, and it`s not hard to tell why. from the highest levels of government right down to the mundane aspects of life we take for granted in canada, people are being greased in return for looking the other way, or simply doing their jobs.

recently, a road that connects my house with my route to work was the scene of a small bridge collapse, adding 20 minutes to my commute and worsening kumasi's dreaded rush hour traffic snarls. the local department in charge of contracting the repair work promised the road would re-open in two months. three weeks later, a huge pile of dirt remains on the road, and the work hasn't even started.

standard operating procedure.

my ghanaian friends tell me not to hold my breath. contracts are often handed to ragtag outfits who are not qualified to carry out the work. as long as they pay off the right people, they can get the contract, pocket the cash and walk away. no fuss, no muss. as a result, ghana's infrastructure, customer service at government outlets and high level government business are all pathetically inefficient. every day, there are stories where a power-that-wannabe rails against the system and promises he will not stand for the rampant corruption so common under the government of the day.

yeah, right.

there are stories about politicians embezzling taxpayers money. There are stories about officials taking kickbacks from unscrupulous businessmen. and recently, all parties supported a motion to scrap a law that, in theory, seeks to prosecute officials who cause 'willful loss to the state”. way to be accountable guys!

despite all the rhetoric about stamping out corruption, ghanaians know better. it's a fact of life here. on the bumpy ride into work over rutted, pothole-filled roads, one of my luv fm colleagues casually asks me “have the police chopped you yet?” he's asking me if i've had to bribe the cops, in much the same tone we might ask, how's it goin', eh? they'll often stop people for no reason, then delay you until you pay them a fee to fuck off. i answer no, but i'm secretly disappointed i haven't had the experience. at about this time, in full view of a group of idle police officers, a driver idiotically decides to beat the slow-moving traffic, honking a warning as he travels the wrong way up the street. somewhere, death is sharpening his scythe and licking his lips, and the cops do nothing! instead, in very unsanta-like fashion, they're staring at license plates and checking them against a list of known licensing and vehicle import scofflaws who they can squeeze for some extra sugar.

as we sit in the serpentine line of painfully slow-moving cars, my companions point to a building slated for demolition since last year. the congested road badly needs to be widened, but the owner of the building apparently has ties to the presidents's office. so his building still stands, and we sit...and sit, and sit, and sit...

how can a poorly paid civil servant possibly house, clothe and feed a family of 8, plus help out his extended family? it's a riddle i've been pondering since i got here, but not any more. “we are magicians,” one of my car-mates sarcastically chortles.

chop chop, time is money!

chapter 6: pure old skuul, baby!

one of the best things about ghana is the sheer joy with which the people live life. at any point in the workday, they're sure to take a break for a good laugh or just to bullshit with you, to sing and dance if they hear a good song on the radio.

i got another good example of this on saturday. it was the annual luv fm old skuul's reunion. 50 secondary schools, hundreds of singing, dancing kids and hundreds more alumni and friends, all eating, drinking and letting loose in the same place.

we got there at about 10am, well before the festivities started. they were behind schedule, as is often the case, but even at that hour, with only a few schools present, i was transfixed. yes, "somewhere in the distance i heard the pounding of native drums..."

i went to investigate the source.

the boys were more than happy to play for the camera, liberally displaying the hilarious ghanaian obsession with showing off one's gyrating rear end. they're amazing dancers, but they love to goof off even more. by 11, the place was jammed with a sea of happy folks having a great time amid a cacophony of yelling and music, all greeting each other. even me and doug, who'd come up from takoradi for the spectacle, were treated like old friends. good thing we didn't have to pass a dance test to earn this kindness. if there's one thing i've learned here, whitey should never dance if he doesn't want to provoke spasms of laughter. especially whitey with a fused spine, and therefore a noticeable lack of gyrate-a-bility.

we were a particular hit with the boys from kumasi technical institute, who proudly call themselves the canadians. they have an alliance with a technical school from saskatchewan, and many of the teachers at kti trained there. when they found out i was from the land of the maple leaf, they pulled me into their circle and danced around me as i comically goggled at the spectacle i'd become.

ghanians get up early; 4 or 5am in many cases, but they also like to party late into the night. after the skuul's reunion, everyone headed over to the kiravi night club. i was constantly bombarded with "hey! eho beye butu butu!" for weeks before the skuul's reunion, luv had been running a promo featuring me saying that line which, loosely translated, means the party will be rockin'. everyone assumed correctly that the white man in the luv fm t-shirt was that voice. i was famous.

inside, the dance floor was packed, and there was barely any room to move. a nice coincidence for someone with no moves and a reputation to uphold. another funny thing about ghanaians is that they seem to be looking for something they can't find very much of in a mate: westerners. the men say it's because ghanaian women are only interested in money, which may or may not be true for one or both genders. in either case, westerners of either gender rarely get lonely.

'nuff said.

i arrived home that night just before 4am, exhausted but full of beer and a day packed with good memories.