MARCH 4TH CANTATA– FALLS, HORSES AND KIDS

Imhotep Alhassan

March 05, 2015

I didn’t want to do this.

Everything in it is embarrassing, including myself. But something pushed me. Well… Someone.

“Write,” he said, “Didn’t you say you’re a journalist.”

So here we go.

We are in the Republic of Ghana and it is time for the 58th Independence anniversary parade rehearsals; it's Wednesday 4th March, 2015.

“Today you’ll see the spectacle of your lives,” I’d told my kids in the troski as the driver stopped by the General Post Office, a grey colonial edifice.

We walked through the city centre, washed ourselves clean of pedestrians and we were now pacing briskly on the walkway by the Kwame Nkrumah Mausoleum towards the Independence Square. I carried my four-year old daughter with my right arm in front of me in Arnold Schwarzenegger’s Commando style; my two boys 10 and 7, tugged on my shirt, on my left and right respectively.

As we cupped our palms occasionally to clear the sweat from our foreheads and cheeks we moved briskly in marching mode, in expectation of what we were hoping to see on parade. The sun was raining on us. This is no handkerchief business!

Did you say: “Why weren’t your kids in school?”

Simple answer; they’d been denied entry several times on account of some huge Montessori school fees. So I decided to go give them a real lesson in jingoism. A day earlier we had started sewing Cyto uniforms. No more Montessori schools with inaccessible libraries (You have to pay and join a reading club before you can access your school’s library freely!).

As we found our way onto the nearest stands, we saw security forces lying lazily in their seats, drinking “pure water” and purchasing snacks from vendors with careless abandon. There were black plastic bags with left over foods on some seats with security men and women sitting and looking on.

Plastic bags were also flying onto the parade grounds; in tandem with the ubiquitous crows.

The parade was not to be the spectacle I had promised.

Special Forces, regular soldiers and police men and women were all falling down every now and then.

“We’re all human,” I thought to myself. A wave of a hand will be seen from within the contingent and the nearest green uniformed National Ambulance Service team will run to the spot, carry the person to the ambulance, accoutrements will be removed and the person will be carried to the back of the stands or driven away by ambulance as required.

My four-year old girl wondered: “Daddy when will they come back to join the parade.” I tried in vain to offer her answers.

The 7 year old told me later that 10 Special Forces collapsed, more than any other group. Ironically, in most countries the existence of Special Forces is hush hush, but in Ghana they drop unceremoniously on parade in full view of kids within the city center; it is so cool.

I didn’t see any fireman collapse. My daughter added that the firemen must have eaten kenkey, akple, tuo or banku before coming for the rehearsals.

The announcement by the Director of Ceremonies who played POTROG tells it all.

He said, “Are you happy? Well if you are happy we are not. Today the school children didn’t rehearse. When did they last rehearse with us. Friday? Monday? Whatever? I don’t remember. But at their last rehearsal with us, none of them fell down. We’re coming back at 11:30 for another rehearsal.”

The most embarrassing thing for me was that as ambulance men and women removed special forces accoutrements and gave them to a soldier aide, you’ll see them laughing and gesturing to their colleagues. The other security officers sitting behind us were sneering and taunting. I didn’t turn to look. It wasn’t funny. I didn’t take photos out of respect, but many people in the stands videod with their smart phones and Ipads.

The second rehearsal was better; no one fell down; what a relief.

The DC said: “We’re all happy. You can see the smiles on our faces.”

But sorry sir, I am not happy. The white and blue smoke churning out of the exhaust pipes of more than several armoured vehicles on parade is not funny or good.

I saw it last year on Telly! Now I’ve seen the smoke with my naked eyes! One vehicle had a new exhaust pipe fitted to it. How many hours does it take to spray it in the camouflage colours?

Worse still, there were two painters who had been mounted on crane-fitted trucks repainting the red gold green strip at the roof of the stands. After two hours their 6-inch brushes had covered only 2 meters.

Each strip of Ghana flag design is about 30 cm wide around the rectangular stands of about 30 meters each. There are nine stands and they had started on only the first two.

The date again is 4th March. The parade must be held on 6th March. As we left to gallivant around the perimeter of the Independence Square, I complained to my ten year old boy that they need to get nine painters, one for each stand so that they could finish in one day. “Daddy, they shouldn’t even be painting when people are around,” he scoffed at my slowness.

As we stood in front of the presidential dais admiring the three arches, there were three navy men carrying bags of “pure water” into their buses. My boys were scandalised: “Why can’t they give them bottled water?", they asked in their soprano tones.

For the record, we drink pure water at home because the father is impecunious, but we know better.

As we left the parade grounds, and crossed the road in front of the VRA building towards the stadium we noticed two marbles of the Black Square at the top left were parting ways. We weren’t sure of ourselves until we saw someone pass through there; so then we followed.

We immediately met with resistance as expected. But we were defiant that we had intended to greet however, every one of the security officers was engrossed in their conversation.

As the tone became friendly, they enquired our mission. The exchanges were more with my boys. “Since you said that your father told you only the president and horses pass here, why did you come; are you a HORSE?".

My 7-year old asked me to their embarrassment: “Daddy, are horses mammals?” At this point two black plastic bags drifted in from the south west and landed at the north east where a helicopter was disembarking troops.

As the conversation became friendly they asked our real mission. My 10-year old replied “We wanted to go to the top of the Black Star Square, stand at where the soldiers stand [and sound the Funfair in response to the lighting of the perpetual flame by the president] and compare the building to the Coliseum in Rome.”

"Coli… what?”, the most senior of them demanded. I helped the inaudibly shy boy with a louder “CO-LI-SEUM.” “Oh yes, yes I know that building, is it not in the Vatican?

A now friendlier National Security officer explained that only the security officers and engineers are allowed to go to the top for repairs and other jobs. And indeed an engineer was fiddling with some cables in the room by the staircase downstairs. Every single cable looked very dirty and old.
I wondered if that repair work would not be abandoned after the celebrations. This is just “something to represent something,” I surmised.

As other officers entered we managed a quick goodbye and hurried back out of the place. As a good security man, however, this oldie with dyed hair followed us and started a conversation all the way to the stadium. I asked for a job and he dared me to submit an application at the so-called Blue Gate or Castle Annex.

This is my second such brazen encounter with National Security. In 2003, I drove through the Christianborg Castle Roundabout only to be returned by security.

On that day the man moved a Four-wheeler and drove dangerously head on towards us. There were two lady co-workers in my company branded car. We both stopped. “You have declared yourself the president,” he shouted.

"How have I declared myself the president,” I charged. After hot exchanges, I reversed as he drove his car inch by inch toward my bumper. When I’d had enough and refused to move my car back any further, the man got down, came to me and signaled to me to come out.

I followed him. “This is a roundabout. Only the president of Ghana drives through it.”

"Where is the roundabout?" I was young and impatient.

"Can’t you see the semi-circles around the road?"

Indeed it was a roundabout, a barricade gate in the middle had been opened and I had driven through. “But why is there no road sign showing that I was approaching a roundabout?”, I charged, with the audacity and the contempt of someone who knew his rights. “Well, in fact the president drove out 30 minutes ago,” he said soberly, "and the boys forgot to close the gate.”

I repeated my question, more boldly.

“We’ve been telling the boys to close the gate anytime the president drives out,” he confessed. “In fact, we have to discipline them".

He however insisted that by passing through I had nevertheless declared myself the president and he had to take my records.

"I will never give any information about myself, I have not declared myself the president,” I replied. “You are not the one to show us our duty,” he declared.

In the end I gave full details of my mission before I was released. And he sat in my car and engaged in a similar “friendly” discussion all the way to the Ministry of Education/ Stadium area.

Do not forget to watch the parade on March 6th....Friday; you may want to declare yourself a horse; but whatever you do, do not declare yourself, president!

Imhotep Alhassan

Accra, Ghana, March 05, 2015