My Town II

My Town II

by E. Ofori Akyea

A town such as this is like a desert on Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday. All the visitors who came for funerals start leaving around three o’clock in the afternoon. Leaving town is an art that has to be executed with military precision. The mixing of images in this case is deliberate as one can make out in the ensuing conversation.

You see, the weekend is the time that family members, the layabouts and leeches operate. Of course, people who have come in from Accra in cars, never mind if they are flashy or not, must be ready to dole out money to their “poor cousins”. These people approach a “cousin” and the first question is “Hey, do you know who I am?”

“Emm, I am not too sure. I think you are my second cousin”, I stammer.

“So what is my name?”

“Oh, as for your name I do not remember”

“Well, my name Adjoa Alonte. My grandmother was the youngest of your mother’s father’s children. If you remember well, your mother, when she was alive, used to frequent our house that is near the Little Monkey tree in the Avuvi section of town. The old man who used to live there passed away only about a year ago. I was the woman who used to give you the roasted corn”.

The poor victim rolls his eyes and replies, “I do not quite remember the roast corn.” Then it hit me. It was she who always brought out the charred roasted corn that was left over from her stock of the previous day. I found a way of hiding it and of disposing of it as soon as we were out of the house. It was such a long time ago, you realize.

“I wish your mother was here to confirm what I am saying. Hmm, children of these days are not as observant as we were in our days. By the way the weather these days is not kind at all to us the ageing ones. Eh….”

“You see”, I cut in; “my friend who gave me a lift here is almost ready to leave. Here, take one Ghana cedi and I’ll certainly make it a point to stop by next time”.

You keep moving as you talk otherwise you get into an embarrassing argument that will attract a mini crowd that honours a small town’s Sunday afternoon football fest.

The problem is compounded when the poor victim turns out to be an European or to be someone from the Americas. The belief is that all these foreigners are rich. It is not unusual to see children following the foreigner chanting in the language of the locality. “Red man, please, give us some money”. The Pied Piper of Hamelin will do exceptionally well here.

On weekends the churches are usually full. On the Sunday following a Saturday burial the churches are usually fuller than usual. The tradition is to have a Memorial service for those buried the previous day. The service itself takes only some ten minutes but for this the family usually dresses up in one particular cloth with which to go to church. Everyone pays for his or her piece of cloth. They all sit together in the church and it is usual to make a significant donation to the church. Some families make gifts of chairs, fans and others to the church. The pastors and priests are at their mellifluous best in making appeals for contributions to different church projects. After service all those attending the service are invited to the family house for another round of eating and drinking with music for dancing. Those who could not come to the burial have the chance to pay their respects and make their donations to the family.

Apart from the above distractions it takes one and half hours to drive from here to Tema and another two hours from Tema past Dansoman and Kaneshie on your way to Cape Coast, Takoradi and on to the Ivory Coast border. This is a great place to site your business. Remember that under the laws of our country businesses operating outside of Accra and Kumasi for example benefit from special tax breaks. The roads are generally good and pleasant to drive on although the carelessness of our drivers makes it difficult. The unfilled pot holes are also dangerous distractions.

Another important prerequisite for setting up business in a place such as this town is the fact that the potential labour pool is educated and amenable to be trained. For lack of opportunities the young school leavers gravitate towards Accra, Tema, Kumasi, and similar places leaving the town denuded.

For me my call goes out to the sons and daughters of the town who have made good elsewhere to come home and set up small scale industries that will give some employment to their people. If the indigenes take the lead others will feel more confident to follow them. I wish to buttress the point with one example. During the mango and orange season one sees crates and baskets of the fruit rotting by the road side. When one adds the tons of the fruits that get rotten in the bush to the numbers rotting by the road side one cannot but be upset by the variety of packaged fruit juices from abroad lining the shelves of our shops. We are not taking advantage of our natural endowments to bring development to our communities away from Accra or Kumasi and other regional conurbations.

The town lies on the main road from Accra and on to the different axis of the country. The possibilities of its developing into a way station are great. Most of the trucks carrying food and other produce to Accra and to the large settlements around the country generally pass through the town. Most of the trucks just drive past the town without stopping. The potential of the town is great if only the District Assembly would put out a credible development plan that communities can buy into.

The land around the town and the region generally is good for farming. An example of this exists at the western end of the town where a modern farm covering several acres of land is tended by settlers who work on the different produce. Many of the products from the farm are exported to Europe and the United States.

The pineapples, peppers, cucumbers, courgettes and others that are not exported are sold locally. One cannot but note the nutritional benefits that the eating of the fruits and vegetables bring to the people. The prices are good and so the people are getting a good return on the use of their land. The other result is that many local farmers are into the production of horticultural products. One sees young people hawking lettuce, spinach, cabbage, tomatoes, okra, and garden eggs around town all year round.

The town boasts of “spots” that are distinctive to a fault. Instead of loud music which characterizes these places those I know boast of nice clean and pleasant surroundings. I am not, however, about to recommend the kebabs that are being prepared on the premises.

In this town culture is very much in evidence. The local religious shrine sports a new coat of paint with its taboo objects prominently painted on its walls. The cultural manifestations come together during the months of September and November.

After a year of hard work there is a celebration to literally open the season in order that the citizens may enjoy the fruits of their labour. The Yam Festival celebration is led by the Chief of the town and the High Priest. Early in the morning all inhabitants dressed in farming garbs assemble at one place and go in a procession singing special festival songs glorifying farming and hard work.

When the people reach the shrine the chief and the High Priest bless the people, praise them for their hard work, pray for a bountiful harvest, and wish everyone a very good life in the ensuing year. They then ceremonially eat the mashed yam prepared with red palm oil with hard boiled eggs. The two key figures then symbolically feed their elders with a mouthful to each of them. This is a signal to the people to rush home and bring out their mashed yams with eggs prepared early in the morning and give a bit to each other. All quarrels are forgotten for the period of the celebrations.

Then follows a two day celebration where a number of traditional games and competitions are held. Winners get prizes of yams. These days the celebrations are rounded off with a Saturday night ballroom dancing. At such dances a “Miss Our Town” is crowned. On such occasions one is regaled by the riot of tuxedos that appear and worn by people who have little clue of their appearing as having been sprung from another era into the present. I am disappointed that no competitions are organized for the numerous local music and dance groups to select the best groups or dancers.

An important concomitant of the festival is that people can openly bring out new yams from their farms to eat or sell.

Our town is not a romantic place to live in. We have to face up to everyday problems that a rural place suffers from. We are a bit lucky. We receive a grainy TV transmission that is if it works, from the Station of the Nation. We enjoy the feeble out put from the national radio FM affiliate. We look after ourselves while loving and hating as the case may be.

So you want to know the name of my town? What did you say the name of your town was?