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.