chapter 53: r.i.p. stephane dion 2006 - 2008; or, how we learned that stephen harper was right

it turned out stephen harper was right about stephane dion. he's not capable of leading a government. pardon me for a moment, while i try to keep my lunch down.

but really, dion has shown time and time again he isn't capable of doing simple things required of a politician, particularly in his dealings with the media.

and today, perhaps recognizing his credibility as leader is shot, he stepped down. and for the centre-left movement in canada, which still comprises a majority of the country by the way, it comes not a moment too soon.

first, there was the infamous restart debacle. just as every prime minister has to be able to speak french, every prime minister must speak english too. but dion, as intelligent as he may be, clearly isn't up to that task. watch as he asks a reporter to restart an interview three times because he doesn't understand a pretty simple question:



then, when he was given a time to respond to stephen harper on the coalition government issue, he and his team delivered a poor quality taped message late. it was out of focus, it was poorly framed, and awkward to watch. this is what discomfort looks like:



dion has proven himself a good politician with good ideas in the past. but if his team can't be trusted with simple tasks, how can we trust him to do the right things for the country during a challenging time?

chapter 52: prorogue-ies and sour cream

a week ago, most of us had never even heard of the word prorogue, now it's on the tip of everybody's tongue. and for some, it tastes pretty sour.

governor general michaelle jean decided today to grant stephen harper's request to prorogue, or suspend, parliament until he can come back to present his budget on january 26. here is his press conference after that decision:



the somewhat surprising decision comes after a constitutional crisis that threatened to unseat the government less than two months after a federal election. for the past week, there's been a pr war going on to win public opinion, and to nobody's surprise, the conservatives appear to have won that battle with another round of fear-mongering.

to wit, a few fun facts:

1 - the proposed coalition government would have been only the second in canadian history. the conservatives said the coalition's plan was undemocratic. in reality, the parliamentary system allows for it. parliament can only operate when it has the confidence of a majority of members, who represent the public. the coalition would have the support of the majority, unlike the tories.

2 - the quebec separatist movement is, for all intents and purposes, dormant, before harper and the conservatives started invoking it as a boogeyman. the conservatives used the specter of the new government being beholden to separatists to stay afloat. in reality, the searatist movement has been losing steam since 1995, and now it's almost irrelevant. quebec's provincial election is widely expected to result in a solid majority for quebec liberals, led by jean charest, a federalist. if anything, harper's divisive rhetoric could spark a renaissance.

3 - harper called a snap election for october in late summer this year, saying parliament was unworkable. now, the new parliament has been shut down for two months until the new budget announcement. frankly, i don't think either side deserves to lead. but i also don't see parliament working any better when mp's go back on january 26th. at that point, we'll probably find ourselves in the situation we're in now, except we will have wasted two months of valuable time, while other countries work to make the coming recession as painless as possible.

4 - the is the first time prorogation has been used to prevent a government from falling, in canadian history. frankly, i wasn't thrilled with either option, but i do know that while the house is away, no stimulus package will be set in motion.

one thing is certain.

nobody can complain any longer about canadian politics being boring. but for all the auto industry workers in oshawa, and others across the country who are worried about making house payments, the prospect of losing their jobs while the politicians screw around is more disgusting than exciting.

chapter 51: welcome back, america

the united states of america really is a baffling country.

they can bungle along for years, corrupt, greedy, cynical, aggressive and mean, until the country's downfall looks predictable and swift.

and then, out of nowhere, we see the qualities that have made the united states great. a country that specializes in bold, courageous moves that change the world.

tonight's election of barack obama felt like that. it felt like one of those moments people tell their children and grandchildren about. it felt magical, like a new era of compassion, hope, honesty and solidarity that unites people around the world. the great phoenix has regenerated and risen from the ashes again.

know what?

after tonight, i like those yanks much better.

welcome back, america. we missed you.

chapter 50: really america? really?

i can barely contain myself.

we knew sarah palin was no einstein, but this is ridiculous. she spoke to one of quebec's radio pranksters who are known as the "masked avengers" for six minutes, and never caught on that she wasn't actually talking to french president nicolas sarkozy.

this is the woman who the republicans want to be president if john mccain were to die in office.

simply stunning.

chapter 49: ghoulishly entertaining

sometimes, it's better when you don't have to think about stuff. that's what i like about halloween, even those years when i lamely do nothing to celebrate it. this is one of those years.

but despite that, the halloween-ish magic that is the thriller endures. you've seen the thriller-thons and the phillipino 'cons-cum-choreatricians'?

they can both suck it. this is the best thriller tribute ever. ever. you're welcome.

chapter 48: the story maclean's didn't tell

recently, maclean's magazine did a story on international volunteerism. i and several other volunteers i worked with and respect appeared in pictures and in quotes, focusing particularly on jhr. the article painted a picture of volunteers that is not very flattering, and even though i knew it was missing a lot of perspective, it stung.

it also made me mad, because it's the kind of article that hardens people's hearts and discourages the kind of compassion and leadership on cooperation and peacebuilding that forms such an important part of canada's identity.

but this article, taken from a correspondent for ctv's canada am who visited sierra leone and met some jhr volunteers gets it right.

it encapsulates the maddening beauty, the beautiful tragedy, and the tragic hope of a country where life is so hard, yet the people continue to look to a better day.

and they continue to look to canadians for a hand up. it's only through the continuing efforts from people giving of themselves to work in the trenches, no matter how slow and frustrating the process may be, that canada can fulfill its true potential to be a light to people in dark places.

idealistic? maybe...but doesn't every great victory start with a crazy idea?

here's the article:

Marci Ien in Sierra Leone: Human Rights reporting

Updated Tue. Oct. 21 2008 6:25 PM ET

Marci Ien, Canada AM

Last month I travelled to Sierra Leone for the Canadian organization Journalists for Human Rights (JHR). The group was founded in 2002 with the goal of assisting local media in Africa and North America to expand their coverage of human rights.

JHR has sent more than 175 journalist trainers to work in sub-Saharan African countries, and by its own estimates, has directly helped to produce more than 2,100 stories on human rights issues.

Sierra Leone is the most deprived country in the world. It ranks last, 177th, on the United Nations' annual Human Development Index. A newborn in Sierra Leone has the lowest chance in the world of surviving until age five.

A decade of civil war ended in 2002, and the country is now in the process of reconstruction. A UN-sponsored war crimes court is trying those accused of horrible war crimes, while the state works on the challenges of extreme poverty and an economic crisis.

Journalists have their own challenges covering political issues and the topics of human rights and corruption. My job was to meet with working journalists in Sierra Leone and help assess the training programs. Here's my diary from the week:

Friday Sept. 19 (late evening)

I arrived at Lungi International Airport and was met by Nina DeVries and Abu Bakarr Jalloh (ABJ). Nina is a media trainer with JHR and ABJ is an intern. On the way to my guest house I took in all the action on the lively streets of Freetown. The city was originally built for 500,000, but the population has swelled in recent years to 1.5 million. The infrastructure isn't there, and that leaves a lot of people conducting their social lives on the streets. People were eating, selling food, just kind of hanging out. Everyone looked young. "Where are all the seniors?" I asked. "Marci," my colleagues replied, almost in unison, "The life expectancy here is 39, 40 years old." "I'm 39," I said. That was the last question I asked that night.

Saturday Sept. 20

I went to the JHR office and met Elvis Hallowell, the country director for the organization. He shared with me his thoughts on the state of journalism in Sierra Leone -- in particular the coverage of human rights stories. Elvis told me that a lot of the human rights coverage are opinion pieces, and that's not how human rights issues should be covered. Much of the media training shows journalists how to back up their stories with facts, digging, and research. It's all about balance.

There are 15 to 20 daily newspapers, as well as private and public television stations. Radio, however, is the medium of choice for most Sierra Leonians. That evening I met all five JHR media trainers who had been working in various media houses throughout Sierra Leone for eight months. Mackay, Kevin, Jared, Rachael, and Nina took me to dinner.

Sunday Sept. 21

On Sundays, many people go to the beach. It was a gorgeous day and not a cloud in the sky. The car ride to River Number 2 was long, and the roads bumpy, but it gave us time to chat. As we travelled, we came across several kids who had put up faux checkpoints using tree branches to block the road. They asked for money...and in turn would lift the branches.
"What message are we sending if we give them cash?" one of my colleagues said. "Are we sending a message that extortion is OK?" It was a valid point -- but all I could see was my four-year-old's face. How do you say no?

The beach was stunning. As I sat on the sand I took in the sounds of the sea. In a moment of complete calm, I thought of the chaos that had ravaged this country, and the perseverance of a people trying to move forward, trying to better their lives. I asked many questions of my friends. What had they learned? Did they feel they were making a difference as journalists? It was an interesting discussion, and in the coming days I would see first-hand what life in the field was like.

Monday Sept. 22

The Special Court of Sierra Leone is a city unto itself. There have been hundreds of witnesses so far, recounting a bloody civil war that lasted 10 years and ended in 2001. Hundreds of thousands were killed or injured in the war. Three trial judges have presided over the past six years. One of them, Judge Pierre Boutet, is Canadian. Deliberations are underway. I told Judge Boutet that when his work was done -- and he comes home to Canada -- he had an open invitation to sit down and talk about his experiences on Canada AM.
When I walked into the empty court and looked at the witness box. It was an eerie space. I stood in a place where victim and victimizer came together, and I wondered if a spirit of forgiveness could ever prevail.

I had accompanied Nina and a reporter from ABC Action News. While at the court, Nina checked in with a source for another story she was working on. It involved children who were allegedly being abused at an orphanage. One little girl, Marie, had polio was said to be in particularly bad shape.

Tuesday Sept. 23

Nowhere else is the strength of women more apparent than in Sierra Leone. In the face of patriarchal laws, second-class citizenship, spousal abuse and staggering maternal mortality rates -- they live and in some cases thrive. I had lunch with 25 women at a local hangout for journalists called "Stop Press."

They were members of a group called Women in Media in Sierra Leone (WIMSAL). The women came together out of necessity, meeting every Sunday in various places. They could speak about injustices in their newsrooms and in the field. There were editors who deemed them too weak to cover certain stories. Officials who questioned their capabilities as the female journalists tried to question them on policy or other matters.

There were partners at home -- who said their place was *in* the home -- and that having a job was something a good woman wouldn't do. WIMSAL will have a formal launch on November 21. The group has invited government officials, diplomats, the press corps and members of the public to witness what a group of women with serious ideas, journalistic integrity, and a love for a country that doesn't always love them can do.

Wednesday Sept. 24

One in eight women will die while giving birth in Sierra Leone. It's a brutal statistic ... and made major news while I was there. Following the story was the Concord Times, a well-respected newspaper based in Freetown. I accompanied Kevin Hill, a JHR trainer, and Rachel Horner, a reporter with the Times. We travelled to PCM Hospital to see first-hand what was happening.

We met Dr. Ibrahim Thorlie, the chief of staff, who told us there were many contributing factors to the death rate: women arriving at the hospital already in a traumatic state, and a lack of equipment, blood, drugs, and staff. Ironically he talked of a brain drain -- one that saw medical talent leave to work in the very NGOs that were meant to help stabilize the country. Many also left for more lucrative private practice.

I will never forget one woman we saw. She was in labour...writhing in pain on a hospital cot -- that had no sheet. Above her, the tiles on the wall were crumbling. I wondered if one would fall on her. Now I wonder if she and her baby survived.

Later in the day, Kevin, Rachel and I met with Sierra Leone's Health Minister, Dr. Soccoh Alex Kabia. We recounted what we had seen at the hospital. He said the government had a plan that would be introduced in the coming months. I couldn't help but think that plan would come far too late for many.

Thursday Sept. 25

This was the first time my husband and I haven't been together on our anniversary in the seven years we've been married. It's always been a sacred time for us. When the opportunity to travel to Sierra Leone came up, I knew I would have to use my vacation time to make it work. My husband agreed I should go. "You'll grow as a person, Marce. This could be life-changing."

There are many things I will remember about my trip. I met dozens of journalists whose personal stories could in fact be front-page news. I visited radio stations, newspapers, and a televison studio. I talked to officials in the Special Court, people on the street. I spent a considerable amount of time in a hospital speaking to medical staff and patients about their predicaments and how to move forward. I read just about everything I could get my hands on that would help me to understand the complexities of this West African nation. Nothing yet could have prepared me for Kroo Bay.

Kroo Bay is home to more than 6,000 people, and used to be a small fishing settlement that sits below sea level at the point where two rivers meet the Atlantic. It became a shantytown during the civil war as people fled the violence. Now garbage is everywhere. The water is used as an open sewer. I saw children playing, defecating and being washed in it. I saw mothers whose eyes told me they had given up.

I didn't take a single picture...but the images of Kroo Bay are forever cemented in my mind. The children were curious about the two men and woman who walked through. They looked at us -- our clothes, our shoes. I looked at their nakedness...but also their beautiful smiles. How could they smile? What was there to be happy about? I could smell the desperation and despair.

My friend Mackay asked if the kids knew the ABC song. He had told me they sang it to the tune of Auld Lang Syne in Sierra Leone. In unison, five children started to sing. I held back my tears. We clapped and told them they were wonderful. This all in a place where one in four children dies before their fifth birthday, which Save the Children calls "the worst place on earth."

chapter 47: caption mania!!!

hey all...i've been inspired by john mccain.

or, citizen mccain, mcsame, or surgy mcgee...whatever your favourite name for the republican presidential candidate, he's inadvertently spawned a brand new feature here.

the picture below was taken right after the second presidential debate. what the heck was mccain thinking? i don't know, but i bet some of you clever cats out there have some idea.

it's caption mania!

simply reply with your best caption and win...my undying admiration and the envy of your peers.

chapter 46: second verse, same as the first

after five weeks of being messaged to death, watching the parties squabble over bird poop and other meaningless tripe, the 2008 federal election gave us...pretty much the same dysfunctional parliament we had before.


yes, all this for the low-low price of 300 million dollars!


the third election in four years, totalling nearly a billion dollars. wouldn't that money have been better spent giving more money to our fat cat bankers, so they can keep the windfall for themselves like they always do?


despite being chosen by canadians as the best leader of a bad lot, a would-be warm and cuddly stephen harper still couldn't manage to convince canadians to give him the keys to the castle, though he did come pretty close.


that big sucking sound you heard? stephane dion's liberals doing the down stroke on their way to the party's worst showing ever. i'll say it again: worst. showing. ever.


about the only thing drowning out the liberal suckfest was the collective yawn that could be heard coast to cast, as only 59% of elegibile voters bothered to show up at the polls, a record low.


when asked to explain the landslide victory for apathy, disengaged voters said...oh, who am i kidding...who cares?

chapter 45: 15 minutes of shame

so, some of you might have noticed there was recently a photo of me holding a chicken and looking like a douchebag foreigner in a maclean's magazine article about international volunteers.



the article questions the value taxpayers are getting by sending volunteers overseas on development projects. it focuses on jhr particularly, with a couple former trainers who didn't think they did anything productive on media training placements in africa.


for my part, i'll say my stint in ghana was successful. to those volunteers who had a different experience, i'll say only that i think alot of people go to places without the experience or self confidence to carve out their own niche and win over the locals.


yes, overseas volunteerism is a great adventure, but it's also difficult. it tests your determination and persistence, and it can also be lonely and mentally taxing. you're pretty much on your own, doing a difficult job and living in uncomfortable material conditions. and going for less than six months is, in my opinion, a waste of time. i was pretty much useless for the first two months in ghana.

i think sending people overseas is valuable for the individual, canada's reputation abroad, and the host country. but we have to send our best and brightest, not whiners who thought they'd be catching rays in the tropics and basking in the automatic appreciation of the poor, grateful africans!

chapter 44: beware the open set!

one of the first things i learned when i became a citizen of tv land, is to watch what i was doing when working in an open set. apparently, a couple people at a dutch tv station didn't get the memo.

this is one of the funniest background bloopers i've ever seen. check it out!

chapter 43: time to send harper to the principal's office

if i do it, i get sued.

if students do it, they get expelled.

if stephen harper does it, his cronies applaud.

yes, today it was revealed stephen harper plagiarized a speech given in march 2003, by then-australian prime minister john howard. and he didn't just copy some ideas, he copied it word for freaking word!

check it out:



i'm trying to remain neutral, but beyond the issue of personal integrity, i have issues with this. if stephen harper has to copy a speech from someone else, what does it say about his ability to come up with fresh ideas and creative solutions to the problems facing the country?

also, it's clear that harper not only supported the war in iraq, but he was taking his cues from foreign conservatives who were in lockstep with bush and the gang.

obviously, not participating in dubya's excellent adventure was the right call. so when the next iraq happens, and it will, is "steve" going to just go along?

chapter 42: time to panic!!!

is this it? is this how the 21st century version of rome falls?

the republicans defeated the us congress bailout bill today, and worldwide markets tanked in response.

it was a purely political response to a crisis of which, i'm convinced, americans don't fully understand the consequences. many of them didn't support the $700 billion rescue of wall street firms, whose greed arguably started all this.

i don't really blame them.

why should they bail out the hideously wealthy fat cats of wall street? in short, because regular americans - with mortgages, jobs and mutual funds - are about to feel the pain.

and the rest of us are too.

that's why it's clearer than ever that the republicans are driving the american empire into decline. they voted against a bill that could have helped slow down a global economic crisis that's threatening to destroy their financial system, ruin ordinary people, and sink the entire world into depression.

thanks guys.

and now they're doing what they usually do - dragging out the socialist boogeyman and suggesting the market should be left to its own devices. but that's what got us into this mess.

meanwhile, here's the message from the us treasury:

chapter 41: conservatives gone wild

during the 2006 campaign, the conservative party became known as a well-oiled machine on the way to ending the liberals reign of terror. but this time around, the pc's have been decidedly un-pc.

there was the puffin poop incident. (http://www.canada.com/edmontonjournal/news/story.html?id=566e7b2d-7dc1-4ce9-99ed-bf7b06bd829e)

next, a tory staffer was canned for suggesting a father of a dead soldier who was critical of the conservatives had political motives. (http://www.canada.com/story.html?id=634dfca0-8c67-4a0f-9528-59ee0ffd64da)

then there was the "death by 1000 cold cuts" remark made by agriculture minister gerry ritz, that spawned outrage (http://www.canada.com/topics/news/features/decisioncanada/story.html?id=97e5ce8f-3afc-404d-bd7e-2f11f8761f06) and a satirical video game (www.deathby1000coldcuts.info)



finally, a toronto-area conservative candidate quit today because of remarks he made in his blog criticizing bus passengers who didn't try to stop the brutal beheading of tim mclean. here's the full text of what he said:

"So there was a bus stabbing on the Prairies. A man with a knife was able to go on a murderous rapage decapitating a fellow human being. The rest of the bus was unarmed and helpless. What was the generous Canadian thing to do? Help a fellow human being? No. Flee in terror. Passengers and the bus driver stood by and watched another person being butchered, and couldn't muster up any courage or self sacrifice to intervene. This is where socialism as gotten us folks, a castrated effeminate population.

This is a perfect example of why we need concealed-carry handgun legislation in this country, so we can defend one another and deter horrible events such as this. But what are our politicians talking about? More government regulation and security.

Our thoughts and prayers are with the friends and family of Tim McLean during their time of pain."

it's not like the liberals (http://network.nationalpost.com/np/blogs/posted/archive/2008/09/11/liberal-candidate-a-no-show-to-explain-oka-remarks.aspx) and ndp haven't had their mis-steps, but we've come to expect that kind of disorganization and wackiness from those guys.

but the conservatives? not so much.

i wonder if they've been getting high with comrade jack?

chapter 40: personality please!

watching saturday night live's adorable and hilarious tina fey do a dead-on impersonation of the "lipstick on a pitbull" republican vp-candidate sarah palin made me realize a sad thing about canadian politics.

we have no personality.

we're vanilla.

there's no barack, there's no palin, there's not even a war hero or a guy with a big mouth who rides the train to parliament hill every day. maybe canadians like their politicians bland. maybe we're just not enthusiastic enough. one thing's for sure: stephen, stephane, jack, gilles and elizabeth are putting the electorate to sleep.

here then, in an attempt to generate interest, a few suggestions to liven things up:

1 - make the politicians ballroom dance together to see how well they'd work together. who would lead, harper or layton? bonus points go to the green party's elizabeth may, who for the first time, would be in a position to reject the big four, instead of the other way around.

2 - danny williams. newfoundland's premier has the gift of diarrhea mouth that delights reporters from coast to coast. he's been haranguing stephen harper non-stop, with his so-called "ABC" (anybody but conservative) campaign, and has been calling the pm "a fraud". after the conservatives' idiotic bird poop ad that had an animated puffin crapping on stephane dion, williams actually hired a guy in a bird suit to get a laugh at a speaking engagement. williams has taken on other heavy hitters and come out on the winning end before, and harper would do well to stay away from him. that's why i'd love to see danny front and centre at every harper event.

3 - geri hall. canada's answer to fey, the hilarious "this hour has 22 minutes" correspondent that has commented, among other things, on stephen harper's "rock-hard abs" and asked him if he likes handcuffs. she should be the one asking questions at the leaders debate. now that would be a debate worth watching.

chapter 39: fishy situation

Study finds fishy labelling at restaurants, markets

Sarah Schmidt , Canwest News ServicePublished: Thursday, August 21, 2008
OTTAWA - Fish lovers and sushi connoisseurs beware: Fillets marketed as Mediterranean red mullet could really be spotted goatfish, and a white tuna wrap may just be Mozambique tilapia.
A new Canadian study using DNA bar-coding technology found that one in four fish samples taken from Toronto and New York restaurants and stores were mislabelled.
In all cases, they were sold to unsuspecting consumers as higher-priced or more-desirable fish species.

full story here: http://www.canada.com/topics/news/national/story.html?id=4381b239-db40-47da-ae6b-b573bc5dc72c

this reminds me of hot friday and saturday nights in bantama in kumasi. we used to gather and party there, and we'd always have banku and tilapia. not the most appetizing thing if you're expecting red snapper, but a nice trip down memory lane nonetheless. here's a look at one of ghana's favourite dishes.

banku is a ‘dumpling’ made from a sour, fermented corn mash which is wrapped in plantain leaves and boiled. It is to be eaten with your hands (right hand only). here it was served with fried tilapia and an extremely spicy salsa-like fresh sauce.

great with beer!

chapter 38: a journey of a thousand miles...

"a journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step."
-lao-tzu

when i went to ghana to try and build human rights reporting capacity in the media, i knew results would come slowly, if at all. i had a couple of successes, but many disappointments as well. the story of humu, a muslim girl who was being forced to quit school and get married, was one of the ones that got away. we got her back in school briefly, but all indications were that she would be forced to marry when the media and police pressure was off. (read the full story here: http://www.jhr.ca/fieldnotes/view.php?aid=1137)

but recently, my colleague muftaw mohammed, who was instrumental in our coverage of that story told me humu had managed to complete school and is looking forward to continuing her education. it's a big victory for a muslim girl in ghana. muslims face bigger hurdles to education and career success, particularly the girls, who are often treated like chattel. humu's success can serve as an example to her community, and open up new possibilities for so many disenfranchised young people. it's also a great example for young reporters like muftaw that they really can help change things for the better. here is the email i got from him:

Dear Bro,
Today my heart is glad that I did not lose in my fight against the violation of Human Rights. So I say kudos and more greetings to your elbows. All the credits to you for your leadership and training and man, I must say am really missing big time the good times when we used to work, dine and share ideas together. More especially, your efforts in igniting up my spirit when I am down.

All theses citation are occasioned by the phone call I had this morning from Humu’s mother to the effect that Humu has graduated from her computer course in Accra and is currently in kumasi with the mother waiting for her JHS certificate to continue with her education.

Now the mother and other family members who thronged the DOVVSU offices and I believe you remember that day, they are all now looking for you and I to offer us their vote of thanks and to crown us as heroes but I told them you have gone back to your home land.

So I say gracias to you.

We never walk alone.

chapter 37: private insecurity

this is the face of the latest canadian soldier killed in afghanistan, the 89th since the mission began. master corporal josh roberts was shot during an operation against insurgents in the dangerous zhari district. he was known as an all-round good guy, and was expecting his first child next month. but this is more than another tragic story from the front lines.

investigations are underway to determine whether roberts was shot by a private security team which was in the area at the time. private security companies in war zones have been a source of controversy for years, particularly in iraq and afghanistan. the stories about tragic massacres involving blackwater and other private security companies abound.

many afghans, not to mention ngo's and the united nations, don't trust private security firms, and who can blame them?(http://www.privateforces.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=2081&Itemid=99999999)

not only are these security companies making billions of dollars, they also kill civilians, and get tangled up with state military forces.

canadian forces shot and killed a private security guard in april from the same company being investigated in master corporal roberts' death. the canadians apparently shot at security personnel after they failed to heed warnings to stop advancing towards a military checkpoint. these firms provide security for development projects and protect foreign dignitaries. that's work the military used to do, but private security forces now fill these roles without legal and ethical boundaries.

newspaper reports in afghanistan say they increase the likelihood that those in the country to fight the taliban will be confused with security forces that often seem to play by their own rules. (http://www.privateforces.com/index.php?option=com_content&task=view&id=2022&Itemid=99999999)

it's making afghans increasingly nervous and breeding paranoia. and given the thin line between local cooperation and radicalization, perhaps it's time to give them the boot.

chapter 36: back on the pommel horse

so it's been a while. between seeing long lost friends, getting back to work, re-acclimatizing to life in canada and partying in pemberton, i haven't been thinking about the blog. but now it's time to get back on it.

work is crazy in the lead up to the beijing olympics. we're understaffed, and golobal national has asked me to pick up the slack by training to do practically everything on the show, from broadcast producing, research, story producing and web editing. oh yeah, and writing. by next week, i'll probably even be up on the desk! it's going to be a hellish next month or two, but at least i'll be making good cash.

speaking of the olympics, exactly what everyone knew would happen...has happened. china has completely ignored its bid promise to respect freedom of speech. it blocked journalists' access to websites critical of the regime, such as amnesty international and falun gong. it has arrested dissenters, destroyed people's homes with no compensation to make room for facilities, and cracked down hard on free speech.

as far as i'm concerned, the olympics, as a movement, is over. it's now just a big corporate gangbang. there are efforts afoot to backroom the whole deal to protect what's left of the olympic reputation as a uniting human force. and unfortunately, it's being spearheaded by canada's ioc member, dick pound. the torch relay is close to being eliminated because, counter to uniting people in the olympic spirit, the international portion united people in protest against tyranny, and we can't have the ever-so-shining olympic reputation tarnished, can we?

Pound said:

"The international leg of the Beijing Olympic torch relay was close to a disaster that was beyond the control of the IOC and the organising committee. My commission, which examined the issue, felt that there should not be an international relay, and my understanding is that the coordination commission was of the same view. The risks were obvious and should have been assessed more closely. The result was that there was a crisis.
"My view is that there should be an analysis of how this happened and a resolution to do away with the international portion of the torch relay ... the high risk and low reward of the international leg is now obvious."

the only thing that's obvious to me is that pound is not representing canada's values...he's representing the jackbooting thugs at the ioc who support the jackbooting thugs of beijing.

beijing has tried to change the focus, saying this will be the best olympics ever. but from where i sit, the only thing that can obscure this disgusting olympic farce is the even more disgusting blanket of pollution that 'doesn't' sit over the olympic city.

chapter 35: french head(ache)

i hate toulouse.

i was only supposed to be there for one night. i'd planned to stop and see my friend natalie, who i hadn't seen since we met in oz seven years ago. i traveled the five hours by train on tuesday, reluctantly leaving behind the golden beaches of san sebastian, and a whole lot of t's, k's and x's which prevail in the language of spanish basque country.

the plan was to spend the evening waterskiing at a local lake with nat and her boyfriend mike, then knock back a few pints. but the evening was apparently born under a bad sign. almost from the time we got in mike's van, ambulances seemed to be stalking us, suddenly materializing from alleys, side streets, overpasses and underpasses. we were perplexed. later, it would make perfect sense.

i had a date with un medicin francais.

it started innocently enough. after waterskiing, i cracked the top of my head getting into mike's van. but i was fine. for a while.

abut twenty minutes later, i started to feel like i'd just gotten off the gravitron, the most vomitous ride at playland. as we exited the van to head for the pub, it came on strong, and suddenly i couldn't stand. another 15 minutes later, dizzy, headachy, glassy-eyed with one pupil disconcertingly larger than the other, i was in the belly of the beast itself, being tended to by french firemen, who apparently act as paramedics too. the ambulance prophesy had come true.

after that, there really isn't much more to tell. i was kept overnight and tended to by excellent medical personnel, then let go in the morning. in all, i ended up blowing an extra 120 euros on an extra night's hotel stay and a replacment plane ticket to paris, and i lost a day there while i recuperated. so i don't have a lot of positives to take home from toulouse.

but if there's one silver lining, i learned michael moore was right on the mark about french healthcare in "sicko". when i inquired about the bill, the gracious, smiling french nurse replied "monsieur, c'est gratuit."

so suck on that dubya...are you listening barack?

chapter 34: far from the equator daze

i'm a night person. always have been. or so i thought. lately i've been thinking that in some ways, we're really not in control of our bodies at all. it seems like the rhythms of our bodies are funkadelically linked to the beat of this great big rotating dance club called planet earth.

for example: in ghana, the sun set between 6pm and 6:45 the entire time i was there. when it gets dark, it gets dark. and í'm not speaking metaphorically here. the lack of street lights and frequent blackouts meant after sunset, i often couldn't see things that were two feet in front of my face.

on cue, i'd be tired. sure, i worked long, mentally and physically exhausting days, scurrying around in the hot sun, often while trying to wring coherent answers out of self-important big men.

but still, this is brennan we're talking about!

the life of the party, the one who never fell asleep during movies, the "let's shoot some tequila!" at 2am guy. suddenly, i was losing the war between my mind, which wanted to rock and roll all night and party ev'ry day, and my body, which thought i should be sleeping like a log...at 7:30. i even slept through what was supposed to be my birthday at the club, much to the disappointment of my ghanaian friends.

i felt old.

but then, a mysterious thing happened. when i came back to 'the world', my stay-up-and-go...came back. yes friends, the brennan you know and love is back. long live the party. and long live the san sebastian sunsets...at 10:30pm!

ps - body, this is mind. let's never fight again.

chapter 33: "they're all hoodlums..."

"they're all hoodlums. one side is green hoodlums and the other side is orange hoodlums."

-john hawthorne, belfast

northern ireland is an interesting place. a tiny place, with a huge reputation. the country claims as its own noted authors such as james joyce, oscar wilde, and cs lewis to name only a few. there's breathtaking architecture and stunning natural beauty.

but it's perhaps best known for the infamous "troubles", between unionists loyal to the british crown, and irish nationalists. it's a long running bloodbath that claimed many innocent lives, pitted neighbours against neighbours and was immortalized by u2 in their song "sunday bloody sunday" about the 1972 killing of 14 people by british troops.

these days, a fragile peace prevails. the people are trying to forget and start over. greg and i got a chance to see it all, and even today, the scars are visible. we stayed with his relatives john and brenda hawthorne in belfast for a few days this month. they've seen it all. and even though the troubles are officially over the peace, in brenda's words, is only "a thin veneer."

walking around the unionist/protestant shankill road and the nationalist/catholic falls road, you can sense the tension. all over the city you see murals.

how could people forget when the reminders of all that tragedy are staring at them in vivid, living colour day after day?

you get the feeling one incident is all it would take for erstwhile butchers, barmen and short order cooks to put down the cleaver, the pint glass and the skillet, and pick up the guns and petrol bombs. the protective wall that divides the two sides is, even now, being built higher and higher.

to put it simply, the wounds are still open, and the emotional scars are generations away from healing. walking through the area, blighted by violence and economic depression, it dawned on me that gawking and taking pictures of memorials to dead teenagers and twentysomethings would be just a wee bit tacky. the words are heartfelt, the plaques shined to a high gloss. phrases like "IRA terrorists" and "evil genocide" make my spine tingle.

maybe one day the scars will heal, and the memorials will be allowed to dull and fade into memory.

but not yet.

chapter 32: t.i.a vs t.i.e

day one in london. it's weird. clean streets. clean buildings. quiet, orderly traffic. brisk walking. quiet people who keep to themselves.

here's a funny short story.

all through my stay in africa, annoyances, inconveniences and uncomfortable material circumstances were the norm. and whenever i'd come across them, someone (often me) would mutter "this is africa." (or in the french parts, "c'est l'afrique".)

no running water? take a bucket bath. t.i.a.

someone's three hours late? t.i.a.

bad customer service? t.i.a.

constant sweating? t.i.a.

but what about t.i.e.?

i decided to spoil myself my first day in london. four star hotel. towels, soap included. no ants, cockroaches, mosquitoes. nice, hot shower. comfortable bed.

so what happens? the air conditioner conks out. the room is stifling. i'm sweating. on a typically cool, overcast london day.

i phone the front desk. no answer.

i decide to take a shower. no soap.

finally, i get the front desk. the concierge fiddles with the air conditioner and gets it working. but i'm still really hot. he brings soap. i take a cold shower.

i step out, and the room is glacial. now i'm freezing.

t.i.i.

this is irony.

chapter 31: 'ghana' daddy gone (the epilogue)

for the last month, i've been looking forward to seeing family and friends on my post ghana travels in europe, and then at home in canada.

i'd had enough of ghana. it was time to go home. but then, a funny thing happened. i spent my last day in ghana wishing for one more day, a week, a month, to see friends i'll dearly miss and places that were on the to do list, but never crossed off.

i'm excited for the next chapter, but i'm also kind of dreading it. will europe and canada seem cold and boring by comparison?

obviously, ghana has a galaxy of problems, most related to poverty. but on leaving, i prefer to remember the good things.

i'll miss feeling special wherever i go, and hearing "you are welcome", "you are invited", and people caring, really caring, if i'm enjoying their country.


i'll miss watching young men in filthy clothes joke and laugh while hauling balky old wooden hand carts through streets clogged with traffic.

i'll miss goats. stupid, endearingly dopey goats, wandering everywhere.

i'll miss the cheerful honking of fan ice vendors and the industrious way street hawkers seemingly take over every corner of the country. as i was coming into accra on my way to the airport yesterday, one of them had his wares hanging on the razor wire separating the six lanes of traffic entering the city. making the best of things. that''s ghana.

i'll miss the dancing. not mine, theirs.

i'll miss the way nobody, from the youngest kids to grown men, has a problem putting their arm around a friend for all to see. not a trace of self-consciousness.

i'll miss watching strangers run unbidden to help push a broken down old trotro through traffic in the blazing, stifling heat.

i'll miss how ghanaians call eachother brother or sister, regardless of which of the country's 100 or so ethnicities they belong to.

sunrise, sunset.

finally on my way out, on the plane at 30,000 feet, i'm glad, sad, and a little guilty. i've taken a lot more than i've given. i've seen things most people will never have a chance to see, both good and bad.

ghana has become precious to me, no longer simply an unknown part of an unknown continent, the hoary, cliched, "dark continent". i wonder if i'll ever see it again.

below, the land is shrouded in the blackest night. but i'm quickly leaving it behind, that much is sure. the land is receding outside my window, and in my mind. it already seems like i've just woken up from an incredibly vivd, ludicrous dream.

and like all dreams, the events of the past 8 months already seem unreal.

chapter 30: open letter to god

dear god/allah,

i consider myself a pretty good guy. i generally adhere to the golden rule, which is the only one all religions seem to have in common. but i'm not a super religious guy. i don't go to church, never pray, and engage in a laundry list of behavious that are clearly sinful. that's kind of what this letter is all about.

anyway, i'm writing to tell you, the world you (supposedly?) created is out of whack. as i leave ghana, i'm reflecting on the last 8 months spent living with some of the world's unfortunates. they have a brutal natural environment to deal with, terrible health conditions, grinding poverty and pretty bleak expectations that the whole mess will ever improve.

but they believe in you.

they smile, help eachother, give of what little they have to visitors. and they thank you every day. i'm still trying to figure out what they're thanking you for. lack of running water? the insistent, sizzling heat? malaria mosquitoes? i'm not sure.

but here's the thing: they're a lot more thankful to you for their scant comforts than the western world is for its lavish lifestyle.

and as i head back into that world, i'm thinking on the contradictions. i'm looking forward to having religion in its proper perspective, as the people of ghana go a little nuts with it at times. i'm sure even you would prefer to leave zealotry out of the plan. but i'm not looking forward to hearing "god bless america/canada/god save the queen". why is it that poor people are thanking you for their paltry lot in life, while rich people keep asking you to bless them even more?

i'm still not sure about you, god. the world seems to spin faster and faster out of control, like a twisted merry go 'round, operated by a demented psycho. there seems to be a certain randomness to it, like nobody's actually in control at all. so here's the deal: change the balance. give the poor a break. send them rain, responsible leaders, brilliant doctors and scientists. send the west a little fear, drought, pestilence and fire.

have you seen how the west is living right now? we dropped out of your program a long time ago. the vast majority of africans are with you. it's about time you showed the world who's in control, cause lately, it seems like you're on a really long break.

give em a goddamned break, willya?

chapter 29: luvingly yours

over the last 8 months, luv fm has been my home away from home. some of the human right issues i've examined include:


-the plight of the mentally ill
-forced marriage
-the sanitation nightmare
-efforts to neutralize the malaria menace
-the cost of education
-the muslim education gap
-unethical journalism
-water shortages


a few of the stories have had an impact. other times, i was simply helping my colleagues feed the beast, and trying to impart some advice about basic reporting skills at the same time. there's been a lot of ups and downs, but mostly, i feel proud of the job i've done, and grateful that i've survived!


but there's also been a lot of time where nothing was happening. ghanaians have a really relaxed attitude towards work, and some days, the agenda didn't extend much beyond lunch. i can't even begin to estimate how many hours i've spend in the yard just bs'ing with my colleagues. the slow pace of work used to really annoy me, but as i look back, those are some of the times i treasure most.


it's a lesson from university all over again. sometimes, you can learn more by about yourself and others over a beer! so, as all outgoing letters from luv end, here's a pictorial ode to some of the great times at work.


luvingly yours,

bren/kwaku

Luv/Nhyira FM reporter Ohemeng Tawiah (right) and his brother.

Luv afternoon talk show host David Akwetey.

Luv presenter and my housemate, Kofi DeAqua with students at his alma mater at the Old Skuuls Reunion.

Luv/Nhyira FM news editor Saeed Ali Yaqub.

Luv sports presenter Frank, often called Frank Riijkard or Senior Letchkov, after the footballers

Jack of all trades Nana Benyin (left) with Nhyira presenter Okukuseku, my first friend in Kumasi.
The techie known only as 'Captain'.

My young protege Muftaw Mohammed with Tris.
Luv sports presenter Della Atiase.

chapter 28: can't wait to miss ghana

it's weird to be nostalgic for something you've not yet left, but that's the situation i find myself in. here then, a list of the good and the bad.

yay!
-cheap and delicious fried yams, roast plantain, pineapples and mangoes
boooooo!
-every kind of food pounded into unappetizing glutinous goo.

yay!
-friendly strangers who smile and welcome you at every turn.
boooooo!
-aforementioned strangers who become pests by calling you constantly.

yay!
-exotic animals, nice beaches, all very cheap.
boooooo!
-the difficulty of traveling to these locations, and mosquitoes.

yay!
-the heat.
boooooo!
the heat.

yay!
-hot beats and dancing for fun, as opposed to dancing to look cool.
boooooo!
-chicago, celine dion and other mindless pap constantly heard on radio stations.

yay!
-freedom and laissez fair attitude about just about everything.
boooooo!
-litterbugs, traffic, choking pollution, noise pollution.

yay!
-the soothing nightly symphony of crickets and frogs.
boooooo!
-idiot roosters who can't tell time.

yay!
-the acceptance of foreigners.
boooooo!
-routine discrimination against just about every visible or invisible minority.

yay!
the surprising prevalence of cell phones.
boooooo!
the absolutely painful crawl of the internet.

chapter 27: spiritual skulduggery

i've posted often about the alternately bizarre and maddening world of ghanaian spirituality. my biggest pet peeve is so-called men of god who combine christianity with traditional beliefs.

is it a duck or a goose?

to me, combining religious world views always exposes these shysters as shameless opportunists who will turn people's sincere beliefs into a really sleazy religious flea market in order to attract the biggest congregations. this, of course, allows them to drive around in hummers and live in mansions while their 'customers' starve.

correct me if i'm wrong, religious folks, but doesn't it say in the bible that thou shalt not worship false idols? whaddya call invoking black spirits and enlisting the help of fetish priests?

anyway, long story short, a much-hyped battle of so-called religious powers fizzled last week in kumasi when christian pastors failed to show up for an encounter with the well-known fetish priest kwaku bonsam. they claimed they were just as powerful as bonsam, but they chickened out. today, the following pathetic excuses for that turtle show appeared in The Daily Guide. it pretty much sums up why i hate ghana's brand of christian con-artists:

Pastor Mad At Kwaku Bonsam

REV. EBENEZER ADARKWA Yiadom, Founder and Leader of the Ebenezer Miracle Worship Centre at Ahenema Kokoben in Kumasi caused a stir last week when he heaped curses upon curses on people who he claimed were making mockery of him.

He said: “In the name of the God that I serve faithfully, any woman who will tease me that Kwaku Bonsam has defeated me, she and her entire family including her children would suffer all the days of their lives.“Any girl who will tease me about this issue, I swear that poverty will be her portion all the days of her life.“And any boy who will make mockery of me about the Kwaku Bonsam issue will always be a slave and would beg before he gets his daily bread; that boy will never prosper in life,” he told Nkosuo FM.

Rev. Adarkwa-Yiadom, had, after boasting on radio that he was more powerful than Kwaku Bonsam, the sensational fetish priest from Akomadan-Afrancho in the Ashanti Region, failed to show up for a spiritual contest between him and the latter.

Kwaku Bonsam, beaming with hopes, however stormed the Jackson Park, venue of the spiritual contest, to show some of his spiritual prowess to the delight of the elated crowd that jammed the place.

Kwaku Bonsam, before performing his wonders, bragged that he was battle-ready to shame Rev. Adarkwa-Yiadom and that it was unfortunate that the Man of God could not show up for the contest.

Following this development residents of Kumasi, who phoned into various radio programmes, accused Rev. Adarkwa-Yiadom of chickening out.Others went to the extent of openly teasing the Man of God of not wielding spiritual powers from the Omnipotent God as claimed, thus his decision not to meet Kwaku Bonsam face-to-face.

But in a sharp rebuttal, Rev. Adarkwa-Yiadom, speaking on Nkosuo FM in Kumasi, emphatically stated that it was untrue that he ran away from Kwaku Bonsam for fear of being disgraced by the fetish priest.He wondered aloud why some people were making mockery of him, especially on radio networks across the city.

Rev. Adarkwa-Yiadom who sounded irritated, surprisingly heaped numerous curses on people he claimed were teasing him, to the dismay of thousands of radio listeners in the Garden City.

Touching on events leading up to the no show spiritual contest, the pastor explained that the spiritual contest was originally scheduled for the forecourt of the Ghana Broadcasting Corporation (GBC) in Accra on Thursday, May 15, and not Jackson Park as claimed by Kwaku Bonsam.According to him he was in Kumasi on Thursday morning and went to the Jackson Park around 10:00 am and found the place empty, insisting that he was not afraid of Kwaku Bonsam as being speculated.He continued that he left Kumasi for Accra by air around 2:45 pm that day and that Kwaku Bonsam who monitored his movements for the day, stormed the Jackson Park when he was airborne.

“Immediately I left Kumasi to officially open a branch of my church in Accra, Kwaku Bonsam hurriedly stormed the Jackson Park to brag that he was more powerful than me, which is false.”

Rev. Adarkwa contended that he was more powerful than Kwaku Bonsam and was prepared to meet him anywhere, any time and at any place. “I am ready to face him squarely and I will bring his evil works to an end on that day.“I will command Kwaku Bonsam to fall from his horse; he cannot match me because I serve the living God,” Rev. Adarkwa-Yiadom indicated, adding “if he defeats me, go and burn my church”.

Reacting to a question as to whether it was Biblical for a Man of God to engage a fetish priest in a spiritual contest, Rev. Adarkwa-Yiadom said “as David confronted Goliath who was making mockery of the Israelites, God’s chosen people, so I will defeat Kwaku Bonsam to give glory to God”.

From Fred J.A. Ibrahim Jnr., Kumasi

chapter 26: l'horreur d'afrique

i've talked a little about the influence of traditional beliefs in africa, such as witches and wizards, fetish priests etc. i've seen a few bizarre fetish items in kumasi's huge central market like buzzard wings. but nothing approaching what's been happening in the congo. suddenly, i want to get the hell outta dodge: http://news.sky.com/skynews/article/0,,30200-1313926,00.html

chapter 25: freelance first

just notched my first ever paid freelance gig. i wrote a short article for an online publication from holland. there's not a lot to it, but still, it's kind of exciting:

http://www.powerofculture.nl/en/current/2008/April/ICACD_culture_development_agenda_Africa+

chapter 24: mad about mugabe

there's something of a dictatorial impulse in african politics.

news flash!

ok, i know that's nothing new, but it seems the list of african tragedies will never end. in addition to the well-known long running disputes, we have the recent violence in kenya.

the zimbabwe election saga looks increasingly likely to go from laughable to bloody. mugabe is holding on with both arthritic 80 year old claws and his decrepit false teeth. the opposition mdc says 15 of its supporters have been killed in post-election violence. and more than 200 of its activists were arrested during a police raid on its headquarters on friday.

the cartoon basically encapsulates mugabe's attitude towards competition.

and cameroon could be next. the country's 1996 constitution enshrined two seven year terms as the limit for presidents. but parliament recently adopted amendments that will allow the current president, who's been in power since 1982, to continue indefinitely. and even better, another amendment shields the president against prosecution for anything he does while in power! yay accountability!

so what the deal, yo? do african leaders tend more towards dictatorship, or do the societies as a whole?

interestingly, many people i speak to blame the lack of development in ghana on too much democracy...yeah, that's right, they would prefer a bit more of a dictatorial style from their leaders. it's not a scientific poll in any way, but it's interesting, given most ghanaians were alive during the bloody reign of flt lt jerry rawlings. and stranger still, rawlings still carries a lot of influence. i think he should be in jail myself...but maybe that's the difference between them and us?

chapter 23: the highs and the lows

8:30 pm, and all is well. i'm sitting on the front stoop of the house, enjoying rare moments of peace and quiet. the air is heavy and fragrant with the greenery of kumasi's lush backcountry, away from the teeming humanity and choking pollution of the busy metropolis.

the lights have gone out again, and the stupefying heat has forced me out of the house. in ghana, sundown signals near perfect darkness, as most of the country is without street lights. tonight, with the lights out, the darkness is so thick that i literally can't see five feet in front of me. the black hole of the night is punctured only by the light of my headlamp, as i read and enjoy a gentle breeze. i greet people passing by, and speak with my housemates as they come and go. the light are out, but for the moment, it's not unpleasant.

inside however, is another story. it's like an oven, and when i finally go to bed, i toss and turn all night. there's no running water at the moment either. we're basically camping, but not by choice. this is unpleasant.

and this morning when i wake, there are red eyes and yawns all around. these are the highs and lows of life in west africa. pleasant and peaceful one moment, uncomfortable and primitive the next.

chapter 22: april fool's! the anatomy of the worst joke ever

i've done it. i've managed to wash away six months worth of goodwill in one day. i am public enemy number one in the kumasi metropolis, all due to a made-up occasion which i've always thought was stupid.

reconstructing now for the record, the ignominious fall of luv fm's favourite (and only) obruni contribuor.

monday, march 31st, 8:47am: luv's producer/host/promotions guru extraordinaire nana benin pulls me aside and asks me to participate in a hilarious april fool's day hoax. i blindly agree.

8:49am: i am to appear on anita's show, the metro mix, to promote a fictional scholarship to an information technology school in chicago. the school is called christian centenary university. it doesn't exist.

11:27am: i head into the studios, and am handed a fake press release. apparently, i have arranged the scholarship through a friend of mine. aren't i great? she works for an ngo called microchip organizational development structures incorporated. which, also, exists neither in the present nor the past.

11:33am: rhianna's “umbrella” (the remix!) finishes playing for the gazillionth time. i'm given a glowing introduction. i give my shpiel. we both cover our microphones with our hands and titter like idiots.

11:35am: anita tells people they have to bring their resume to the station, and do it today! now! this was not discussed with me. then call a certain number for their code. i feel a twinge of guilt. but surely, nobody will rush over on such short notice!

11:45am: after a few more songs, probably akon, then rhianna, and rhianna again, i sign off.

11:46am: nana's phone rings. he answers and gives the info. gives out the code. luv-apfl/01. a. p. f. l. april fool's! now that's clever. surely people will catch on.

11:47am: nana's phone rings again.

11:48am: nana's phone rings again. getting the idea?

12:12pm: fresh off air, anita rushes over to me, breathless. “my phone keeps ringing! you were so good!”

12:17pm: my phone starts ringing. i am officially going to hell, i say. everyone around me laughs. nobody disagrees.

12:18pm: i busy myself with editing stories, catching up on writing, and hiding in the newsroom. the resumes have started arriving.

4:02pm: nana has taken 63 calls, has gotten seven text messages, and missed 44 calls. gulp.

6:12pm: i head home.

11:33pm: i fall asleep. nightmares of lynching ensue.

tuesday, april 1, 6:31am: i wake up. shower. brush teeth. begin preparing mental list of large friends who can serve as bodyguards.

9:11am: after morning editorial meeting, i poke my head in nana's office. he looks harried. his phone is stuck in his ear. i lift an eyebrow as he tells someone: “your code is l-u-v-dash-a-p-f-l-slash-one-one-one.”

9:13am: i lock myself in the bathroom. i retch. Rinse, repeat.

11:35am: i'm back with anita. akon finishes telling everyone “nobody wanna see us together...” and we're on. we have dozens of resumes. dozens. we read some. they're passionately written, and so sincere. we laugh off air. we're not only going to hell, but soon. after an extremely painful death.

11:45am: we take some calls. people tell us why they want the scholarship. there are computer professionals, other kinds of professionals, students, the unemployed.

11:49am: nana gives us the final tally: 127 codes given, 84 missed calls, ten text messages. in about a day. we have underestimated demand. severely.

11:56am: we break the news. it's a hoax. nobody has caught on. all were blinded by dumb hope. i suck.

11:58am: a young man who applied is dragged forlornly into the studio. he had no idea. he's disappointed. he looks like he's about to cry. i stab out my eyes.

12:05pm: i finalize my bodyguard list.

12:08pm: angry mob is forming at the gates.

12:11pm: i stride out bravely to meet them. they tear me apart.

or;

12:11pm: i stride out timidly in an upright fetus-like position. see the definition of supplication. i plead for mercy. i cry. the crowd disperses disgustedly.

6:06pm: in reality, i am carried out in a mail sack, placed surreptitiously in a car trunk and smuggled away.

6:12pm: clear of mob, i promise to confine myself to news and good deeds.

6:35pm: heading to local rice spot, i consume a rare weekday alcoholic beverage. restaurant attendant asks “why did you fool the people like that?”

6:36pm: sigh.

chapter 21: witchcraft, black magic and the law

ghana is a very superstitious land. religions familiar to westerners abound, with a side order of zealotry here and there. but i've been consistently fascinated with the indigenous beliefs that hold tremendous influence here, like black magic, wizardry and witchcraft.

to me, it always seems like their version of the boogeyman. as a child i was told "go to bed, or the boogeyman will get you!" of course, i eventually realized it was just a scare story, designed to get kids to obey.

but ghanaians never seem to reach that stage.

most people still believe there are some people who can communicate with spirits, perform curses, perform voodoo or juju, even enlist spirits to exact revenge on those who have wronged them.

"you will see what will happen" is the ominous threat that spiritual payback is coming.

there was a hilarious example of how traditional beliefs can collide with modern life during a legal seminar at luv fm yesterday. a few shows on the local language station, nhyira fm, specialize in stories about the supernatural. the company lawyer was warning presenters not to use names when a guest is accusing someone of witchcraft or wizardry. in some parts, such an accusation can lead to serious consequences; ostracism, banishment to witch camps, or even deadly mob action. there have been lawsuits. said the exasperated lawman: "how can i prove she is a witch in court? she will deny it!"

i was the only one laughing. this is a weighty legal issue in ghana, and british common law is not equipped to deal with it.

Fetish Priest Nana Kwaku Bonsam.

fetish priests are sort of a catch-all for traditional spiritual beliefs. i've been wanting to see one in action for a long time, and yesterday i finally got the chance. i returned to the station after a story assignment to find a fetish priest giving a demonstration. he was clothed in traditional white cloth, muttering incantations, supposedly turning leaves into money. as far as i could tell, he was simply pulling money out of a covered basket. everyone was watching in amazement. i have to admit, i was underwhelmed.

but then he did something a little more dramatic. he took a knife, and started slashing his arms, stomach and even his eyes. no blood spewed, and not a mark appeared. then he took a tree branch and easily cut through it with the knife.

hmmmm...

later i saw his assistant putting the leaves-into-money basket away. the top slipped a bit, and not surprisingly, i saw both leaves and money inside. much to the annoyance of my colleagues, who expected me to abandon my stubbornly rational disbelief, i now believe these individuals are not practising black magic, but are simply accomplished illusionists.

but i'm warning you all right now: don't cross me!

"you will see what will happen!"

chapter 20: feelin' fine

i have been slightly neglectful of the blog lately, n0t because i've been particularly busy, but because life has assumed a strange, unlooked-for peace.

six months in, with my time here now flying towards "the end", life almost seems normal.

not to say i've come to love bucket showers, water scarcity, burning garbage piles, poverty and all the other challenges here. it's just become a part of life. i'm more or less comfortable with the routine, having finally aquired the wherewithal to forge a normal routine in this environment that seemed chaotic at first.

i walk down the streets, hardly noticing the myriad and sometimes bizarre things being hawked by the roadside. i smile at those who greet my in the typical way, although most of them recognize me by now.

i stop by the european market to pick up mangoes, pineapples, oranges apples...all costing the equivalent of a few dollars! fruit guy is always happy to see me. those few dollars are important to him, and to me it's a ridiculous bargain. take that, safeway!

i eat rice at a food stand while talking to my friend who sells used clothing in the business district. i've never bought anything from him, but he's always happy to chat for a few minutes.

i feel like the king of kensington, minus the baldness, and replacing the cheesy soundtrack with a funky hip life beat.

there's gotta be a tv show in there somewhere.

chapter 19: sex and chocolate

ghana is a strange place when it comes to sex and sexuality. people are embarassed to talk about it much, but they do it alot.

case in point, masturbation. i know, it sounds like the beginning of a joke, but it's not. a radio presenter at love asked me what i thought about masturbation. i said i figured everyone had done it at some point in their lives. so we asked some other people, and nobody would admit it in person. but almost everyone admitted it on the radio, having had the chance to conceal their identities.

there's also a huge variety of herbal potions to enhance sexual pleasure, often being sold by street hawkers who can't even read the labels. if they happen to be in english. i remember when tristin visited, someone tried to sell her a little bottle of 'sex juice'. it had a picture of a couple having sex. and that was really all the information to be gleaned from the bottle.

women are especially frowned upon if they admit to having had muliple sexual partners. it's gotten so bad that they've resorted to an herbal potion that changes their organ, and makes men think they're virgins. oh yeah...the potion causes cervical cancer and hiv.

it reminds me of bon jovi. "your love is like baaad medicine..." really, really bad medicine.

on a lighter, sex-related note, ghana chocolate is good. pure cocoa, very few chemicals. cadbury will never taste the same.

now that's orgasmic!

chapter 18: the paradox of being an obruni

every day, i fight an ironic battle between choosing to enjoy the advantages of being a while man in ghana, and accepting the same drawbacks that come with being a regular kweku or amma.
ducking out of the office in mid-morning for some delicious fried yams with pepper sauce, i greet the man and wife who sell them on the street just outside the office. as usual, their adorable three year old son squeals in fear when he sees me, shouting “obruni” and ducking for cover behind his father. as always i laugh, and feign a snarling lunge at the boy, which never fails to send him into delirious fits of pleasure and horror.

the white man is scary! but he's paying attention to me! wheeee!

it's okay when kids call me obruni, and i don't even mind it when adult strangers do it, even though the cute factor goes way down when that cursed word emenates from between the jack o' lantern like teeth of a wizened old market woman. call me an asshole, but it seems downright undignified. nevertheless, i shrug it off.

what happens next, however, is a whole different ball of banku, and some days i can barely contain myself. i have told my luv colleagues repeatedly i don't want to be called obruni. “i have a name, use it!” my smile is friendly enough, but my eyes mean business. a few of them don't get the message. today, one of the more stubborn members of that tribe strolls in and calls me the dreaded “o” word. i look at him and say “why do you always say obruni, obruni...that's for children. you know my name, but every day you call me obruni!”

he appears to be hurt, explaining that it's not negative, i am white man, he is black man. i explain that i know that, but why should we separate eachother based on race? he says, “that is how we do. we separate you because the white man is up here, and we are down here. you are rich, we are poor. you are better.”

i feel mortified.

trying to be treated as an equal is a losing battle. just because i'm rich (compared to him) am i better? he says yes.

“was it hard for you to get a visa?” “no,” i admit.

“you saw how bush was treated on his visit? would people care that much about the president of
ghana?” “no,” i say again.

it's hard to argue that kind of logic, even though i'm living an working beside ghanaians precisely because i don't believe race matters when determining an individual's worth.
but the truth is, i often feel like a hypocrite.

every day, someone insists on carrying something for me, serving me first, and my protests are always futile. case in point: at the post office yesterday, i arrived at 3:45, and quickly waded into the disorganized mess of humanity, intent on picking up a so-called “instant money transfer” from accra. i'd been there twice before, but had to leave because i didn't have the required information once, and because i didn't have all day to wait the second time. after waiting and watching three giggling employees gossip among themselves for half an hour, we were informed the office was closed, and told to come back tomorrow.

uhh, no. no signage and lazy employees = angry brennan.

i start yelling.

yes, yelling.

“it says instant money transfer! we've been waiting half an hour and not one person has been served. i left work early to come, and i want my money now!” they took my slip and disappeared into the back. everyone else was told to come back. five minutes later, an agent taps me on the shoulder, and spirits me around the corner, taking covert glances over her shoulder to make sure none of the angry crowd has noticed. i get my money.

i'm mollified, but somewhat guilty.

i've gotten used to the lax customer service standards here, and have often seen employees sleeping on the job. but if things don't run properly, and i get served because i'm white, am i taking unfair advantage of my status? it doesn't seem unreasonable for operating hours to be posted, for employees to work while a crowd waits, or at least be conscious.

there goes my dream of equality. i guess i'll never be a real ghanaian.

chapter 17: a shitty situation

a lot of ghana's health problems can be traced to unsanitary bathroom facilities, and the disposal of human waste. public bathrooms are hard to come by at times, and food sellers routinely set up right beside open sewers. yum.

but designating people as couriers of waste stinks, even by ghanaian standards. it's shocking that government would have to step in to end the practise. the following story is courtesy of the ghana news agency:

plan to phase out carrying of human excreta -sc

accra, feb. 26, gna - the supreme court on tuesday gave the accra metropolitan assembly (ama) three months to come out with a comprehensive plan that will serve as a guide in its desire to phase out the practice, whereby, human excreta is carried by some people in society.

the court's order followed an agreement reached between mr stanley amarteifio, counsel for ama and nana adjei ampofo, an accra legal practitioner, who instituted an action against the assembly for engaging the services of certain persons as carriers of human waste.

the five-member panel of the court, presided over by ms justice sophia akuffo ordered ama to ensure that the implementation plan, whose preparation should include unit committee members, is publicized. consequently, the court, whose other panel members were mr. justice steve brobbey, mr. justice richard twum aninakwa, mrs. sophia adinyira and mr justice samuel kwadwo asiamah, adjourned the matter to june 3. earlier, mr. amarteifio told the court that under the agreement, ama intends to phase out the practice completely, within the next five years.

in 2006, nana ampofo instituted the action at the supreme court against ama challenging its constitutional right to engage the services of certain people to carry human excreta.
nana ampofo sued the attorney-general (a-g) jointly with the ama, because the a-g is the government's legal officer and therefore as a government entity, the ama is to be represented or defended by the a-g. in his writ, nana ampofo sought a declaration from the supreme court that, the act or practice of ama engaging the services of certain ghanaians to carry faeces or toilet in pans on their heads was an affront to their dignity.

furthermore, he prayed the court to restrain ama to abolish the practice, since, in his view, it was not only cruel and inhuman, but also degrading to the carriers as human beings.
one other relief sought by nana ampofo was for the court to direct ama to abolish the practice, since it was inconsistent with, and contravened article 15 of the 1992 constitution.
article 15 states among others that, "the dignity of all persons shall be inviolable, and that no person shall, whether or not he is arrested restricted or detained, be subjected to torture or other cruel, inhuman or degrading treatments or punishment."

in his writ, counsel averred that as a citizen of ghana who alleges that a provision of the constitution has been breached by the ama, he does not need any special interest, and that it was enough for him as a ghanaian, to bring the action against ama under the constitution counsel averred further that, the public interest considerations required that the practice be immediately abolished, as it constituted, not only a health hazard to the carriers, but also promoted the spread of diseases.

nana ampofo said if ama made bye-laws banning the practice and ensured compliance, house owners would provide more hygienic places of convenience, adding that the assembly could also provide on site disposal systems or hygienic collection, treatment and off-site disposal systems.
he further said that the use of pan latrines ought to be abolished or banned in ghana, a nation aspiring to achieve a middle income status by the year 2015.

nana ampofo said the carriers often referred to as "latrine boys", "do not work out of choice", and that by carrying the pans on their heads, the human excreta, with its attendant stench, at times spilled over and drilled on to their shoulders. in his view, therefore, this practice needed to be abolished.