Monday, 22 February 2010

How Economics Is Changing Ghana For The Worse


I was staying at a bungalow between Bunso and Atukrom in the Eastern Region at one time when, in the morning, I decided to take a walk to meet my chauffeur, who would be arriving from Asiakwa, nearby. I walked and walked.

No driver.

But I didn't mind. Not only was the walk good for my health (I rationalised) but also, it gave me a chance to reacquaint myself with the vegetation -- what was left of it. For this area, which used to be thick forest, has been denuded of most of its hard woods, by chain-saw operators. They carry out illegal logging close to dwelling places all over Akyem Abuakwa and other parts of the Eastern Region, working on Sunday mornings, when the people leave the l woods to what is left of the animals and the birds. For the animals the people used to trap or hunt for food -- grass-cutters, bush rats, antelopes, bucks, monkeys and squirrels -- have all been driven away farther afield by the noise of the chain-saws and the destruction of their habitat.

The corrupt police let the loggers pass with their lorryloads of wood, on the way to Accra -- for a consideration. It is the singe most wanton act of eco-vandalism you can think of. And it is done under the noses of the law-enforcement agencies. Carry one bag of wee (Indian hemp or ganja) and they will grab you and take you to court, where you may face a minimum sentence of ten years imprisonment. But destroy the habitat to be inherited by our children and grand-children, ad you will go free after paying a bribe of a few cedis.

By the roadside, as I walked, my eye was caught by a plant that was bearing some nice, juicy-looking, very red (ripe) berry-sized type of fruit that transported me into early childhood ecstasy. It was a fruit called asoa. I picked up a couple of fruits, peeled them and put them in my mouth. It tasted as sweet as I expected.

But the real miracle of asoa is not that it tastes sweet -- ij fact its sweetness is quite subdued. It is what it does to other fruits that one eats which is the marvel. It can make literally everything taste sweet -- I mean really sweet. This includes unripe oranges and lemons! And -- three-day-old, foul-smelling palm wine!

As I walked along, meditating on why we haven't put asoa into industrial production to replace sugar, which everyone knows can causes diabetes, I soon came to a junction where -- as if by my command -- oranges. maize and other things were being sold.

The impulse to put the asoa I had eaten to the test was so strong that althogh I wasn't carrying money, I went to the orange seller and asked her whether she would sell me some. I warned her, "I am not carrying any money."

Te woman looked me and down. I was just dressed in jeans and T-shirt. There was no sign of money about me whatsoever.

But she gave me four nice oranges, and peeled them expertly for me, cutting a hole at the top for me to suck the juice from. I thanked her and continued my walk.

The oranges, need I say, had a heavenly deliciousness. I'd hardly finished eating them when my car showed up. We went back to the bungalow and I picked up some money. Then I came and paid the woman and gave her a huge tip We got talking. It turned out that she knew two of my uncles -- Wofa Kwadwo 'Ade and Wofa Kwadwo Kuma -- who reside in her nearby village, Nsutem, and I asked her to convey a message to them that I would be coming to see them the next day.

When I remember that day -- the unexpected delicacy and even more important, the amazing trust the woman reposed in my impecunious self -- my stomach develops cramps. Are such things still possible in our miney-crazy world?
It made me feel good. This was home -- as it should be.
One day, I was staying at a bungalow between Bunso and Atuukrom in the Eastern Region. In the morning, I decided to take a walk to meet my chauffeur, who would be arriving fro a nearby town. I walked and walked. No driver. Then I saw by the roadside, some nice, juicy-looking, very red (ripe) berry-type fruits that transported me into early childhood. It was a fruit called asoa. I picked up a couple of fruits and put them in my mouth.

Now the miracle about asoa is that it can make everything taste sweet -- I mean really sweet. This includes unripe oranges and lemons!

As I walked along, I soon came to a junction where oranges and other things were being sold.

The impulse to put the asoa I had eaten to good use was so strong that I went to the orange seller and asked her whether she would sell me some. I warned her, "I am not carrying any money."

I was dressed in jeans and T-shirt. There was no sign of wealth about me.

But the woman gave me four or so oranges, and cut them expertly for me. I thanked her and left.
The oranges, need I say, had a heavenly deliciousness. I'd hardly finished eating them when my car showed up. We went back to the bungalow and i picked up soe money. Then I came and paid the woman and gave her a huge tip We got talking. It turned out she knew two my uncles who reside in her village and I asked her to convey a message to them that I would be coming to see them the next day. When I remember that day, my stomach develops cramps. Who told me to ever leave?

I felt good. This was home -- as it should be. So how come

Ghanaians in the Diaspora call their homeland “Ogyakrom", which literally means "Place Of Fire".

The reason why Diasporans call their country "Ogyakrom" is that when they visit there from Europe or America, money "melts" in their pockets at such a fast rate that theirs pockets become like a crucible in which the temperature is somewhat nigh to what is to be found in Hades itself.

For once it is known in one's village that a "Diasporan" is in town, all one's relatives -- both close and newly close -- (we call the latter members of our "vulture family" because they are many, and they only gather around one when one has something that can be devoured)

come to him to narrate their tales of woe. The only way to shut them up is to "melt" some more cedis and shower it on them.

On one trip, I had almost reached my car from my room, en route to Accra, when a woman I hardly knew approached me, leading a child. "Blaa," (Brother) she said, "your niece fell into some hot water and was burnt badly. I need money to take her to hospital." And before I could say anything, she'd taken the little girl's cloth off, displaying terrible scabs all over her stomach.

I was extremely upset. I don't have a stomach for unsightly things. So, to me, this was callous emotional blackmail.

I had given no indication whatsoever that I would not accede to her request. So why did she have to show me the kid's scabs to seal the deal, as it were?

At such moments, one cannot help feeling that one is looked upon as a source of loot, not as a human being with sensitivities of one's own.

But this sort of thing is child's play, compared to the way some other guys go about extorting money from others in Ogyakrom. When a friend's mother died and they went to Korle Bu Teaching Hospital in Accra to collect the body for burial, his sister was moping about in distress outside the mortuary, wondering why it was taking such a long time for the body to be released by the mortuary attendants, when one of them beckoned to her to come.

"Madam, are you related to the lady who has passed away?", he asked her in a conspiratorial whisper.

"Yes, I am her daughter."

"Oh, I am so sorry for you, Madam."

"Thanks for your sympathy.... Could you please hurry it up? We have very far to go."

"Do you know something, madam? We are the people who do all the dirty work for you people oh! But you people pay big, big money to the hospital but we who dey do all de work, dem dey pay us only small," he said. "If we tell you how much dem dey pay us, Madam, you go cry! So, we be hungry, Madam. ... Madam, do something!"

Before the lady could react, the mortuary attendant had npushed her into the mortuary. There, on a table, lay her mother's body, cut open.

The lady screamed and ran out. The people with her caught hold of her and tried to calm her down. They saw she was totally traumatised. When she told them what had happened, someone said: "Hmm, as for these mortuary people, that's what they do here oh!” They went and “dashed” the mortuary people some money and gave them a bottle of vodka. Within minutes, they had their perfectly dressed body to take away for burial.

"What annoys me is that I would have paid them the money anyhow, without being subjected to seeing my mother in that state," the lady said. "As the case was, I could have died of a heart attack myself, from the shock. I mean I nearly fainted! Imagine seeing your own mother cut open like that!"

"Ah," her companions said, "as for you you don't know them. They don't want to give you a chance to be able to say "No, I didn't bring money", or "I've paid all the money I brought into the hospital accounts. They want to hoist you at the end of a fait accompli. That's how they get you!"

"It's straightforward emotional blackmail!"

Of course it is. An oh, they do care so much about the way they do it, don't they?"

When my mother was still alive, I used to send her from London money whenever anyone I knew came there. One day, a "by-force" uncle; that is, one who was not really an uncle but represented himself as such, phoned to say that another distant uncle was in town and "we" should go and see him together. Of course, as someone with a car, my "uncles" simply multiply.

I had great difficulty finding the place in Croydon, but eventually, we got there. It turned out this guy was a true uncle/ I remembered that in my childhood, he used to visit us, as he and my mother shared the same step-father and grew up together. So I had no hesitation in giving him what, to me, was quite a large sum, to go and give to his “sister“, my mother.

I learnt later that he had used the money to buy himself a uniform for an Oddfellows Lodge of which he was a member! Meanwhile, there I sat smugly in London, thinking I'd made my mother financially ok for some time. In fact, to my chagrin, she had sent me messages asking for money. But I'd ignored them, thinking, "What's coming over my old lady? It's not three months since I sent her money through her brother and she's asking for more?" I didn't know that my "uncle" the Oddfellows champion had not given her a penny of what I'd sent her. All that travelling into the nooks and corners of Croydon at night, when I hate to drive, Al for nothing. And it had left my mother close to the point of need. How could anyone do such a thing? But that's the Ghana of today. I could see this idiot on a Saturday night clad in his Oddfellows finery from London. And my mother starving. None of the ideals of being an Oddfellow mattered to him. It hurt me --it hurt me badly.

When my mother passed and this guy came to the funeral and came to shake hands with me, I was sorely tempted to snub him by refusing his outstretched hand, or even to denounce him publicly. But I had the cowardice of the well-brought-up kid. It wasn't something my mother would have approved of, I thought. She was so sweet and would have hated to see me make a scene -- especially when the butt of my anger was her own step-brother..

But this was one day when I secretly wished I was one of those rough-hewn coves who got extremely pissed when someone they loved died, for had I been stoned out of my head, I would have been able to tell the crowd, in a loud voice, that this bespectacled windbag with a bald pate, the so-called timber merchant of means, had stolen money meant for the upkeep of his own "sister”, in order to buy a Lodge uniform to bask in in front of his peers! Superficial fool.

I really should have accosted him, for (if I may adapt Shakespeare)

"Thus good breeding doth make cowards of us all!"

Compare his action to that of the the woman who gave me some oranges, without knowing whether she could expect ever to set eyes on me again. Hmm, maybe the

greedy and the selfish among our countrymen are there to drive the home point to us that if you ruin your economy, you stand the risk of changing the very nature of your people too.



zzzzzzzzzzapping the mosquito



By CAMERON DUODU


Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzznnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnggggggg!

I awoke with a start. Automatically brought my palm hard to my forehead. PAH!

I closed the palm and squeezed my fingers all around inside it. Very hard.

It was too dark to see anything. I passed the fingers of my left hand over my right palm. If the mosquito had survived the initial slap, it could have been squashed, mashed, obliterated -- by the coup de grace delivered by the finger action.

But alas, the fingers didnt give any feel of the tiny remains of a dead insect plastered on my palm. Nor was there a telltale feel of wet. warm blood.

The mosquito had escaped.

The darned mosquito had escaped!

The *% ! >& mosquito had escaped!

Again!

I had slapped my forehead, TAH! for nothing.

I was filled with such anger as can only be described with ancient hyperbole. In the Akan language of Ghana, when someone is so angry that he needs to be teased out of it with brutal candour, lest he allows it to lead him to do something he would regret later, he would be told: “Go off then and burn the sea!

The impossibility of that was bound to persuade the angry one to accept with equanimity, whatever it was that had made him so angry. His chest, heaving to bursting point, would fall back into his stomach”. In Akan, ne bo beto ne yem.

But right now, I was not about to have a cool heart; be placated. I had to try again to get that mosquito. For this was the third time it had woken me up in one night.

I got up and put on the light. Again.

I peered at the pillow. Nothing.

I at up in bed, stretched out awkwardly and looked at the wall above the bed.

Nothing,

I got off the bed and went to the window to inspect each of the louvre blades one at a time.

There was no sign of the mosquito perching on any of them.

Yet I knew it was in the room. If I made the mistake of going back to bed without getting it, it would come again and just when I was dozing off, it would jerk me

awake with that maddening whine: zzzzznnnnnnnnnnnngggggggggggggggg!

And I would have to slap myself again.

How did it develop such quick reflexes that no matter how fast you struck the place on your body where you thought it was, it always flew off before your hand got there? Did it have super-radar on its body?Not just radar but the most advanced: terrain avoidance radar which evaded objects.such as mountain tops, which the aeroplane pilot might not even have seen?

And then I wondered: how did it get in? The windows were all protected with wire gauze. So were the doors downstairs. Besides, the room had been thoroughly sprayed with insect spray before I went to bed. Yet.zzzzzzzngggggg! Nuisance. Pest. Vector. If only insults could kill a mosquito!

There was nothing for it but to spray the room again. How absolutely boring. Perhaps even dangerous -- by all means some of the insecticide would enter my lungs (again), and hell, toxic spray was toxic spray.

In fact, I thoroughly disliked the act of spraying. I always tried hard to hold my breath, of course, whilst using the spray. And I ran out of the room at full speed and banged the door shut, still holding my breath. But when I got into the fresh air and my breath exploded out of my lungs and chest, I could still smell a bit of the insecticide in my nostrils. I felt annoyed, but there it was. Some of the toxins had got into my system.

With my mosquito history, you cannot imagine how glad I was to hear that at the Technology, Entertainment and Design (TED) conference, held at Long Beach California, in the USA, in February 2010, a man called Nathan Myhrvold had been demonstrating what he calls a “Death Star” laser gun designed by himself and his crew, to track and shoot dead mosquitoes in flight.

As Nathan Myhrvold explained, “A child dies every 43 seconds from malaria. Current methods for eradicating the disease [malaria] aren’t working very well....

So until the time comes when malaria can be controlled, ‘Intellectual Ventures’ [Myhrvold’s company] thought it might be a good idea to try to control mosquitoes.”

Myhrvold’s team demonstrated the system at Long Beach, using a green laser light rather than a real laser (for safety reasons). They let loose mosquitoes in a glass box rigged with a camera on one side of the stage, then pointed the laser device at the box. The laser lights quickly located the mosquitoes in flight.

If you’re on the Internet, you can (hopefully!) watch the demo in a video:

http://gadgetblips.dailyradar.com/video/mosquito-killed-by-a-laser/

 

Myhrvold and his team are currently examining how cost-effective it would be to deploy the device in places like Africa.

This is not the first time the ‘mosquito zapper’ has come into the news. In a March 2009 report datelined Bellevue, Wash., the Wall Street Journal linked the project to the “Star Wars” defence system developed a quarter of a century ago, at the instance of the late President Ronald Reagan, to “knock Soviet missiles from the skies with laser beams.”

Some of the same scientists involved in that project, the paper revealed, are “now aiming their lasers at another airborne threat: the mosquito… In a lab in [a] Seattle suburb, researchers … stood watching a small glass box of bugs. Every few seconds, a contraption 100 feet away, shot a beam that hit the buzzing mosquitoes, one by one, with a spot of red light.

The insects survived this particular test, which used a non-lethal laser. But if these researchers have their way, the Cold War missile-defence strategy will be reborn as a WMD: Weapon of Mosquito Destruction.

Ha, how I love that name: WMD: Weapon of Mosquito Destruction. That is what George W Bush and Tony Blair should have sent to Iraq, not bombs!

The Wall Street Journal adds “Efforts to eradicate the disease languished for years until recently. Big-money donors like Bill Gates, the United Nations, the U.K. and non-profit organisations such as ‘Malaria No More’, re-launched the war on malaria, devoting billions of dollars to vaccines, methods of prevention and novel ways to kill mosquitoes.

"You can say we are very lucky -- the right place at the right time," says astrophysicist Szabolcs Márka, a Columbia University specialist in black holes. He has a grant to develop a "mosquito flashlight" designed to knock out the bugs' eye-like sensors.” (Oh, how I wish him success!)

“The mosquito laser is the brainchild of Lowell Wood, an astrophysicist who worked with Edward Teller, …. architect of the original plan to use lasers to shield America from the rain of Soviet nuclear arms…

Its rebirth as a bug killer came, thanks to Nathan Myhrvold, a former Microsoft Corp. executive who now runs “Intellectual Ventures LLC.”, a company that collects patents and funds inventions. His old boss, Mr. [Bill] Gates, had asked him to explore new ways of combating malaria. At a brainstorming session in 2007, Dr. Wood, the Star Wars architect, suggested using lasers on mosquitoes.”

The scientists killed their first mosquito with a hand-held laser in early 2008. They envision their technology might one day be used to draw “a laser barrier around a house or village” that could kill or blind the bugs. Or, laser-equipped drone aircraft could track bugs by radar, sweeping the sky with death-dealing photons.

Not only can the laser target a mosquito, “it can also tell a male from a female based on wing-beat. That's a crucial distinction, since only females [of the anopheles genus] feed on blood and thus transmit disease.”

Left to me, I’d say, “Kill ‘em all!” And you know why. Oh my God! -- If the African Union -- or the Ghana Government for that matter -- were enterprising enough, it would immediately buy into such projects, and insist that they be powered by solar energy, so that they can be used in every nook and cranny of our continent/country.

Mass production and bulk purchasing -- underwritten, I am sure, by the incredibly prescient Bill Gates -- could ensure that they were sold at a price no higher than that of an aerosol of insect spray.

And then, man could go to sleep without fearing that he would hear zzzzzzzzzzzznnnnnnnnnnnnng! any minute and be cruelly jerked out of his sweet dreams.  

 

SAY IT LOUD! I AM BLACK AND PROUD!

SAY IT guardian.co.uk home

Say it loud!

How Komla Gbedemah used the music of the late James Brown to captivate Ghana during the 1969 elections.


When the "Gold Coast" was struggling for its independence from Britain (which it achieved under the name "Ghana" in March 1957) the second most important leader in the party that was in the vanguard of the struggle, the Convention People's Party (CPP) founded by Dr Kwame Nkrumah, was Komla Gbedemah. [He later dropped the "h" to become plain Gbedema.]

After independence, Gbedemah became minister of finance and it was while he was holding that position that he visited the United States in October 1957. Travelling across the country, he pulled up at a Howard Johnson's restaurant in Dover, Delaware, and asked for an orange juice for himself and his African-American companion, [the late Bill Sutherland.] They were refused service because they were black.

Gbedemah had been editor of Nkrumah's crusading newspaper, the Accra Evening News and so knew the ropes about making political capital out of events. His companion, Bill Sutherland, had long been a campaigner in civil rights and Quaker causes in the US. So they immediately telephoned the story to a news distribution organisation and it was published across the US in the next morning's newspapers.

President Dwight Eisenhower, who was aware that America's racism was one of the weakest chinks in its armour, in its "Cold War" contest with the Soviet bloc for the world's hearts and minds, read the story and decided that he must rectify the harm done to America's image by the restaurant incident. So he invited Gbedemah to come and have breakfast in the White House. He entrusted the invitation to (then) Vice-President Richard Nixon, who had represented the United States at Ghana's independence celebrations in March 1957. Out of that meeting came President Eisenhower's decision to support Ghana in its effort to build a dam at Akosombo to provide hydroelectric power.

Gbedemah never forgot the humiliation he had suffered in America, and when, in 1969 - three years after the overthrow of Kwame Nkrumah (with whom he'd broken in 1961) - he started his own political party, the National Alliance of Liberals (NAL), he chose as its slogan:

"Say It Loud! I am black and proud!"

The slogan had been crafted out of a popular song by the late James Brown: "Say it loud, (I'm black and I'm proud)" and most people in Ghana had heard it, especially the young. So everywhere Gbedemah's party went campaigning, James Brown's words went with him: his propagandists would shout into the loudhailers: "Say it loud!" And the crowd would roar black, "I am black and proud!" Then the propaganda vans would put James Brown's record on, and everyone would have quite a jig in the hot sun.

The James Brown connection obtained for Gbedemah, the sobriquet, "Afro-Gbede", and instant recognition for his party. Indeed, if decibel levels alone could decide the outcome of an election, Gbedemah would have won the September 1969 election hands down. As it was, his party was defeated by the Progress Party, led by Dr Kofi Busia. But it did come second.

Even today, thanks to James Brown's catchy tune, many Ghanaians of a certain age still remember the slogan of "Afro-Gbede" and his party. But I doubt whether the same can be said of the party of the winner, Dr Busia!

Saturday, 20 February 2010

BOOM FOR THE BLEEDING GIANT

BOOM FOR THE BLEEDING GIANT
By CAMERON DUODU

(AUTHOR'S NOTE: This piece is a nice surprise that turned up on the web. I wrote it after a frantic dash across Nigeria in 1974. The Sunday Times Magazine had bought some beautiful colour pictures and they wanted text to go with it. I was commissioned to do it by Frances Wyndham, to whom I was introduced by a very nice friend, Richard West. They gave me a very short deadline and after I had returned to Ghana from Nigeria, I had to shut myself away for a whole week or so to try and meet the deadline, feeding mainly on Club beer!

Normally, finishing a piece transports one into the land of euphoria, but this one gave me something more than that: because the subject was so complex and I had to tie so many things together in it to make it work as a coherent whole. Hardly had I submitted the piece than Francis Wyndham left the paper! Accepting it must have been one of his very last acts on it, though typical British reticence ensured that I had no wind of this. The new person I had to deal with, when it reached final editing stage, was another enormously urbane man, Magnus Linklater. I was later to re-encounter him at The Observer, where he had migrated to as head the Foreign Desk, in the 1980’s.
I must confess I love this piece -- mainly because of the numerous unwritten memories to which it gives rise. I had always meant to go to the Sunday Times and retrieve a copy from their archive for my collection -- having lost most of my papers in Ghana when I left the country precipitately in 1983. And then, lo and behold, a Nigerian blogger who had been impressed by it, published it on the web -- 36 years later! A minor miracle, no less.



THE SUNDAY TIMES MAGAZINE

Boom For The Bleeding Giant by Cameron Duodu

(THE SUNDAY TIMES Magazine, September 15, 1974, page 23-36)


--------------------------------------------------


(BLOGGER’S NOTE: I have … decided [on this 49th anniversary of Nigeria’s independence] not to give myself a heart attack by dwelling on and repeating what we know, but to reproduce an article (the original was complete with pictures) written in UK’s Sunday Times Magazine of 15th September 1974, which should shed some light on how we came about our present unfortunate and seemingly irreversible situation as we turned 49. Please enjoy this long but interesting, illuminating and instructive article written by Cameron Duodu in 1974.)

Boom For The Bleeding Giant


Nigeria is booming all right. In 1973, the year which saw the rich, industrialized nations staggering under the weight of their own energy/effluence ratios, while the bottom fell out of the foreign exchange holdings of the Third World countries dependent on them for aid, the country that was once derided as Africa’s ‘Bleeding Giant’ bowed out, to show symptoms of the rich nation’s disease – financial indigestion.

Exports went up 55 per cent, and 83 per cent of that came from one commodity alone – crude oil. It gushed out of the oil fields at an average of 2.2 million barrels a day, and by the end of the year more than 93 million metric tons, valued at bout £1,300,000,000, had been produced. This year, production may be well in excess of 2.4 million barrels a day, realizing an income of between £3500 million and £4000 million. And on top of this, Nigeria has just acquired another 20 per cent of the largest producing company, Shell-BP (1.3 million barrels a day) bringing the country’s total shares in Shell to a majority 55 per cent.

The Nigerian Government has also taken controlling shares (55 per cent) in Agip (130,000 barrels per day), Safrap (90,000 barrels), Gulf (382,000) and Mobil (246,000). “Our balance of payments surplus will be at least 10 times greater than the £110 million we had last year,” said an official of the Central Bank.

Illegal Strikers – Asking For A 50 Per Cent Pay Rise

Such figures are an ingredient of inflation, and in this respect, Nigeria has begun to watch her figure seriously. Recently she slashed the prices of commodities which could be classified as luxuries – motor-cars, radio and television sets, beer, soft drinks and cameras – as well as essential consumer goods like rice, flour, maize, milk, cement and clinker and building materials. A wage freeze was in operation until August [1974]; it is now doubtful whether even such a price reduction can stem the tide of rising expectations set in motion by the huge income from oil. Even as General Yakubu Gowon was flying into Moscow on May 20 this year [1974] to negotiate agreements that would provide training for Nigerians to take a greater part in manning the oil industry, 9000 dock workers at the port of Lagos were downing tools in an illegal strike for a 50 per cent increase in pay. There have already been strikes by railway workers and university teachers.

The greatest challenge facing the government of General Yakubu Gowon is thus how to prevent the oil boom from becoming a boomerang that will create social discontent and sweep the country off its feet into chaos and renewed bloodshed. The huge population (provisionally estimated to be 79,760,000 by a recent census, in comparison to the 56 million of the controversial 1963 census) cannot be blamed for expecting the oil boom to bring about a miraculous change in the standard of living. Yet, even if the money is wisely spent to that end, the mechanics of transforming the lives of people scattered over such a large country (356,669 square miles, or 3.7 times the size of the British Isles) could well defeat even regimes with a better back-up in terms of technological and manpower resources.

The sheer impossibility of speedy change is brought home if one travels through the country as I have just done. There is intense impatience with the complacency and lack of imagination of the men in Dodan Barracks (headquarters of the Federal Military Government) and acute resentment, bordering on hysteria, against the opulence of the businessmen who hang around the ‘army boys’ and use their contacts to make fat profits, conspicuously advertising the fact.

It is quite possible that the army’s own vast expenditure would be better tolerated if it could curb the businessmen and their contact men. As it is, claims like the one made by General Gowon, in his budget speech on March 31 this year that “ Nigeria is not yet a rich country,” only provide ammunition for the acerbic tongues of the Nigerian intelligentsia. One journalist commented: “How can Nigeria be rich when it employs 250,000 to do nothing but carry out parades and the occasional military exercise? The £220 million being spent to finance the army this year represents 22.4 per cent of the entire capital budget of the Federal Government and 12.8 per cent of total capital and recurrent federal spending. Of course you do not grow rich by showering [so much] money on a group that constitutes [only] 0-31 per cent of your population.”

Little consideration is given to the fact that the army has become a deus ex machina which was created by the national irresponsibility that brought about the disastrous civil war, [the ‘Biafran civil war’ of 1967-70] and that whoever attempts to demobilize it, faces a great risk, not least of all, the men in Dodan Barracks. “Disabled Soldiers on the Rampage”, ran a Daily Times headline in late April; a columnist in its sister paper, The Sunday Times, described the scene:

“’Run for your dear life,’ was all I could wait to hear as panic-stricken, defenceless citizens bathed in hot confusion at Oshodi, on the outskirts of our capital, last weekend. I saw some frenzied uniformed men chasing wildly like chained hyenas just let loose. I was to learn later that they were soldiers. And barely a month before, on Sunday, March 31, traffic along the Agege motor road, also in Lagos, was paralyzed, following an attack on vehicles along the road by some members of the army. On that occasion, like last week, about 12 vehicles were either seriously damaged or completely burnt, and several innocent civilians were injured. The cause of that stampede, again like last week’s, was that a solder had been involved in a fatal accident…”

Comments like these, over-pitched though they might seem, are evidence of the courage of some Nigerian journalists in a country dominated by the military. The army’s excesses are sometimes punished, as are some of the corrupt deals that come to light. On May, 4, for instance, it was reported that the General Officer Commanding the Third Infantry Brigade, Brigadier Yakubu Danjuma, had announced that 21 army officers had been tried and sentenced to various terms of imprisonment, up to two years, for fraud and financial mismanagement. And he confirmed that 10 officers had been detained in the North-eastern State in connection with financial mismanagement.

But it is the green-coloured Mercedes-Benz cars with ‘NA’ (for Nigerian Army) number plates that attract most notice, as they bear the military top brass to and fro. And cynicism about the army’s role in the country’s moral state is enhanced by the treatment meted to the journalists, who alone can help to impart a social conscience to the more thick-headed members of the armed forces. The police are constantly pulling in editors and reporters for questioning: a performance which usually manages to spread over several days, whenever they carry a ‘false’ report, or, in particular, a report which indicates that the journalists are privy to inside information and therefore have sources within the citadels of power.

The most notorious piece of brutality was inflicted on Minere Amakiri, chief correspondent of the Nigerian Observer, a government-owned paper in the Rivers State capital of Port Harcourt. Mr. Amakiri had the unfortunate duty of reporting, on the birthday of the Governor of the State, Commander Alfred Diete-Spiff, that a teachers’ strike had occurred in his State. He was given 24 strokes of the cane on his back and his head was shaved. He later sued his assailants and was awarded £7500 damages.

In spite of the harassment, however, Nigerian journalists continue to produce some of the most lively newspapers on the continent. The extent of the freedom of thought they exhibit in their writing, and their singular refusal to kowtow to authority, puts many civilian-run countries’ newspapers to shame.

All the major controversies of the day are freely aired and discussed – a fact which discourages the type of opinion-moulding associated with other military regimes, and which renders them so unstable. The main potential flash-points in the nation’s life are known to everyone who cares to read. They are: should the armed forces hand over power, as promised by General Gowon, in 1976, and if so, should the civilian administration that replaces military rule be completely civilian or should a sprinkling of officers take part to ‘police’ the civilians and prevent them from committing excesses that could tempt the army back to power in a new coup d’etat? How should oil revenue be shared among the states – through ‘derivation’, no matter how small their population, or through the size of population of a state determining division of revenue? Should the existing 12 states be allowed to remain or should new ones be created, and if so, where? Should the present capitalistic society be left untouched or is it creating too many nouveaux-riches among Nigerian businessmen, a situation which might lead to bloody class conflicts in future? Finally, what role should be played by Nigeria in Africa – and the world – given her great size and immense wealth?

A return to civilian rule in 1976, by which time military rule would have lasted 10 years, seems to be widely accepted. When General Gowon made his promise to hand over in 1976, he announced a nine-point programme which he said would have to be completed by the army before it would hand over power. It includes: reorganization of the armed forces; implementation of a four-year development plan; eradication of corruption; a decision on the creation of more states; preparation of a new constitution; introduction of a new system of revenue allocation; a national population census; organization of national political parties, and elections for governments in the states as well as the centre.

This is a vast programme, and those who do not want the military to hand over power to politicians are using the impossibility of completing the nine points in the near future to urge the military to stay. Others, like the former President, Dr. Nnamdi Azikiwe, suggest a ‘dyarchy’ of military and civilian personnel, in which the military would exercise a veto over the civilians’ decision on important questions.

Some of the military governors have joined in the argument and indeed, the Supreme Military Council seems to be split down the middle over the matter. This is suggested by the way some members refer to the issue in public.

“We are determined to hand over power to civilians in 1976 as earlier promised in order to create a good history of military rule,” says Major-General Usman Hassan Katsina, Commissioner for Establishments and Service Matters.

“The Federal Military Government is committed to handing over power to a civilian regime in 1976. There is no question of military rule exceeding 1976 as the State and federal governments are executing the nine-point programme,” says Major-General Usman Hassan Katsina.

“The present military regime will not hurry to the barracks just because it has fixed 1976 as a date for return to civilian rule. If the people say we should continue, we shall have no choice, unless the right atmosphere prevails,” says Brigadier Mobolaji Johnson, Military Governor of Lagos State.

What of General Gowon? He said on October 1, 1970, that “the target year for completing the nine-point programme, and restoring the country to normal constitutional rule, is 1976. We shall hasten and try to complete the programme if possible.” But since then, there have been changes, and it is believed that the statements by other members of the Supreme Military Council may reflect a certain amount of the feet-dragging they may have sensed. Certainly, General Gowon has made no pronouncement on the suggestions that he should stay on as Head of State after 1976.

Who are the civilians in the wings, waiting for the army to go? No-one will admit to organizing a political party, since ‘political activity’ is banned. Instead, there is talk about men ‘with influence’, who are ‘potential’ leaders of parties. Among these, the clear front-runner appears to be the present Federal Commissioner of Health, Alhaji Aminu Kano. He has substantial influence in Northern Nigeria, which comprises six of the 10 states and two-thirds of the population. And he has contacts in the south of the country; his ‘Northern Elements Progressive Union’ was allied to the National Council for Nigeria and the Cameroons (NCNC) of Dr Azikiwe in the Sixties, and he also has a certain radical aura which places him apart from the normal traditionalist or feudalist northern politician. He wants a “wholly civilian” government after 1976.

Complex Processes – king-making and Sharing the oil

Another name heard is Alhaji Inuwa Wada, former Defence Minister in the Balewa Government. Some northerners blame him for not warning the late Sir Abubakar Tafawa Balewa and the Sardauna of Sokoto, Alhaji Sir Ahmadu Bello, about the January, 1966 coup, which cost both men their lives. But he is thought to have influence with the army, and he speaks his mind fearlessly; he has said that the nine-point programme of General Gowon need constitute no barrier to civilian rule, inasmuch as “anybody can implement the nine-point programme.”

In the South, it is thought that the Yoruba leader, Chief Obafemi Awolowo, will not lead a party, initially, but will have his lieutenants come out to do it. Then, depending on developments, he may emerge, like De Gaulle, to take on the task considered by the young men of the day as beyond them. As former Federal Commissioner for Finance, he enjoys the reputation for resigning as soon as the civil war was over; his reasons have never been publicly stated, but the general understanding is that he spoke out against excessive post-war military spending.

Ranged behind these men of influence are a host of younger or more recently-arrived figures, many of whom have come into prominence in the past eight years, as either federal or state commissioners. Among them are Alhaji Umaru Dikko ( North-Central State); Chief Anthony Enahoro ( Mid-West State) and Mr. J. S. Tarka ( East-Central State). Professor J. B. Dudley of Ibadan University is also mentioned, as is Alhaji Babatunde Jose, Chairman of the Daily Times group, whose recent announcement that he will not go into politics after 1976 has been greeted with due skepticism.

The king-making process will be a very complex one, for today’s Nigeria is not at all a homogeneous society. The armed forces will play a part, traditional rulers, such as the highly-respected Emir of Kano, Alhaji Ado Bayero, will also have a say, albeit from behind the scenes, and the powerful business groups – feared everywhere as a sinister force – will no doubt use their influence. The stakes are high, involving as they do control over thousands of millions of pounds. Most Nigerians dread the aggressiveness which in the past has characterized bids for power. They feel this could reassert itself with even greater venom during the new dispensation, and destroy the country’s hopes of new prosperity.

If a Constituent Assembly is finally set up, it is likely that the question of allocation of revenues from oil to the states, will occupy a central place in its deliberations, even if, in the meantime, the Supreme Military Council has been able to revise the present system, in line with its nine-point programme. The controversy over allocation of revenues has its roots deep in Nigerian history. Between 1946 and 1965 alone, five commissions examined the question.

The system that operates at the moment gives the federal government all the proceeds from a 55 per cent profits tax on oil operations. Off-shore operations attract a royalty payment calculated at 10 per cent of the posted price; this also goes to the federal government. But the federal government takes only five per cent of the royalties from on-shore operations, calculated at 12½ per cent of the posted price. Of the remaining 95 per cent on-shore royalties, 45 per cent goes to the state of origin and 50 per cent is paid into a ‘distributable pool account’ operated by the federal government. Fifty per cent of this account is distributed equally to all states and a further 50 per cent is distributed to the states in proportions to their population.

Flashpoints: New States, Old Tribal Passions

This complex formula seeks to do justice to the states that produce oil and to those that produce none but have large populations to support; but the figures that emerge show the vast discrepancies that exist.

Revenue Allocations to States 1974/75


State Allocation Population (’73 census)
Mid-West £90m 3.24m.
Rivers £65.5m 2.23m.
East-Central £37.5m 8.06m.
West £30.5m 8.9m.
North-East £27m. 15.38m.
Kano £22.5 10.9m.
North-West £22.3m 8.50m.
Benue-Plateau £19.5m 5.17m.
North-Central £19m 6.79m.
South-East £18.5m 3.46m.
Kwara £15.5m 4.6m.
Lagos £13.5m 2.47m.

The federal government, in addition to these statutory allocations, is making available about £230 million in grants to the states in 1974/75, and also proposes to raise a development loan of just under £100 million, the proceeds of which will be passed to the states. However, the fact that the Mid-West State and the Rivers State, whose joint populations constitute only about 7.5 per cent of the federation total, take more than 43 per cent of the available revenue, rankles with the more unfortunately-placed states.

One suggestion being bandied about is that if more states are created, the disproportion in allocation between the oil-producing and non-oil producing states will be minimized. But the creation of states is itself a flash-point in Nigerian affairs. What are the criteria that should determine the size of a new state? Population or area? Ethnic cohesion or administrative convenience? These questions are causing deep divisions within existing states, notably, in the East-Central State where there is a strong lobby for a new state to be called “Wawa”. There is also a lobby for three new states in the West – Oyo, Ondo and Abeokuta[ now Ogun]. And the North-East and North-West states, it is argued, could each be broken up into two states. The current argument is that “the Americans started with only 13 states, but now have more than 50”. So, the debate continues, and it is a tricky one in view of the tribal passions it arouses, and the attendant suspicion that it is all being done with an eye on “other people’s oil money”.

The question of the rise of the Nigerian bourgeoisie and the almost hysterical reaction they evoke against themselves from the rest of the population, can best be illustrated by an account in the Sunday Punch of the doings of one of them over the [1974] Easter holiday period:

“Perhaps it may not be the wedding of the year, both in Lagos and Monrovia. (Let’s see how the people of Lagos will out-do it.) It certainly holds the record in both cities as the talk of the town. It was a grand, elaborate champagne affair, as smooth as the bridegroom successfully plans and executes his businesses, for which he is certainly on the Division One League Table in Nigeria today. The groom is …. sharp-shooting, fast-travelling businessman, Alhaji Isyaku Ibrahim, well known in Lagos, Jos, Kano, London, Paris, Washington (you name it) and lately, Monrovia. The bride, the lovely Miss Charlotte Baker, native of Monrovia, Liberia…

“The affair started on Thursday, April 11, with the bachelor’s eve party at the flat of the best man, Major Abdul Bello (Nigerian Air Force) at Maryland Estate (Lagos). Guests who turned out at the all-night show numbered 500, including a good number of the Lagos party hounds who can smell a beer within 10 miles radius. Most of them had champagne. Next came Good Friday and the all-expense-paid trip to Monrovia from Lagos by about 150 selected guests in two chartered jet planes, by courtesy of the groom. Guests at the Monrovia trip attended a maiden’s (spinster’s eve) party given by the bride’s family. After the church wedding ceremony on Saturday, the Monrovia team hurried back to Lagos same evening with about 50 Monrovia guests, courtesy of the groom. And to Lagos party No. 2 at Commander Wole Bucknor’s residence at Child Avenue, Apapa. Easter Sunday brought the following events: The grand champagne reception at Federal Palace Hotel. Chairman, Chief Fani-Kayode (well, you know him). Bride and bridegroom were toasted by the dapper, eloquent Alhaji Yusuf Maitama Sule (well, you know him). The guests were about 500. It was a fashion parade and some of the lovely girls wore expensive aso ebi lace – in the style of the affair…

“The round-up party came on Easter Monday, at the Alexander Road residence of the flamboyant people’s man, Mr. J. S. Tarka, Federal Minister for Communications… Next morning, the groom accompanied the Monrovia guests back home …”

Suddenly, the reporter’s enthusiasm seems to flag and he begins to worry. Is anything wrong? He writes: “Of course, it doubtless cost a bit of money, but it’s his own bread, man. And he’s one hell of a fine fella. So don’t holler about the bread. Rejoice, man, rejoice!”

‘If we bumped off 200 or so, the rest might learn’

This report appeared in the same week that the papers told the story of a pregnant woman who had been hit in the stomach with a stick and killed in a fight with another woman over a monkey’s tail that both wanted to use in cooking soup. One journalist juxtaposing the two reports, commented: “That is the story of Nigeria today: immense wealth for the few and abysmal poverty for the many.” He produced another report, which revealed that a businessman imported a Rolls-Royce from Britain by airfreight and that he paid spot cash when Customs officers charged him about £30,000 duty.

I myself was told by a friend from a neighbouring country of a visit to Lagos: finding it difficult to leave a party being given by wealthy friends, he explained that if he did not go, he might miss his flight home. The casual answer was: “Oh, I’ll drop you with the yacht if you miss the flight!”

Needless to say, the envy of the many against the few is excruciating: “I’d like to see a movement come into being that would pick off some of the bastards one by one,” said the journalist just quoted. “if we bumped off 200 of them or so, or took out their eyes, the rest might learn some sense.” It is easy to dismiss this as fantasy – yet it should be remembered that just before the January 1966 coup and the harvest of slaughter it set off, similar callous talk about the “Nigerian malaise” was in the air. Everyone wants the army to uproot corruption, but no one is able to say how; fewer still have seriously examined the implications of punishing businessmen for profiting from their contacts, and the resultant collapse of free enterprise – a system that is almost taken for granted in Nigeria. So corruption grows – spreading new young roots: 118 students at the University of Lagos have been sent down for using forged certificates to gain entry.

Meanwhile, believers in the profit motive defend it aggressively. When the Federal Commissioner for Works and Housing, Mr. Femi Okunnu, warned that Nigeria’s Indigenization of Business Decree (which reserves certain categories of businesses to Nigerians and limits the percentage of shares foreigners might hold in other categories) should not be allowed to entrench economic power in the hands of “a few chieftains” of business, Chief Henry Fajemirokun, President of the Lagos Chamber of Commerce, rounded on him with all guns blazing. Mr. Okunnu’s statement he said, was a “perverted interpretation” of the Decree, stemming “either from a peculiar idea of patriotism or from a nostalgia for the concepts of impracticable Fabian socialism of which I know the Honourable Commissioner to be so fond.”

In an atmosphere like this, it is difficult for other African countries to expect that Nigeria might use her wealth to take up the leadership of Africa and steer the continent towards total independence. There was a chance during the oil crisis last year for Nigeria to demonstrate whether her thoughts were inclined outwards; a number of impoverished African states asked Lagos for concessionary prices for crude oil. They were all offered plenty of oil – but only at the going commercial price.

There are good Pan-Africanists in the Gowon Government, notably Alhaji Aminu Kano, but at the moment their power seems to be minimal. A West African Economic Community, backed up with a strong currency in the form of the Nigerian naira, is mooted, but France is endeavouring to keep it on the drawing board and Nigeria will have to show more diplomatic perspicacity if the community is to take off.

(Cameron Duodu reports on the modern Nigeria.
THE SUNDAY TIMES Magazine, September 15, 1974, page 23-36)



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Friday, 19 February 2010

File and forget? Forget it!

Under The Neem Tree



Under the Neem Tree* by Cameron Duodu
*New African December 2009

File and forget? Forget it!


One of the funniest pieces by that great American cartoonist and man of letters, James Thurber, is entitled "File and Forget". By the way, it was Thurber who also gave us such titles as "My Life And Hard Times" and "The Secret Life of Walter Mitty". I remember him best for a New Yorker cartoon in which a man is sitting comfortably reading his newspaper, while his wife sits disconsolately in a corner. The caption is "With you, I have found peace, and now you say you are leaving me." It can hardly be bettered as an observation of how most marriages decay.

I came across Thurber's "The Secret Life of Walter Mitty" by accident. I was teaching creative writing at the Ghana Institute of Journalism when some bold students asked me to stop talking about the topic I had selected and take them through a short story their English teacher had asked them to write about. "We can't make head or tail of it, Sir," they confessed. Now, it is not done, as a teacher, to "poach" the subject matter set by other teachers. But it seemed as if the students were really in a bind over the story. And since their marks in the final exam would be partly based on how well they did in that exercise, I took up the challenge, like one of King Arthur's Knights of the Roundtable, and rode to their rescue.

It was Thurber's writing method that had thrown them into confusion. The story is about a young man used to daydreaming. He would be doing one thing, say, walking past a shop, when his mind would suddenly put him into a match of American football, in which he would become the hero by running deftly past four, then five, then - most audaciously feigning to the left but running to the right - past a sixth man built like a mountain, to score a goal, or as they say in American football, "touchdown".

The next moment, the guy was entering the shop, only to discover that he had entered the wrong shop and that they didn't sell handkerchiefs there but tarpaulins. Or whatever. You get the picture. The technique employed by Thurber, which made the story amazingly funny, was that he didn't demarcate any lines between reality and daydreaming, and this sudden inter-cutting was what was confusing the students. Once I had alerted them to the technique and tested them to see whether they could spot the incidents in which reality interchanged positions with fiction, it was plain sailing for them.

Afterwards, I was somewhat disconcerted to hear from the boyfriend of one of the most beautiful girls in the class that I was her "favourite teacher". I swore under my breath and said to myself: "Why the hell didn't she tell me so herself but choose the most unsuitable medium to let me know that? Obviously, she's now a no-go area!" James Thurber would have loved to make something of that incident. But I want to limit myself to a discussion of his story, "File and Forget". In it, he had the simple task - as it seemed to him - of ordering a book by post from a bookstore. He enclosed the bookstore's own declared amount of postage, plus the full book price, and waited. A letter came in due course. It thanked him for his order and said he had forgotten to put money with the order. He wrote back to say that he had included payment with his letter. They wrote back to say that they had eventually traced his payment, but that it did not include postage. He looked for the counterfoil of his money order and enclosed it in his reply to show that he had paid for both book and postage.

The next time they wrote, they posted the book but to his neighbour's address. Plus it was the wrong book . How was he to get them to take the wrong book back and send him the correct book to the right address? I swear, if you read the whole sequence of letters exchanged, you will fall off your chair laughing. I thought about it when I read about a book, just published in the USA, which shows that the errors Thurber wrote about could not happen in this age of computers. The book is entitled "Delete: The Virtue of Forgetting in the Digital Age" by Viktor Mayer-Schönberger (Princeton University Press). The writer points out that not only do computers remember everything but because of their powerful "search engines", everything written that gets posted on a website is stored on the Internet forever. For instance, if something one did in one's youth as a prank gets posted on the Internet, whenever one's name is "searched", the incident will be there. In perpetuity!

I know from personal experience that what he says is true. For I found my name associated with an untruth in the Report of the Ghana National Reconciliation Commission (NRC), published in 2004. In Volume 4 Chapter 3 Paragraph 2.7.6, appears the following statement: "On 14th December 1967, the NLC (National Liberation Council) caused the dismissal of four editors, three of whom worked for the state-owned press. Their crime was criticising the Abbot Laboratory (a US pharmaceutical company) Agreement with the NLC regime. A new editor for the Daily Graphic, Cameron Duodu, was appointed. He was also later to be dismissed, ironically, by the civilian Progress Party government, for criticising Dr. [Kofi] Busia's policy of 'dialogue with South Africa'."

Whoever wrote this for the NRC had completely stood history on its head! I was appointed editor of the Daily Graphic in 1970 and not in 1967 - three whole years later. So the impression given in the Report that I profited from the dismissal of a number of courageous editors by accepting an appointment from the government that had dismissed them, is totally and cruelly false. But it's there on the Internet! Whoever wrote that paragraph for the Commission could easily have checked his or her facts, and thus saved me, by not writing such a lie. The Daily Graphic keeps bound copies of its editions in its library, and on the back page, the name of the editor is always to be found. That is required by law. Thus, it was sheer laziness that caused this error.

When I found out about the inaccuracy, I complained to a friend of mine, a former employee of the Commission. He told me that since the Commission had been disbanded, the only person who could cause the error to be corrected was the chairman of the Commission, Mr Justice Amuah-Sekyi. But before I could write to the eminent judge, he unfortunately expired. My only option is to complain to the deputy chairman of the Commission, Brigadier Emmanuel Erskine. But even if I'm able to trace him, can he technically correct the information in the Report, at this late stage? The bitter but funny thing about this story is that the episode of the dismissal of the editors, in which the Report paints me in a bad light, was the exact opposite of what actually happened. In fact, before the editors were dismissed, I was asked by the press officer of the NLC, Mr C. C. Lokko, to come and see him. When I went to the Castle (the seat of government) to see him, he took me straight to the office of the secretary to the cabinet, a Mr Apaloo, and left me with him. Mr Apaloo did not tell me anything about editors being sacked, but cleverly sounded me out on whether I would like to become the editor of the Daily Graphic. I had been criticising the standards of the media in Ghana and so I said yes, I would love to be editor of the paper, to show what a good newspaper could be like.

But something made me add: "I must warn you, Sir: if there is a conflict between the government's interest and the public interest, I shall go with the public interest." Mr Apaloo thanked me and I left. I never heard from either him or Mr Lokko again! Later, when the storm about the NLC's dismissal of the three editors over the Abbott Laboratories controversy broke, I realised how lucky I had been in telling Mr Apaloo exactly what I would do in case such a conflict had broken out between the government and the editors. Had I accepted the appointment and later found out that the editors had been sacked, they would have become heroes while I would have been cast as a villain in the public eye. Only my instinctive determinations to tell the truth to power had saved me. But because I had modestly refused to boast about my prescience, someone had written the untrue, the opposite of what had happened, and that was what was on the Internet. How absolutely ironical!

The truth is that I became editor of the Daily Graphic - three years later - in completely different circumstances. A popularly elected government was now in power, not a military one. How that civilian government could not tolerate my views but sacked me, in a democracy, is one of the paradoxes of the age in which we lived in 1970. To me, my disagreement with Prime Minister Busia over whether our government should entertain "dialogue" with the apartheid regime of South Africa or not, was a chance to do precisely what I had told Mr Apaloo I would: promote the interest of the African people against that of the government of Ghana.