The Day BBC Went Silent!

By Solomon Mensah

Komla Dumor

It was the 18^th day of January, 2014. I had closed from church and sought asylum in a friend’s house from the torrential beatings of the burning sun. For about an hour I sat and chatted with her (no fringe intentions), she burst in with a message someone had sent her on WhatsApp.

“A friend tells me Komla Dumor is dead,” she said to me. What? Fumbling as though I was teargased, I struggled to locate myself upon hearing this. I was lost; probably in my mind. I tell you, the name ‘Komla Dumor’ (KD) by then kept bouncing in my mind left right center. Who could that be? A minister, pastor or …?

I just didn’t want to hear that the man I have loved and longed to be where he used to be was no more. Indeed, after witnessing death taken captive of my parents within a period of two years, I always shrink in size hearing death as with an old woman’s uneasiness when dry bones are mentioned in a proverb.

Quickly, I called Manasseh Azure Awuni of Joy FM (a close friend of KD) to ascertain the accuracy of Komla Dumor’s reported death. “That is what people have been calling me to confirm. Let me make some calls to verify,” the boy from Bongo told me. Ending the call on this note, I had a little hope that after all, no one has confirmed it yet.

All this while, as I always do when following a story, I kept my eyes glued to the websites of the British Broadcasting Corporation, Joy FM, Citi FM among others and on Facebook and Twitter. But there was no confirmed news on KD. So from where was such a devastating message/rumor coming? I quivered and shivered, and stuck my hands in between my thighs. “Solo, you are too emotional,” Foriwaa (my friend) said to me. “This man is one of my great mentors in journalism,” I replied.

Logging in to Facebook, I saw a post of Manasseh; “BBC News is still silent. I called Komla Dumor’s UK number and I am told I should leave a message because the person I am calling cannot answer. Can his family members help us?”

When I saw this, I had lost hope and words. All I could say was ‘Oh Mamamia!’ But still the BBC was damn silent. What was happening? Minutes later, I read a post of Samson Lardy Ayenini of Joy FM on Facebook. He was bold to somehow confirm the news. There and then, a friend in Accra wrote on WhatsApp that Anas Aremeyaw Anas, Joy FM and Citi FM had confirmed it. ‘Yesu! Agye g)n.’

… And the rest is history. Komla Dumor is gone. Could you believe this? The day the monkey is destined to die, our elders say, all the trees in the forest get slippery. Indeed, the heart of KD had become too slippery to gently stay in his chest. So sad!

Reading tributes that are being poured on him, I get realized that life is too short. Has it not been ‘eat’ that is within ‘DeatH,’ I would have canceled it out of my dictionary. Was Shakespeare not right when he said that death is a fearful thing? But what can we say again, he is gone. Although he left us at a tender age- at the peak of his career- he left behind a good number of virtues that when the young (and even the old) tap, they would be the young suckers that would replace mother banana. KD inspired the black race and proved to the world that the blackman is as capable as the men who reside beyond the boiling sea.

I’m short of words but before I shut down my laptop, I would like to encourage us to let KD’s life overshadow his death. For it is said that the robbed that smiles, steals something from the thief.

Would you mind sharing with me how you received the news of KD’s death? Aha, did you also notice that the BBC delayed in breaking the news? Was it a case of professionalism? I still don’t get it.

The writer is a Sunyani-based Freelance Journalist.

Email: nehusthan4@yahoo.com

 

 

 

 

 

Their gods, our wives

By Solomon Mensah & Mavis Boamah

 

“When we gather together in the moonlit village ground it is not because of the moon. Every man can see it in his own compound. We come together because it is good for kinsmen to do so.”

That is what the legendary wizard of literature, Chinua Achebe, tells us in his renowned novel Things Fall Apart. Indeed, if the end of the year (2013) had brought my childhood friend, who now seeks academic asylum in the Whiteman’s land home, it was never the case that he could not have seen the end of the year at that vast lands that lay beyond the boiling sea. It was, however, a way of gathering together with family and friends here under the scorching sun.

Whenever we meet, we do not merely talk of the fact that we are growing old but of the responsibilities that come with ageing as well. We are nearing thirty and marriage - like the suffering that knocks at one’s door, when you tell it there is no seat for him, tells you not to worry because he has brought his own stool - stares at our faces. If you had ever seen a sanitary inspector fixedly looking at the bottom of a barrel filled with water, you would understand what I mean here. Family and friends are asking ‘when are you marrying?’

But aside the azonto-weddings that today’s Ghanaian woman is eager to embroil around her neck, a number of factors push young men like me and my friend to coil into our shells. The young Ghanaian woman (some) longing to be a white African- bleaching, shaving of eyebrow, enlongating their nails, lips painting and devastating enough, the wearing of wigs. I hear common Cocoa Butter cream has recently turned a black woman into an oyibo.

Unlike cunning Kwaku Ananse who would carry all the world’s wisdom on his protruding belly, I would like to zoom in on only one of the aforementioned factors by carrying it at my back for discussion. Ladies, kindly relax and read; I have no intention of “al-shababing” you with verbal bullets.

Tell me, why do you wear wigs? How do you feel in it? Do you have any idea how you look like when in it? Well, some look nice on some heads. But as to whether it fits your head or not, wigs have some serious spiritual backgrounds that I think if you had known, you would have discarded it to the dustbin.

This is what the 020/0244 pastors won’t tell you. They are in for your money and not your salvation. Why not put aside the “I am highly favoured” mentality and follow the subsequent lines in sober reflections. Come on!

Looking through historical window, records have it that by 1580, syphilis – a sexually transmitted disease – had become one of the worst epidemics to strike Europe. William Clowes, an English Surgeon, described the number of syphilis patients who clogged London’s hospitals as “infinite multitude.” It is recorded that without antibiotics by then, victims of the disease suffered; nasty rashes, blindness, open sores, and hair loss.

Long hair was a trendy status symbol in the society. With those who had the ‘Lord to be their barber,’ battling baldness was as painful as though been told to squeeze water out of a rock. The syphilis epidemic, partly, fueled the surge in wig making. Historians referred to wig made for the bald as a shameful necessity. You see, the craze to have hair on one’s head did not start with Manchester United’s Wayne Rooney.

Away from the syphilis canker, at age 17, Louis XIV (1638 – 1715), the King of France sprung on his feet with the agility of a leopard and commanded 48 wig makers to save his image. What image? The desire to maintain his hair on his head. Five years later, the King of England, Charles II, is also reported to have emulated Louis’ hair restoration. Kings Abr3!

… And the history of wigs continues unabated. In this 21^st century, I am yet to spot a descendant of Eve who is growing bald. I think finding a naturally-bald-woman would be as scarce as meeting a lady in her prime. Perhaps such a lady might be suffering from such hair loss related sicknesses. So again, women why do you wear wigs? Mavis Boamah is a level 200 student at the Ghana Institute of Journalism. She finds out.

I am taking a stroll through one of the principal streets of Accra. Here at one shoulder of the street, pedestrian malls stand like bull frogs in a swamp. Solomon, feet are stepping on feet and heads knocking heads as passers struggle their way through this chocked lane.

On my immediate left is a metallic store, a little bigger than the size of a lotto kiosk, filled to the brim with cosmetics. In the store are mannequins head-geared in wigs and weaves

Women, old and young, either troop in and out of the store or steal a glance at the mannequins on tenterhooks. Felicity is a 25 year old woman. I ask her why the craze for wigs; “Well for me, it adds up to my beauty. Whether it’s the bride or the corpse in wig, the product electrifies their beauty.”

For Rita Adutwumwaa and her friend Abigail, both nurses, “wearing of wigs does not only save one’s hair from breaking off but it cuts down the cost of going to the salon every week.” From what I have gathered so far, Solomon, wigs are but just another twist of fashion.

Alright Mavis, thank you.

It comes in different forms with various names. The human hair such as the Brazilian hair and other many synthetic ones; the wig caps and the hair braids. But from where do we get these wigs? Sources such as (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=EhzyAKAtbU4) affirm how human hairs are sacrificed to gods at Hindu temples, India. These hairs are later packaged to countries such as ours for sale to our women whom we take for wives. The most dangerous thing in relation to the sale of these hairs is that, most of the worshippers who donated their hairs to their gods do not know that their religious leaders later sell them out.

India is not the only country noted for either sacrificing human hair to gods or selling such hairs. In many other countries including Peru, (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jB-eOprpq-M), one’s hair could be sold in other to afford a bowl of meal.

Mavis, owing to this, whenever I see a lady in wig; whether human hair or synthetic, I jerk my head sharply like an animal that has sniffed death in the air. Perhaps, the only thing that attracts men like me is the wiggling of our ladies’ buttocks like worms in skin tights- Parental Guide (PG).

Mavis, I guess you know that both the Bible and the Quran speak against one adding artificial hair to their natural hair? Please don’t ask for quotations. Let me sound here like muffled drums before your fellows twist my head for me to see my heels.

But as it stands now, if I do not meet such Indian women with long natural hairs, then I may be compelled to marry one of their “gods.”

 

Solomon Mensah is a Sunyani-based Freelance Journalist and Mavis Boamah, a Student-Journalist at the Ghana Institute of Journalism (GIJ).

Writers’ emails: nehusthan4@yahoo.com & boamahmavis@ymail.com

Exposed: Andy Dosty’s Voodoo!

^{By Solomon Mensah}

Andy Dosty

^{My thinking became painful. As painful as what the bell feels when its testicle is pricked against its walls. “W’asom y3 wod3,” I guess you want to know why? Well, it all happened at a library in Accra.}

^{I had gone there to study but, frankly, I didn’t even know that I went there with handouts. For close to five minutes, she moved in and out of the library as if she had lost something valuable. Whenever she entered, something tickled my medulla oblongata (reminds me of Bukum Banku). Something that pushed me within to say ‘wow.’ If there is any word stronger than ‘beautiful,’ please write it here ……. for me so I use to describe her to you.}

^{Her firm inviting breasts dangled left then to right, like the way a bush sways in a torrential storm, in her brownish loose gown that marched her skin complexion. For all this while of stealing glances at this lady who had placed her books adjacent to my studying desk, I tell you, I had forgotten all my Bible quotations. Not even, John 11:35; “Jesus wept” came to mind.}

^{I took my phone, plugged in earphone and turned the radio on to run away from this temptation. I moved from one radio station to the other in search of good music. Hypnotized by what I heard along the movement through the stations, I doubted my ears. A jingle of one of Ghana’s all-time best disc jockeys, Andy Dosty, had been played.}

^{Andy Dosty, we know trades his profession in Kumasi, Ashanti Region, therefore hearing him on an Accra based radio station made me quizzed myself with questions. Is he on a visit to say ‘hi’ to his Accra based-fans? The questions kept hovering around me.}

^{I gathered later that he is now working with Multimedia Broadcasting Company’s Hitz FM (103.9). That’s another good move.}

^{Andy, on that fateful day of my library ordeal, it was you who saved me from the hands of that charming looking young woman. I buried my head in my palm with my eyes shut and gently nodded my head like an agama lizard as I listened to the songs you played.}

^{Our elders caution us not to call the forest that shelters us, a jungle. I have for long being listening to you. From your days in the Garden City on Otec FM, Angel FM till your present day Hitz FM and I can never rubbish your finger prowess. Yeah, not even in the time that your music playing has been of enormous benefit to me.}

^{Andy, when, where and how did you learn your disc jockeying? You must be grateful to whoever taught you. From the era of cassette, where a DJ would wind it with his finger to get the track he wants to play to smashing it in the palm, through to the present day compact disc and the use of computer has been great.}

^{But aside all these milestone of your achievements, why a voodoo? Has your heart palpitated as if a set of abadza drums were mounted on your chest? Well, I think in our modern Ghana, one doing business or intending to pull crowd needs ‘this’ or ‘that’ to succeed. What do you think?}

^{Steuart Henderson Britt says it best that doing business without advertising is like winking at a girl in the dark. The voodoo I speak of is not that of Kyeiwaa’s in a Kumawood Movie but of what Henderson speaks of. Advertising one’s self/business.}

^{Of late, social media has become so importantly relevant that one doing away with it renders one’s life ineffective like clapping with one hand. One of my brothers, knew nothing about computers nor the modern trend of communication before he left the shores of Ghana to the Whiteman’s land, Today, he worries me with Skype, Facebook, Whatsapp and the like. He has become so good at social media that he at times updates me on the happenings around the world.}

^{Andy Dosty, like Printex- ‘maaso m3hy3 bi,’ is not left out of the web of social media. Ever since we became friends on Mark Zuckerberg’s Facebook, I have followed every single post of his like the way a vulture traces after a carcass. Andy would post a question on Facebook prior to the start of his show on Hitz FM and there he goes actively interacting with his listeners.}

^{“I bought a refrigerator for my wife for the sale of ‘pure water.’ Each time I pick one to drink, she strangles me to pay for it. I want to take my fridge away, after all I pay for all the utility bills. What do you think?” Such is one of his ‘voodoos’ dated December 12, 2013, and this attracted 94 Comments, 38 Likes.}

^{With 21K likes on his fan page and actively engaging them is something good to write home about. I have always lambasted the National Service Scheme (NSS) for being communication crippled. Ask the NSS why one, for instance, has to travel all the way from Accra to Sunyani just to register to be a service person? Can this not be done by just click of a mouse? Recently, I received a barrage of text messages from candidates (NSS personnel) vying for various positions. They were telling me to vote for them. But frankly, I did not partake in their election; how can I vote for someone I never know?}

^{Had the NSS been a bit inclined with social media, pictures and short details of the candidates could have been posted on Facebook- categorized into regions. Are we waiting on President Mahama or Nana Addo to do this for us?}

^{Companies and organizations like VRA/ECG, Ghana Water, GTV, GCB and the likes should take a cue from the man with magical fingers. But you, my reader, are you utilizing the social media?}

^{Lest I forget, Mr. Andrew Amoh (or you prefer I call you Andy Dosty?) aside teaching your students disc jockeying, do you as well teach them about the power of social media? Well, this has been a way of “exposing” you to the world.}

^{The writer is a Sunyani-based Freelance Journalist.}

^{Email:nehusthan4@yahoo.com}

^{Twitter: @Aniwaba}

                                                              ^{Facebook: Solomon Mensah}