FAMILY HISTORY

Recently, I posted a poem that was taught to my Grandmother by my Great-Grandmother. The poem is called "If". After I posted that, my Grandmother suggested that my Great-Grandmother (Rest In Peace) would be proud of me. See, in 1963, she travelled to Uganda to see my Great Uncle Charlie and her six month old Grandson Cameron. Now, 43 years later my Grandmother is reading about my experiences in Ghana and corresponding with me via email.

Through this corresponsdence I have felt blessed to have a internet savy Grandma (note that my Granny in B.C. has also learned how to use the internet to check my blog and has printed off pages for my Dad to read, who is not as interested in using the internet, but loves reading the posts).

This letter that my Grandma wrote me warmed my heart. For me, it is further proof of what Maya Angelou told a Toronto audience in May of 2006 where she insisted that, in this life, we could never know how far the light that is in us has reached onto the paths of the lives that our life has touched.

The letter reads...

Dear Christopher,

Yes, you Christopher, are the only one of my grandchildren to have ever met my beautiful mother. In fact, when I brought you and your mother home from the West, in the summer of 1980, your great-grandmother, my mother was in St.Joseph's Hospital in London as a result of a freak accident which happened on an airplane while she was returning from a visit with her oldest son, my brother Bert and his family in Thunder Bay.

It happened following the Thanksgiving Weekend in the Fall of 1978. In spite of the impact of my father's death in June of 1977, Mother bravely struggled on through a crippling bout of Rhemoitoid Arthritis which attacked her joints over thefollowing year. Eventually, through "Gold Treatments," she was delivered from her disabling condition and happily planned a trip toThunder Bay to visit Uncle Bert and his family. When I picked my mother up from the airport, following that visit, I could see that she was pale but I believed that her appearance was simply as a result of fatigue from her first "journey from home" since the death of my father.

Never, for one moment, did I imagine the horror that night would ultimately bring. When we finally arrived at the door of her apartment, mother collapsed and began to vomit great volumes of blood. To this day, I cannot remember what happened next. Somehow, I was given the strength to call for an ambulance and phone Uncle Charlie but to this day, more than two decades later, I am unable to recall details of the events of that evening.

The next thing I remember was being with Uncle Charlie at ScarboroughGeneral Hospital, in the middle of the night, and hearing that mother had been operated on for, a suspected Stomach Ulcer, which proved not to have been the cause. Their ultimate conclusion wat that the bleeding was froma her Osolpegus. To stop the bleeding they placed a "BakemoreTube" down her Osophogus which collapsed one of her lungs. Not long after she was released from hospital, Mother reluctantly, made the decision that she needed to move to London where she would be closer to Uncle Charlie who (being a doctor) had the connections which might preserve her life.

In some time, Mother's condition had become critical. As we clung to one another, we prayed that mother might survive since we were totally unprepared for her death so soon after the death or our father. As it happened, Mother's life was spared but what followed but we could not have imagined in the unimaginable suffering she experienced before her death, in March 1981.
Before that time, as soon as her great-grandchild, which was YOU, Christopher, entered the hospital room, my mother'sresponse was immediate. You were only 10 months old at the time but I can still remember her joy at seeing that her great-grandchild was not only walking but, at the same time, was able to kick about a cool-whip container. You can only imagine the joy you brought into mother's life six monthsbefore her death!

CATCHING UP

When I arrived in Kumasi from Accra last week, I was planning to stay with Nuri-Haque and his family like I usually do. On my way there I found out that they were having some unexpected guests, so I had to make other arrangements. My other option was staying with Jayme (fellow JHR placee) and Christoph (the French diplomat that she stays with). They were happy to have me, so when I arrived Christpoh and I had some pizza for dinner and waited for Jayme to get back from the hospital.

I know, I asked the same question, “what was Jayme doing at the hospital? Is she alright?”. She was fine, as she was not there for herself. She was actually there due to a story that turned into a humanitarian effort. Earlier that day, a young girl was brought to the radio station that Jayme works at (Luv FM in Kumasi). She had been brought there by her father, and they informed station staff that her step-mother had poured a bleach substance on, and into, in vagina for misbehaving. Apparently, she had some scarring, but would not be damaged in the long term.

When Jayme came home she described the strength of this little girl, her own pondering on if her paying the medical bills was crossing lines in her profession, and what the real story behind this young girls situation really was. I really felt it for this little girl, but what hits home even more is that situations like this (reported and unreported) are happening all over the world everyday.

The next step was for Jayme to go back and pay 300,000 cedis (about $40 Canadian) for the doctor to sign the medical report so that police could investigate. If she did not go to pay the bill, nothing further would be done.

With that conversation on our minds, Jayme, Christoph and I headed to a local social spot and meet up with some other Abroni’s for some drinks and conversation amidst the booming of hip life over the many speakers surrounding us.

I was happy to see a young lady from Newfoundland that had been working in a brothel with sex-trade workers (prostitutes). I had met her the last time that I was in Kumasi. She was now seeing the women as being less-empowered than she had previously suggested and was realizing that their situations were really dire. She spoke of one Nigerian girl who actually had gone to university and had shared her story of how she got into the trade and why she was staying in it. She had been left in Burkino Faso and had no money, that was how she started. She was staying in it because it was, in her mind, her best option. Anything else, just didn’t seem possible. The hurt that is clouding her eyes seems to be so tragic, but she is choosing to stay.

When we went home, I had a pretty good sleep, but I felt a cough in my chest growing to be worse. I spent most of the day just relaxing at the house. Nuri-Haque came by, Christoph and Jayme came home for lunch. After lunch we all went over to Luv FM, where Chistoph dropped us. I was waiting until 5pm when my bus was scheduled to leave, and was glad to be at the station as I was able to get a cd copy of the speech given by former president J.J. Rawlings who was counteracting (boldly and fearlessly) the accusation from the current president that he is planning a coup.

Close to 5pm, Nuri-Haque and I headed over to the STC station. I was glad that we picked up some spaghetti form a hotel restaurant, because eating that helped us pass the three hours that we waited for the bus. After 8pm, we got onto our downgraded bus and headed for Tamale. Feeling the cough getting worse I took some cough medicine which made me quite drowsy. To the sounds of Whitney Houston’s greatest hits. I dozed off a bit. I say a bit, because the bus felt like it had been smashed by a huge hammer every time it hit a bump in the road (note: there are A LOT of bumps in the road from Kumasi to Tamale). By just after 3am I stumbled out of the bus and into a taxi and headed home.

I got to work quite early the next day, and had a pretty nice day. It was good to be back in Tamale, where I just really want to get down to business and accomplish the many goals that I have sitting before me. I spent most of the day sorting out my mail issues, before going home to relax and do some cleaning of my room.

In the evening, I swept and wiped down every corner. In the morning, I rearranged much of my room and began to get things in order. I have a lot I want to accomplish, and I felt like I needed to start with really getting my personal space in order first. After heading to the office on Saturday afternoon, I got a text from Jayme that said she and some friends were in Tamale and were heading to Mole park to see the wildlife reserve.

I headed to town to see them, and ended up showing them around to the bank machine, and to pick-up some batteries (where they also bought some gin’n’juice and champagne). I found it really funny that Jayme wanted to buy champagne so that they could pop a bottle when they reached Mole park. Apparently, the bottle popped quite enthusiastically, as it is a very bumpy road to Mole park.

Before they left, another entourage was going through the town center. The day before it was the newly formed DFP (Democratic Freedom Party) and what I titled ‘Tamalbana’ (which was just a seemingly random entourage of party people dancing on trucks and in the street). This third entourage had a man on a horse in the middle of it who appeared to be a chief. A few men were in the huge crowd following him with guns that they were firing into the air. One of the men with a gun, who appeared to be drunk and just looked way to irresponsible to be holding such a large firearm, motioned that I come and join the crowd. I declined and headed in the opposite direction.

Our main focus was getting their group of 5 a taxi that was in good condition and large enough that would take them to Mole. After quite the maylay, they were gone, and I was headed to the office. However, throngs of people were blocking the street and the man who looked like a chief was in the street surrounded by a crowd that looked quite hostile towards him. Some men running down the street with guns in their hands added to the drama.

I just kept going and encouraged the taxi to continue to make his way through the crowd. Later on I found out that the guy was not a chief, but was playing the part. He was showing off and heading to a dance competition at the chiefs palace (just down the street from my office). He was confronted near the palace and told to come off his horse (‘get off your high-horse’…pun intended). He refused and was subsequently hit with a number of stones. He took to running, and the guys that he hired with guns scattered.

The guys at the station laughed and said that for one, a chief is not supposed to run. The second part of what they found funny was that when the drums are used to tell of his story, they will tell of this moment that made history, when he was told to get down and ran from stones.

That night, the drama continued. Layata and I were heading home from town when we realized that she left her phone in the taxi. Fortunately, he answered the phone. Unfortunately, he did not understand much of what we were saying and had us waiting for over an hour at the roadside, in a town that takes no more than 15 minutes to travel form one end to the other. At one point, he even sped past where he told us to wait and returned fifteen minutes later.

This delayed our plan of dropping off a wedding present for Samuel, who works at Justice. When we tried calling him, we were told by a stranger that he had left his phone at a local restaurant. What are the chances of that? So, we went to his house, told him that we knew where his phone was and headed home. By that time, I was hungry and tired. I enjoyed my dinner and headed to bed.

(exhale)…that is for the sigh of relief that eased out of my chest as I sat in front of the computer and began to type.

It is Friday and I am back in Tamale. I arrived at 3AM via my STC bus (which left over 3 hours late). After nearly a week of traveling from Tamale to Accra, throughout Accra, from Accra to Kumasi, then back to Tamale, I was tired. On the way I had picked up a little bit of a chest cold, which was beginning to bother me. To ensure a comfortable ride home, I picked up some cough medicine to ease the coughing.

That turned out to be a blessing in disguise, because the drowsiness allowed me to catch a few naps on what would have been an impossible ride to sleep on otherwise. The little boy sleeping on his mother’s lap beside felt the urge to stretch his legs into me just as I was drifting and the bus crashed, shook and rattled (intensely) with every bump in the road…there are a lot of bumps in the road. I also found that my seat was growing to be damp along the journey. Thanks to whatever was in the cough medicine and the answered prayers to keep our bus safe, I actually dozed off a few times. When I reached to Tamale, I stumbled into a taxi and headed home.

It was nice to be in my bed. I slept well, and by 8am I was up and getting ready for work.

Though I am very excited about work and all of the projects we are working (there are so many amazing opportunities in front of me!), I wanted to deal with the postal issue first. The postal issue is this, of eight packages that I should have gotten, I received two. Of those two, they were both sent fairly recently compared to some other packages. I have been asking various people about it a few times a week, and they keep telling me that nothing is there.

The packages were sent, they were tracked, they reached Ghana, but they are not there. It wasn’t adding up to me. So, finally, I went to the post office. After inquiring with a few people, and I ended up in the mail room (out of bounds to the public). Within 15 seconds of being in there, what do I see? A big package from Canada “Attn: Chris Penrose”. While I found it, I still could not take it.

(exhale)

I spoke with a few managers and was being directed from one person to the next when I found two more of my packages in the parcel department, but I could not take them.

(exhale)

I got the GM of Justice to come, but he could not collect the packages. We needed the mail key and the slips that were deposited into the box, so we went to the office of the Chief Executive and found one of the mail guys. However, he was the one who had not seen the slips for the package…the other guy that was visiting his village was the one who had them. So we went back with the key and explained the situation. It was fine with the manager, so he would let me get my packages…except the customs inspector was on break. I was told to come back in two and a half hours.

(exhale)

In the interim, I went for a lunch of jolof rice and fried fish, which was good until I found a small beetle in my rice. I really thought, ‘no, that must be a clove’. It wasn’t. It was a beetle.

While I was eating, there was some noise in the streets as a new political party (Democratic Freedom Party) was making their presence felt with drumming and trucks full of people, and then a parade of four trucks with bands and speakers turned to into Caribana for a few minutes. Funny thought, I was thinking, ‘what would you call Caribana in Tamale?’. Thinking that ‘Tamalbana’ sounds awkward and gives a Sri Lankan feel to it, I next thought of ‘Talibana’…not a good idea.

After lunch, I braved a few minutes in a hot, smelly internet café and headed to pick-up my mail. To my surprise, two more packages arrived. That’s five of six! I was relieved to take them with me back home, though my birthday present is still on it’s way (and I will be more relieved when that comes).

The root of the whole issue was that there were slips being put into the postal box saying “you have a parcel to clear at customs” and the guys picking up the mail ignored them for months.

(exhale)

Thank you to Mom, Drew, Roxine, Grant, Granny, and Carey (and to everyone who is sending stuff to the new address in Accra…the address without all of the drama).

I really enjoyed getting all of those fragments from home.

So now I am in my office and the day is coming to a close. I am very excited about what I am embarking upon over the next few months. God willing, I will not be traveling to the south until Christmas, so now is the time to forge ahead and make all of the visions and plans real.

Oh, today I got a taste of how dry and hot that it gets up here. People, it can get hot and dry. We are still feeling the periphery of the rainy season, but a few moments today were foreshadowing what is coming.

And for controversy, the former military president of Ghana had been accused by the current president of planning to finance a coup d’etat. The popular former president come out and flagrantly denied the allegations. Personally, from listening to his speech and seeing what’s going on, I don’t think the accusation is true, but what do I know?

Today was a bit of a rough day, but (exhale) I feel much better. Throughout it all I have been learning to remain patient, composed, respectful and counting my blessings (though that has been challenging…especially when I wanted to find the mail guy and ask how hard is it to read cards that are constantly being put into the mail box everyday??? And when you keep getting questions about missing packages, why would you not check think of the slips???).

As I head home, the smiles of children keep me smiling and the environment around me keeps me wondering about the splendour of creation. The memories with friends and family, as well as the messages and calls are treasures.

If you could know…maybe you do.

PASTOR JAMES IS IN THE BUILDING!!!

Greetings from "Little England". Though my return ticket in March has a stop over in London for a couple of weeks, I am talking about Ghana. The area is called Osu Re and it known what people say is Ghana's busiest stretch of road, Oxford Street.

From one end to the next you find restaurants, boutiques, western style grocery stores, and street vendors selling everything from bootleg dvds to African art.

The street is just down the street from the JHR house where I first touched down in Ghana. The heavy traffic (both motorized and human), the insistence of street vendors, and the brazen skam artists who try to hook would be foreign fish with "pssssst, where are you from?" wrapped in a deceptive smile; deceptive because they are usually not smiling for the same reason that the nieve may think...he doesn't really care as that much about where you are from, being from abroad is enough is other Ghanians don't seem to be worthy of thier kind gesture of instant friendship...though most Ghanians know why they are smiling at complexions from olive to ice. My first time walking down this street had me a little uneasy; I really did not know what to think of it all. I didn't know if taking out huge sums of money (100 Canadian is about 840,000 cedis) from the ATM on the street would make me a target, nor did I know how to deal with super-friendly and really pushy skam artists.

Walking down Oxford Street today was another world from my first ventures down the block. For one, I felt very at ease in the chaos (it's only now that I think of describing it as such). After going to the western style restaurant Frankie's with Idrissa and Adwoa for lunch, we were approached by a man his tactic is the cut right into your personal space and confess, "I know stealing is wrong, so instead of robbing I'm asking you for money", then changing the tone to desperate, he adds look at me, "I am starving". I know the script because I have heard it before.

Walking the busy strip alone a few months ago to go and get a family size pizza (which I ate myself - a feat I have accomplished a few times when I have had enough fufu and tzeat for awhile), I was approached by this same man. Thrown off by him in my space, his desperation, and being on the street alone, I gave him 20,000 cedis (about 2.50 Canadian): it was the only bill that I had on me. In a combination of boldness, rudeness and just being IGNORANT, he appeared upset and insisted I should give him 60,000 cedis. At that point I continued down the street. He started to follow me, but stopped.

This time, I put my hand on his shoulder and, in his personal space, told him "I know you, I heard it, we're not giving you anything". He walked away and we continued on down the street.

Aside from my lunch date with the ladies, I also met with Ato, the JHR country director. The meeting went very well, aside from constant interuptions from his phone that does not stop ringing. We are going to be sending stories from Justice down to Joy FM in Accra at least once a week. They will be broadcasting them on air and online at www.myjoyonline.com, so I will let you all know when to tune in.

Yesterday night, I also had an adventure taking the tro tro to the Golden Tulip to meet with Pastor James last night. Kwaku was going to drive me, but Emmanuel was out with the car and did not have his phone with him. Kwaku was also tired so against Mama Ackerson's wishes, and my lack of worry, he escorted to me to the tro tro station. Without incident I found the hotel and headed to the front desk. While I did not find Pastor James in his room, a short walk to the outdoor pool deck led me to him and two companions. While looking for him, my only thought was where would I be sitting. When I looked at the spot that was most attractive to me, I saw Pastor James behind the leaf of a palm bush. While his two colleagues were shocked that he knew me (as they thought they were the only ones that he knew in Ghana, I guess), Pastor and his pastor friends invited me to sit down.

After running to his room to get the package (which included a birthday card, my bank card and a t-shirt commemorating the 50th anniversary of St. Andrews Anglican church - the church that I was raised in while in Toronto, and which, ironically is around the corner from Rhema), we began a conversation on global politics of (pardon the pun) "Biblical proportions".

We spoke about war, human rights, development, slavery, genocide, terrorism, colonialism, among other major subjects. Much of the converstaion touched upon the American agenda around the globe and the nature of the relationship to the Christian church. To put it more simply, is Bush doing God's will?

I suggested that fighting a war against terror fuels it, and that to fight terror we must reduce and eliminate desperate conidtions and vulnerable populations. One of the suggestions made at the table was that as the Israelites had to fight the Philistines, so to God's people had to fight. To this I ask a series of questions:

Would you say that modern "Islamic" terrorism is worse than historical American White supremacy? Is suicide bombing worse than lynchings?

The question is rhetorical.

My next question was why was Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. right with his anti-violence approach to fight that evil right over the self-defence of the Black Panther Party or the "By any means necessary" mentality, expressed by Malcom X and adopted by countless others (note: their is a national holiday for Dr. King and not for Malcom, which confirms whose approach was deemed as 'right').

If Dr. King (inspired by Ghandi) was right, then why is fighting 'the axis of evil' accepted. If non-violence was supposed to be used to stop the lynching, bombings, brutality and Jim Crow laws, then why is it not employed to fight terrorism?

One interesting stat that I saw on the BBC documentary about Muslims in the US called "I'm American Too" is that attendance at mosques in the US has substantially increased since 9-11. Terrorism was also not something that many people were worried about before the war on terror - people were more worried about the threat of global warming than Sadam and Osama.

Essentially, I was imagining a nation that would actually stand upon the principles of the gospel: "turn the other cheek", "forgiveness", "take care of the widow, orphan, etc". When you spend thousands of time more on weapons than you do on helping people, are you a Christian nation?

So that was quite the conversation.

All said and done, we prayed together and I headed back to Sakumono. I was so happy to see Pastor James in Ghana!

STILL IN ACCRA

It is Monday afternoon and I am in Accra. If I wrote this post 15 minutes ago, it might have been titled, "Where in the world is Pastor James".

To give some background, I lost my bank card last week. Thankfully, I knew that Pastor James was coming from Toronto to Accra on October 21st (my birthday). I made arrangements for my parents to bring him my bank card so that he could bring it here, cutting what would have taken up to 5 weeks down to 5 days.

My problem was that I have not heard from Pastor James who has my phone number. I was getting concerned as I am waiting to hear from him before I can buy my ticket to get back to work in Tamale. A few minutes ago, I got a text from my brother who had information that my Mom dug up that he is at the Golden Tulip Hotel (which is really nice actually) and will be there at 7pm tonight...so, now I know where in the world Pastor James is.

I just hope that he brought my bank card as I was made aware that my family sent a package with him that was bigger than a bank card. Apparently, he called on Saturday (the day he was travelling) and left a message; like I said, I hope he brought it with him.

Aside from a little congestion in my chest from a weekend that lacked enough rest, I am doing well. For the first time in my life I spent my birthday abroad. What was supposed to be a dinner and desert with five guests turned into a jam of about twenty or so. Micheal got his first DJ'ing job and played a mixture of Reggea (more like Sean Paul's greatest hits) and whole lot of Hip Life. It was fun, but I did not go to the after party at a local club, and opted for sleeping.

I have to give it up to Mama Ackerson who made me feel SO loved after cooking a great meal all day in the kitchen. Her brief appearance on the dance floor was definately a highlight.

The next day, after church, I headed out to lunch with Elikem who I met on the plane to Accra. We headed west of Accra to a beautiful area where he owns a beach house. We had lunch at Big Millie's and walked along the shore. Everytime I go to a place like that I become overwhelmed with gratefullness and feel so incredibly blessed. I was actually wondering - a real question - does heaven have oceans and beaches? Really, I wonder...

With my time at the internet cafe running out and an important visit to the Golden Tulip pending (plus my lunch of fufu still waiting for me), I have to be brief.

There is so much that I have to share I have to share, and I pray that I get the time to do so soon. For now, Lord of War is a movie to check out (though the content is kind of heavy), Sudoko puzzles are my new thing (Kary put me on to them), and I am so happy to be 27.

P.S.
Thanks for all of the birthday wishes and calls.

27

This morning I woke up to a fourth floor view of the sun rising over the coastline. The expanse of green had a mist hovering above it that was reflecting the sunshine that would eventually melt it. I looked out the window, alone in the room, and spoke to God more directly than I usually do.

I just gave thanks: for all the moments I have had in my years, for all that I've seen, all that I've been saved from. Very few people, if anyone, know the whole story - I think most people would be suprised at it all. In giving thanks for it all, I was buzzing with a sense of gratefullness.

While looking gazing out the window, I also made a request in prayer: All I really want to do is to fulfill what I have been designed for: I want to be able to support my family and accomplish all that I have been given to do (which I can feel will have a global impact).

I am wealthy with love and faith. The greatest personal treasures that I have in my life is that God has developed me into a man of faith and everywhere I go, I can feel the abundance of love that I have. There are so many people that genuinely love me, and I feel it where ever I go. I also walk with a heart full of love; most people would be suprised at how often they come across my mind, heart and prayers.

On my birthday, I often feel a lot of strong emotions stirring in my heart. I reflect and everything feels quite amplified. So much stirs in my heart. I also find that I usually find a good portion of the day in solitude.

This evening, I will do what I always do for my birthday, which is to gather the closest people to me (as many of them as I can) and get together to eat. This year, most of those people are across the ocean, but I am grateful for the circle of friends that will be getting together today for some dinner and desert at the Ackerson house.

So I am celebrating 27 years that I have been given, leading up to this moment. For me, it is more of a celebration of the plethora of blessings (primary among which is the people I celebrate with and this life).

I am alive. I am in Africa. I am talented and gifted. I am loved. I love who I am. I have the chance to be who I am designed to be. In this wonderful life, in this incredible universe, on this remarkable planet, in this mysterious existence, I am alive.

I am smiling.

Today has been full of unexpected twists and turns, but I am smiling.

My workshop went very well yesterday, except for two things:

1. I had gotten refreshments (and mentioned that they would be served on the poster) and one of the presenters invited his entrie class (he is also a secondary school teacher) which left little room for station staff (that's who the workshop is for). So, I'll have to do it again.

2. I got refreshments for a workshop that finished at 4pm...it's still Ramadan. A bunch of people broke their fast.

Today, we didn't have much going on at the office as it was 'lights out' (rotating power outages) in our area. I went in to the office in the afternoon and I was the ONLY person there, so I left to tend to a few things.

One of those things was figuring out if I really did lose my bank card, or if I just misplaced it. After a few calls to my bank, home, going back to my room to get my account number, and sending a fax, things seemed to work out. This Saturday (which is my birthday...27!), Pastor James will be travellig to Ghana. The plan is that Drew brings my bank card to RTT for Pastor James to bring to Ghana. I pray it all works out, but I'm not worried. That is much better than waiting two weeks for Scotiabank to mail a card to my house and then for my family to mail it here (another two weeks or more...if I get it).

The strange thing is that when I used the card last (Monday), I was at the bank machine and I started thinking about what I would do if I lost the card. I had the same kind of thought hours before I lost my phone in Kumasi...premenitions???

After checking a number of places where it could have been (everywhere in town that I have gone in the past two days), I went home and began some cooking. I am making pasta sauce and I was adding some hot peppers. Not knowing what I was setting myself up for, I got the juice of the pepper all over my hands. For the next hour my hands - literally - felt like they were on fire. As I type this email, they are still burning. I bought a cold fanta to hold, just to ease the pain, which helped a bit until it turned lukewarm.

While in the internet cafe I bumped into Janey, who said she will lend me a bit of money until I get my card. That is a blessing, because I am supposed to go to Accra this weekend for my birthday, to see Pastor James, and - now - to get my bank card. That would not be possible on what money I had withdrawn.

In it all, I have been looking for the lesson. When things happen, it always seems that there is a reason and a lesson. However, heading to the cafe to fax my banking information to my branch in Richmond Hill and waving my hands as if I was trying to put out a fire (nevermind holding both hands out of the window in the taxi), I had to laugh.

What were the lessons? After watching a Jet-Li Shaolin monk movie, I tried to be like one of those monks that can control their mind to keep their hands in fire or walk over hot coals. For awhile, as my hands were burning I was able to stay calm - you wouldn't have known anything was wrong. I also found it all funny. Maybe the lesson is not to take myself or life TOO seriously. I mean life is serious, but not too serious.

When Janey came into the cafe and I gave her the whole story, she was cracking up with laughter. She said, "Chris, you are a character". I agree.

Well, I have to go and get my ticket for Accra, go cook some pasta and, hopefully, I can make it to a Bible study that is starting up in my area.

Before I go, I want to share one more thought. I just finished reading The Alchemist (thanks Roxine for sending it), and I enjoyed the book (though I had weird dreams for the past few days since I started reading it). One of the parts of the book mentions this man who discovered the deep secrets of life and existence, and summarized all of what was contained in volumes upon volumes of works in a few words that were carved in the surface of an emerald. The book doesn't say what those words were. Yesterday, while I was walking through the grass in the rarely used road along the shortcut home, an idea came to me. A short sentence that I could see being carved on the face of that jewel telling us the key to life.

I'll post the words that came, like a whisper in my heart, on my next post. For now, think about what key words, just a sentence, that summarizes the key to life that you would carve on a jewel to be passed on for generations. Send me your thoughts if you get the chance.

MAY GOD GIVE YOU PEACE

I have been going on to the Toronto Star website to stay in touch with the city and areas of interest (the sports section). Today, I was shocked to see the cover story. It is about the two extremely different ways that the random murders of two innocent young women was treated. Both were promising students, examples in the community, and "in the wrong place at the wrong time". One became the centre of a campaign from the federal, provincial, and municipal governments, the police - even the international community - that brought tons of attention, new funding, structural changes, and more. The other, aside from the vigils and actions carried out by her family, friends and immediate connections (e.g. church community), was largely overlooked.

On this subject, I ask the question, if Chantel was shot at the Eaton Centre and Jane at a community centre, would Chantel have been Toronto's angel, and a catalyst for so much action?

The reality behind this all, the fact that the value of two precious lives is clearly differentiated by race is an indictment that WE HAVE A LOT OF WORK TO DO TO HEAL OUR SOCIETY/WORLD FROM THE SICKNESS THAT RACISM, WHICH RUNS DEEPER THAN MOST EYES PERCEIVE...I could say much, much more, but I give credit to The Toronto Star for saying what so many have already been saying!

And to the family, especially Pastor Yvonne, may God's peace continue to give you the strength to keep on loving, though you may not be able to understand such a loss.

Tale of two murder probes

Chantel Dunn's mother says probe 'different' from Creba's
Detective insists evidence, not race, affecting investigation

MICHELE HENRY AND TRACY HUFFMAN

STAFF REPORTERS

Days after police arrested nine suspects this summer in the high-profile shooting death of 15-year-old Jane Creba, Sandra Walters called the homicide detective investigating her own daughter's murder. With a sadness that turned her voice to a quiet rasp, she posed one question:

"If my daughter was white, would anything be different?"

That's a question many in Toronto's black community have been asking since June, but for detectives still on the case — stymied by silence from those who know who killed Chantel Dunn — the answer is a resounding "no."

Det. Wayne Fowler has been working on the Dunn case since Feb. 6, when gunfire claimed the life of the cheerful, 19-year-old York University student who dreamed of a career in law.

"No" is the one-word reply the veteran Toronto police officer gave Walters then, and it's still his answer now, despite accusations of a double standard levelled in news outlets such as Share after the June arrests of gangsters involved in the Boxing Day shootout in which Creba was killed and six others injured.

An editorial in the Sept. 28 edition of the black community newspaper, entitled Cops Must Do Better, chides the police for pumping resources into cases involving white victims, when it looks like they're not doing their best in getting to the bottom of crimes against blacks.

"We have questioned before the efforts Toronto police went to in solving the murder of this young White girl while the murders of so many young Blacks go unsolved," it reads. "Twenty core officers were assigned to the Creba case and as we have come to understand a lot of pressure was brought on the police to find those responsible ... no such concern was observed for any of the Black youths killed, not even for Chantel Dunn."

But Fowler says this has nothing to do with "race or colour of skin." "It's based on the investigation — the evidence that's come up."

The trouble is, no one came forward with information. Not one Crime Stoppers tip. No anonymous calls to detectives.

Fowler understands Walters' frustration. Both young women were innocent, random victims, he says, but that's where the parallels end.

The Creba slaying took place before hundreds of people, in broad daylight at one of the country's busiest intersections. Police had many helpful witnesses who gave detailed descriptions, and video surveillance from stores along Yonge St. A weapon was recovered immediately and a first arrest made that same day. A series of events — some captured on video — led up to the shooting.

In contrast, Dunn was killed in a blitz-style attack as she left the darkened Northwood Community Centre near Jane St. and Sheppard Ave. W., on a dead-end street in a quiet residential neighbourhood. The lighting was poor and witnesses few. No one in the area could provide details on the suspects. There was no surveillance video to capture the 11 p.m. shooting. The one person who may hold the key to solving the case — Dunn's boyfriend and the intended target, Shane Morrison — hasn't been overly helpful.

Walters is frustrated by his silence.

"It's quite obvious that man is protecting someone else that means more to him than my daughter did," she said. "I'm upset about it honestly, but there's nothing I can do about it, I don't know where he is. The only thing I can do is pray."

If Dunn had been the victim in the Creba slaying and vice versa, arrests would have been made in Dunn's slaying and police would still be hunting for Creba's killer, Fowler believes.

But that's not an answer that satisfies a grieving mother who still speaks of Chantel in the present tense. Back in June, breaking down over the phone, Walters begged to know why the investigation hadn't yet come to a conclusion like Creba's.

Why did the case not garner the same attention or get the same resources, she wondered. Why did nobody seem to care about her innocent daughter?

Eight months after Dunn was shot while picking up her 21-year-old boyfriend from a basketball game, Walters is still asking.

Fowler said the resources directed to Dunn's case have, in fact, been significant. Because police have yet to make an arrest, by law he can't disclose details of the investigation, not even to Walters.

More than a dozen officers were assigned to the case, including members of the gun and gang task force, the urban organized crime squad, 31 division and the intelligence unit.

Was there a wiretap investigation?

Legally, Fowler can't disclose that information. However, it is a technique used in serious cases when police have an idea who's involved but lack the evidence to make an arrest.

Fowler did say it took several months to determine the groups involved in the slaying.

Dunn's boyfriend "has been interviewed at length, but unfortunately he hasn't told us all that he knows," Fowler said. Morrison was offered witness protection, but declined.

What Fowler does know is that Morrison, though not a member, was associated with a gang that became divided. Rivalries escalated, and one group shot at the former high school basketball star to send a message. He was hit, but the fatal bullet struck Dunn.

After an exhaustive five-month investigation, the Dunn murder task force was dissolved. Fowler continues to call on two communities for help: Lawrence Heights and Jane-Finch, where the gangs involved are well known.

"This case is still very active," Fowler said. "Yes, I know the group responsible for this murder. Am I close to knowing exactly who? Yes. But no one is talking."

Bishop Lennox Walker would be outraged to hear that.

"I firmly believe the problem is our silence," said the leader at Praise Cathedral Worship Centre in Mississauga, where Dunn's funeral was held.

Scot Wortley, an associate professor of criminology at the University of Toronto, wonders whether it was Dunn's association with Morrison — and his cowardice in running as she lay dying — that left the public with a bad taste in their mouths.

"Some might think that she brought this upon herself," said the expert in youth, street gangs and racism in the justice system.

"It could also be the location. A shooting on Yonge St. sparks fear in people's minds because it is so public, whereas the other shooting was in an isolated location. And (the Creba shooting) happened over Christmas."

But the question of race is apt, he says, as it echoes a situation 12 years ago involving two interracial crimes. Vivi Leimonis, a white woman shot in a Just Desserts restaurant by a black man, made headlines for weeks while Christine Ricketts, a black woman killed by a white rapist, was barely mentioned in the news.

"The killing of a white innocent victim by `black criminals' is going to create more concern in the white voting public than the shooting of a young, promising black person," Wortley said.

Fowler said he is committed to solving the case.

"I still have the card sitting here on my desk that the family gave me after I met with them. I see the card every day when I come in to work. The case doesn't go far from my desk or far from my heart," he said. "I wish someone would come forward. We can solve this, but I need some help."

---

Send comments to gta@thestar.ca

Jay-Z in Ghana : From Ice To Water

Friday, October 6^th 2006

International Conference Centre

Accra, Ghana

By Chris Penrose

When Jay-Z’s world tour kicked off in Krakow , Poland on Sep 9^th of this year, he embarked upon a trek that will bring him through Europe, Africa, Asia, and will come to a close in Australia at the end of October.

This past Friday in Accra , on the second date of seven scheduled shows across Africa, Jay stepped into the spotlight with Ghana ’s red, green and yellow of flag draped across his shoulders.

From the first note, nearly all recognizable words and melodies of his show opener, “What More Can I Say”, were drowned beneath excited screams. Before finishing his first verse nearly 200 of the near capacity crowd of around 1500 rushed into the VIP section, and crowded the front of the stage.

For the next 90 minutes Jay-Z would go through almost thirty of his most recognizable tracks ("Big Pimpin", "Girls, Girls, Girls", "Change Clothes"). Assisted by his loyal right hand Memphis Bleek, he confidently controlled the crowd as the night the limp bodies of young girls who could not take the heat and pressure in the front row were pulled out and carried backstage by security.

While he had only arrived the day before in the nation heralded as Africa ’s first to gain independence, the connection between the country and the tour did not begin with his performance here. Before kicking off the world tour, Jay-Z publicly sat with Ghana ’s most recognizable global face, Secretary General of the United Nations, Kofi Annan to launch a humanitarian cause in his sweep from stage to stage across the globe.

Announcing a partnership between the Def Jam President and CEO Shawn “Jay-Z” Carter, MTV and the United Nations, that press conference held this past August was to launch the upcoming MTV documentary, “Diary of Jay-Z: Water For Life”.

Due to be aired on November 24^th, 2006, across 50 channels locally broadcast into 179 countries, the documentary is aimed at exposing the global ‘water crisis’ facing the globe. According to the UN, this growing crisis affects over 1 billion people without clean water, and 300 million people in emergency conditions: that figure is estimated to rise to 3 billion people by 2025. Much of the problem is preventable and is dependent on changes ranging from the day to day use of water, to building and correcting national infrastructures.

In his own words, Jay has declared that, “I’m trying to be a rockstar and a role model”.

With two dates in West Africa ( Ghana and Nigeria ), the topic of the water crisis finds great relevance in the region. Only days ago, the water a reservoir serving an estimated 300,000 northern Nigerians was contaminated from a collapse of a dam brought on by heavy flooding. The flooding has also severely impacted regional neighbours Niger , Burkino Faso , Mauritania , Guinea and Senegal .

Ghana itself has been under rotating power shut downs from area to area (leaving regions without power for 12 hours at a time) every two to three days, due to low waters levels surrounding the hydro power dam. Untreated dumping of sewage into the ocean front and large portions of the country being without direct, and in some cases safe, water supplies is a part of the day to day life of many Ghanians. The scourge of Guinea Worm in the Northern region continues to expand, and the threat of a water shortage in the months following the rainy season is very strong as water levels are - once again - quite low.

While the magnitude of the “Water For Life” initiative, which includes a personal commitment by Jay-Z to fund the installation of ten innovative water pumps across the continent, will certainly have an impact on the issue, this intention of the tour was lost to much of the country.

Over the past few weeks, Ghana has been buzzing with the news that Jay-Z would be performing in Accra , but the talk surrounding the show was focused on whether or not the rumor that Beyonce would also be performing at the concert was true. To the disappointment of the crowd who chanted for Beyonce after Jay was escorted by security from the building, she did not grace the stage. Those looking to hear of the “Water For Life” campaign were also let down, as there was no mention made of the project throughout the entire night – not even in the major media outlets that covered the event in the news.

While the touching "Song Cry", claiming, "I'm happy to be home" and introducing the Annie inspired "Hard Knock Life" with an expression that he, being from Brooklyn, shares in the struggle that Ghanians faced were moments where he showed some of his heart, the night - upon relection - raised a major question. Why was he able to take 15 minutes to pay tribute to Biggie, Tupac and Aaliyah in an elaborate section of his show that he repeats around the globe, but he could not take 15 seconds to engage the crowd in the issue of the global crisis that is supposed to be the theme of his world tour? I can just imagine the impact that a press conference and an encouragement to join the fight against this growing problem would have on the youth of Ghana - let alone the rest of the tour dates. Saving this impact for the television documentary does not make much sense as, but that time, many more will have died whose names will never be a part of a 'missing you' set performed around the world.

In November, when Jay-Z steps out of his retirement to release the new album that is rumored to be titled “Kingdom Come”, the publicity for the MTV special will undoubtedly draw the popular gaze across the globe to this project.

If Jay-Z’s show in Ghana is an indication of the rest of the tour, the thousands from country to country that will be enjoying a night of heart and sweat with a Hip Hop icon and entrepreneur will be met with surprise, come November, that this superstar that they know for his boastful love for exquisite jewelry is more concerned with the water supply on the globe these days than the ice lacing his neck and his wrists.

OCTOBER 17TH...LOTS GOING ON

First and foremost, I know that I have a lot of writing to catch up on. These days have been so full as a great deal is happening. I went to visit a place where some older women are making hand made shea butter soap and some top quality shea butter. I have also been making arrangements to visit some areas affected by guinea worm…serious stuff. I have a workshop in two hours and have been in a number of meetings. SOOOO, I know I owe a bunch of stories including how the Jay-Z show went. It’s all coming! For now, I have added a letter that I wrote to a friend that is a general update.

…

While I spent a lot of time in the south (Accra) recovering, I am now back in Tamale in the north. It is a different experience to be in a place during Ramadan where the majority is muslim. In Toronto, you could remain pretty oblivious to the month of fasting, but in Tamale you can’t. Even those that are not fasting are conscious and hesitant about eating in public. The odd time when I am hot and thirsty I’ll walk through town with a Fan Ice (it’s ice cream or frozen yogurt in a plastic wrap), but I notice the grills. I am also woken up by the late night prayers that go all throughout the night (12:30am, 3:00am, 4:30am); the mosque speakers reach quite clearly through my window (whether closed or open). Soon Ramadan will be over though and they will celebrate Eid. That will be cool because I have not gotten my morning tea and bread at work since the month of fasting began. Usually, the secretary brings it to me. Once Ramadan is over, this will resume again.

The weather was not very different when I first came here in July. It was actually cooler in Ghana than Toronto (sounds crazy huh?) due to the smog factor in Ontario. Being that we were in the rainy season over here, the rain once or twice a day would also cool things down. Gradually, the rain clouds are seen less and less, and the sun is getting hotter and hotter. The heat of the morning is feeling like what was the mid-day heat over the past few months, and the mid-day – it’s getting hot and they say it will get hotter. Up here we get something called the hamatan which is a very hot and dry wind from the Saharah desert which makes December to February months to survive.

I really enjoy the evenings here where the sun is on it’s way to setting and you can see dark rain clouds in the distance with flashes of lightning lighting up the dark grey mounds every few seconds. Last night the entire horizon was acting like a strobe light with the continual pulsing of light from the very broad storm clouds. So often, the sky looks like a completely different day in each of the four directions (light clouds and the sun setting in the east, dark storm clouds in the north, clear skys in the south, and the edge of the night sky in the west). It really is a metaphor for life: if you look at any situation you can see that it is not just a storm cloud, but if you look at the whole sky (situation) there are other elements to it. Even when the whole sky is clouded, the sun is still behind it.

Life up here continues to bring so many blessings with every day. I live in a house where the parents have three daughters. Two of them are under 5 years of age (2 and 4) and are a sweet medicine to my heart sometimes. There names are Chelpong and Milemba (which means forgiveness and redemption), and they love to play with me – especially when I let them come into my room. My neighbours are really nice and they usually expect me to come by in the evening for some fruits (papaya or oranges) or some tea. We sit in the living room and share stories while we watch TV (which is usually a Nigerian movie or an imported soap opera from Mexico, Italy or Spain).

I have really come to take a liking to my surroundings. The red dirt of the fields and the roads, and the shape of the trees, watching the moon, the stars, or the animals shuffling about the place is a part of my everyday that is great. My comfort level in Tamale (and in Ghana in general) has raised dramatically. When I first came, I was doing pretty well, but there were challenges. The many languages that people speak, people calling out to me because I am European (“Silminga” or “Abroni”), people that I never met before insisting that “I want to be your friend”, and many, many other details of life that were distinct from what I have experienced before. I now go places and recall how I felt the first time that I had been there and I can see the difference…like the taxi round! That place is a looks like an overcrowded parking lot with no apparent exit or entrance, it is surrounded by mats where taxi drivers sleep and pray, a small roofless mosque, dozens of market stalls (including an outdoor butcher shop), a plentiful stream of people roaming selling items (from sandals to bags of water), all while what seems like a traffic jam of bumped and bruised taxi’s is orchestrated through a combination of a cue system, signs that get passed around indicating where the taxis are going, and a whole lot of yelling. It was overwhelming to the senses. Keep in my mind that every step you take is a potential collision with a person, bicycle, motorbike, car, or even a roaming animal – with no differentiation between sidewalk and road. When I go there now, the chaos makes sense. For the most part, I don’t bump into anyone or anything.

I have also found a church that I enjoy attending. Since I have been in Ghana I have visited about seven churches. Seeing such a wide-array of worship experiences has been great. Some of those experiences were great and some…not so much! The place that I like to go is Lighthouse Chapel. The worship reminds me of Rhema more than anywhere else that I have been, though some of the praise and worship is still in local languages. The pastor is someone I enjoy listening to, and has good teachings. It is funny at times because he is often using local issues to give examples. One of the things he was saying is that people need to give more to their walk with God. He used the example of going to the US, asking the congregation how many people would go if they had the opportunity. Almost everyone put up their hand. He then asked them, what if you were going tomorrow? Everyone raised their hands. He then listed a whole bunch of questions: what about your job? What about your family? What about that meeting you have? What about your cousins wedding next week? To all of the questions, people would just abandon everything: quit the job, leave the family, miss the meeting and the wedding all to go to the US. Then he mentioned, “oh, I couldn’t come to church because I was tired”, “I couldn’t do what I said I would for the choir because my cousin was getting married”, “I missed that church committee meeting because of work”. The point was clear that people will sacrifice for what really matters to them, and going to the US is more important to most people than doing what they can to serve God. It was a funny presentation, and such examples are numerous: they talk about all of the conditions here. Goats, chickens, toilet facilities, hand washing, village life, and even witchcraft all come up as examples.

At work things are picking up. We have completed to stories (“All Night Long: The Negative Health Effects of Interupted Sleep”, “Ghana’s Other Gold: Ghanian Women Use Shea Butter for a Brighter Future”). We have also booked time to follow a man named Micheal for a day in his rounds fighting scourge of guinea worm, which he says is still a major problem in the north.

After meeting with a few people who work with Micheal through the Carter Centre, we have found that we will be doing a number of projects together. Guinea worm is really a serious issue. I remember seeing people on television infected with it when I was a child and it terrified me. The idea of having this worm over a metre long living in your body. And how it grows and how it comes out and potential complications really irk me. It is great to have the opportunity to make a difference with this issue through the radio though.

In terms of reporting the main reporter that I was going to be working with, Ramadan, has not been in the clearest state of mind and has not been around as often due to the issue with his uncle. His uncle is the Regional Minister of the area and is in the inner-circle of the President. He is not really a straight and narrow guy, and has a very sketchy and questionable past. Because our station has reported some of these issues and has opened a forum to discuss this, the minister has had people make threats to his nephews safety and life. I have tried to support him and encourage him, but getting anything done with him has been a challenge.

As a result I have began to work more with Hassan and Farouza who also work at the station. I have not abandoned working with him, as this afternoon, I will be continuing with an informal workshop on production with Ramadan where we will also be discussing some story ideas that he has.

We will be going to the Human Rights Commission again this week to see how we can build a stronger relationship with Radio Justice. We are want to make people aware of the services that they offer, so that the community can use them as a resource. They are the only body that can enforce the respect of people’s human rights outside of what the Ghanian legal system defends.

After meeting with the Manager of the marketing department I got an update on the Live Presenter Mention log system that we developed. The marketing department is using the logs, yet there is not full participation from the presenters. We are working on plans in order to achieve 100% participation with the log system.

I have also been involved in the meetings surrounding the development of a Radio Justice website. It looks like the site will be www.radiojusticeonline.com and should be up in the next month or two. Live online broadcasts may take longer as the bandwidth is an issue. However, we have been doing some photographs around the station with various staff to provide web content.

This afternoon, I will be presenting a workshop that has two parts. The first is a general human rights Q&A as I have been getting a lot questions about what “Human Rights” actually means. The second part of the workshop will be the introduction to the entire staff of the Public Service Announcement and Song and Poetry Contest projects. We will focus on the PSA project first, and then move on to the contest. One other important aspect of the workshop will be an invitation to approach me regarding informal workshops. I will provide a number of possible topics, while letting those in attendance know that any other suggestion they have is welcome.

By next week, we will be re-launching “Freedom Thursdays” at Justice. The show will be on in the mornings from 9:30am-10:00am. I will be producing the show and will be bringing others in that I will be training. Our first broadcast will be next Thursday. One of the primary contributors that I plan to be training and working with is the station’s secretary Layata who has a strong interest in gaining skills in radio.

Also, Farouza, who has added reading the news to her duties as a music show presenter, has asked me to co-produce a segment that she want to add to her show that she calls “Serious Issues for Serious People”. She envisions the segment opening with interviews, testimonials or articles to give a foundation of information on a given subject (the first topic she wanted to look at is marital rape), and then she wants to open the phone lines and moderate a discussion of the topic.

Not really a JHR task, but certainly added value, is that the section of my music collection that I brought to Ghana is getting added to the stations database – which a few of the presenters are quite happy about.

Hopefully, this weekend will see me in Accra again to celebrate my birthday. I don’t really want to be traveling there right now, but I would love to be there for my birthday. I am thinking about the fact that I am turning 27 years of age…27…just thoughts about where I am at, where I am going. Being here has been a blessing in that sense, where I have been given the chance to grow tremendously and to face so many questions. Day by day, realizations and wisdom com and guide the next step.

As for the birthday, there will potentially be maybe 15-20 people at my party, which is cool because I don’t even live or work in Accra. I would love to be celebrating with all my people from home too, but this will be my first time having a birthday away from home. Being that I always have a number of people get together, it will be different.

The pastor that baptized me, Pastor James from Revival Time Tabernacle in Toronto will also be coming to Ghana on my birthday as part of a week long ‘crusade’ that he will be ministering at. I thought that was a pretty interesting alignment of stars!

You know, for awhile I wanted to switch from my placement in Tamale down to one in Accra at the university radio station. I would really like to be on the campus with the students and the professors, as well as being able to spend time in their library which is a place that gives the feeling that you have just stepped out of a time machine into another generation. However, there are a number of projects that I am working on up here that I really want to accomplish. We are doing Human Rights Public Service Announcements, a Human Rights Song and Poetry Contest, and I am thinking of putting together (with students from a secondary school) a human rights play that we will broadcast). Developing Layata into a presenter and reporter is also important to me.

I don’t imagine that I will travel too much until December when I come to Accra for Christmas. I really wanted to visit my friend Ndija in Egypt when she gets there in December, but I don’t know if that will be possible. God’s will be done! It would be amazing to see her there and to visit the pyramids and the Egyptian coast line. A visit to Israel would also be incredible, but I am not sure if that is what I am supposed to do at this point. However, I will be going on some stories to some of the villages in the northern countryside. I will also be going to visit the animal reserve at Mole Park (which is west of here by 300kms). There is one other trip that I would like to make which is to Mali – through the desert – to see Timbuktu. I would love to see the desert.

Sometimes I just wish I could share more of Ghana with people, even just some friends being here. It seems funny, but I think I could be a pretty good tour guide in Ghana. Though there is much I have not seen, I could give a decent two tour of the country!

I will close this letter now, but as I close there are a few more thoughts I want to add.

I am grateful for life. Grateful for every moment. I have been blessed with this opportunity to be here – the growth has been a gift and was very necessary. I am taking one moment and one step at a time and learning to give my best to each, and learning that my best keeps getting better. Sometimes the thoughts of the future or the past get to be a lot, but I let all that go. Everything I need to know is with me, and everything that I will need will come – my role is to give my best. I think of the word, Isaiah 49:23 “thou shalt know that I am the Lord: for they shall not be ashamed that wait for me”.

Stay Blessed!

“I have to quit my job to save my life” - Ramadan

Thursday, October 12, 2006 – Tamale, Ghana

Today I arrived at the office at 7:30am. My day started earlier than usual as Layata, the Radio Justice secretary, informed me that she would be reading something on-air during the morning news. Being that Soldier (the station driver) comes to pick my neighbour and I up in the morning her early morning appointment also became mine.

It was nice to be at the office early (though it was only an hour earlier than usual). I took some time to put a few things in order, write my monthly report and prepare for a story that Ramadan and I would be going out on at 9am. The story is relevant, but not an intense human rights topic: We were looking at the free nighttime calls from 12:30am to 5:00am on the Areeba cell phone network. The advertisements promote the service in a way that encourages people to set their alarms for 12:30am and join the ‘all night talking on the phone for free party’. We were looking at two angles to this: who uses the service most frequently (noting that students, youth, and those who can not afford to make calls during the times that charge per second) and the health effects of disrupted sleep.

After losing track of time in my work, Ramadan strolled into my office just after 10am. Soon afterwards, we were on our way to conduct a series of interviews to collect the voices and opinions on the issue. We began with Areeba staff at the main office in Tamale, and continued with a wide cross-section of people within the community.

When we were satisfied with what we had collected, Ramadan went to the internet café to collect some news pieces, while I went with Soldier to my house to pick up the research that I had done on the effects of disrupted sleep.

Having made a few attempts since coming to Tamale to call the local Human Rights Commission with no luck, I decided to use this chance to see if I could find anyone there. The way to the HRC office is near the middle of town, and down a winding road that passes quite a few offices and is in the next building after the all girls secondary school (which I found out is the only of its kind in the region).

After a few brief inquiries, I was happy to find a man working as a paralegal named Alhaspam Sridu. We spoke about the work that we each do and decided that we would meet again next week. As I went to meet Solider in the car and we returned back up the winding road that we had come down, he informed me that there was another reporter from Justice that we would pick up before we got Ramadan. We pulled up to a building which looked like a school, especially due to the school age girls hanging around on the front steps. Though Soldier said he would go inside and get him, I decided to also head inside. I was told that the event was not finished yet because the Regional Minister was about to speak. I was walked into the place, which was full from end to end, with the exception of two seats in the centre of the room that we sat down in. I then tuned into the speech of the minister.

If I had not been informed that the event was for the announcement of some scholarships for female students, I would have had no clue why the back half of the very large room was full of young girls.

Based on the speech being given, I would have thought that it was a press conference for the minister to announce his stance with the media and to get some other issues off of his chest.

He told the crowd that “there is one particular media house in town that I have a lawsuit against”. Standing at the front of the room with a large police officer standing intimately close to his back, they both stood there scanning the crowd. The officer was scanning for any movement in the direction of the minister, while the minister was scanning the crowd to see their reaction to his words.

He bragged of the lawyers that he had building a case against that “media house in town” that is “maligning his character”. He boasted that he would take the station for everything that it is worth, and then, to the gleeful applause of the young girls who loved the idea of more money coming their way, he claimed that he would donate all of the proceeds of the lawsuit to the female secondary school (I found that puzzling, as a man in public office I figured any such lawsuit would go to the state).

Referring to a news piece that was widely covered a few days ago on an announcement by the Ghanian Journalist Association that were seeking to rid the industry of unaccredited imposter journalists, the minister threatened that he would have “untrained journalists that did not go to school dragged out of press conferences”. He directly linked this measure to media house that he claimed to be building a lawsuit against, indicating that this measure would affect them. His last comment on the media was the suggestion that there be a meeting of “all media men in the region” so that they would know each other by face and could be recognized.

Apparently, the last four press conferences / public presentations that he has spoken at have been dominated by this issue.

As he continued to speak, he moved into the issue of the Dagbon people. He made the remark that “Dagbon is so small, but when they cause trouble, we all feel it”. He warned that he would not tolerate any disturbance and repeatedly used the word “ruthless” to describe how he would handle all involved. The comment that, if he could not find those responsible for “any disturbances”, that he would take their chief, was followed up with the quote “and you will wonder why you have no chief”. At that point he wanted to make it clear that he has “full authority and full support from the government” to do such, at which he reminded the audience, once again, that he would be “ruthless”. I found it to be alarming that his smile and the glint in his eyes did not change throughout his talk; it was the same when he promised to give the proceeds from the lawsuit to the girls as it was when he threatened a ruthless attitude against any that “cause disturbances”.


Having attended an emergency meeting at Justice a few weeks ago, I was aware of the details going on behind the scenes, and that the unnamed media house that he referred to was Radio Justice. In the conference hall, which also doubles as my office, the entire staff at Justice were called to a meeting where we were all addressed by the Chief Executive of the station. The issue was a lawsuit that the Regional Minister was threatening the station with, and the pressure that he has been putting on the Chief Executive. The suggestion by the minister is that false statements have been made about him on the station, primarily, his role (or lack thereof) in the rest cheiftancy issue that sent the region into a dangerous armed conflict. He and his representatives have not presented any evidence of their accusations and have refused to sit down for a meeting and have refused to review the tapes in our station’s records that contain the shows in question.

Even with no evidence or substance to these accusations, the pressure that the minister is applying must have been substantial to warrant such a response. The Chief Executive asserted that there must be a cease to all discussion of the issue and regarding the minister, unless they are referring to an official press release / press conference they would have to:

Control the comments from the public call-in shows to restrict them from speaking about the issues.
All presenter and reporters refrain from comment.

The quote of the day from the Chief Executive was, “I don’t do politics, politics don’t make me money”.

While sitting in on the speech of the Regional Minister, my mind went back to that day at the meeting. While I was aware of the threat of a lawsuit against Justice (which they do not fear, as they would love the courts to find the Regional Minister out of line), it seemed that many in attendance also knew the media house that he was referring to.

I, personally, found the comments to be brazen, and my thoughts were still on the speech when we picked up Ramadan from the internet café. As we drove back to the station, we filled Ramadan in on the details knowing that he has a particular interest in this information. This particular interest is that the Regional Minister is actually Ramadan’s uncle, and the primary focus of this attack was actually Ramadan.

In addition to this, Ramadan has been receiving subtle threats and even got a phone call from a young man that claimed to be a part of the minister’s camp who told Ramadan that he and his girlfriend should be careful. A recent case of a man who, at the request of the government was picked up by police, turned over to the military and found naked, beaten and dead at the doors of the mortuary was also on his mind. The sentiment is that if the King in the region and forty of his men can be killed with no arrests, than what of everyone else?

With all of this on his mind, I went to see Ramadan in his office where he told me that, “I have to quit my job to save my life”. Having to finish editing the afternoon news, he requested to come and talk when he was finished in my office.

When he came in, he began to tell me how he was afraid for his life and for the well-being of his mother who is ill.

“He knows me and I know him”, he said of his uncle.

Turning reflective, he began to go back to days as a young boy. The story – the first time that he ever shared it with someone – continued of how he went from the Upper East, through the Sahara to Algeria, where he faced thirst, hunger and prison. He then eventually made it to Libya and traveled through Northern Africa, until finally making it back to Ghana. It was in Northern Africa where he was introduced to journalism, but back in Ghana where he studied to join the profession. The main reason that he had left Ghana in the first place was because he could not afford his school fees, and his uncle (who was in the government at that time, and had been assisted in his own schooling by Ramadan’s father) declined to assist, and failed to even follow-through with the payment of school fees for Ramadan’s two older siblings.

The pain and bitterness in the story was clear and apparent.

One point that must be added is that of all of the criticism of the minister (which really is only the presentation of evidence and facts that are not favourable to his interests and open discussion on the subject) was not put out by Ramadan. There seems to be this assumption that Ramadan should, by all means, defend the interest of his uncle over the reality of any situation of the responsibility of his position as a reporter and a journalist. While Ramadan is committed to tell the story based on facts, regardless of who it implicates, he has very little to do with comments in question.

After divulging all of this and more to me – with all of the emotions attached to the situation – I sit here wondering a lot. I have been in Ghana for a few months, but I do not know the true modus operendum in the nation. It is hard for me to advise him. I want to encourage him to hang in there, and keep fighting. Then I get other comments where staff have made sure people in town do not know that they are from Justice. And then I think of me, sitting with a known Justice reporter – the lone Silminga in the building – and realize that they might also associate me to this issue now. I listen to Ramadan’s concerns and wonder if the threat is really something to be concerned about, or if this is just posturing and flexing muscles for the minister to get his way.

Adding fuel to the engine of contemplation, I met the morning after all of this to reports of threats against four journalists who have been critical of the Ashanti chief who, with reasonable evidence, has been implicated in the country’s recent cocaine scandal. They are being targeted because, as the Ashanti Youth (which is not an organization, but actually a large group of Ashanti youth) asserts, they should not be characterizing a man who holds such an office in that way…even if he is the only person of the many officials named on a surveillance tape that was not called to testify. The journalists were just asking the question why, but now the threat has been put out that any journalist to mention the name of the Ashanti king in a defaming manner is putting themselves at risk…as for why he wasn’t called to testify, he is the presidents King...

"IF"

The following is a poem that we would all be enriched by if we were to embody these words (Courtesy of Grandma).

The poem, simply entitled "IF", was written in the late 1800's by Rudyard Kipling.

If you can keep your head when all about
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master:
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but not too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth anmd everything that's in it,
AND - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

Hey From Tamale

When you haven’t seen a post in a few days it usually means two things:

1. The obstacles in the way of getting to a computer with internet access are many.
2. I am living life and building up many more stories.

This time, it was a bit of both – but moreso – it was number two!

Over the weekend I went from Tamale to Accra for the Jay-Z concert. I also had a number of tasks to take care of, some new family of some friends to meet, and a stop to make in Kumasi.

At this very moment, I can’t get into it all, but there is lots to tell. Not to leave out all the details, I will give some headings that I will be covering.

The bus trip to Accra (that was an ordeal).

Friday in Accra / Back at the Ackerson’s

Jay-Z: Live in Ghana!

An Unexpected JHR Meeting

Church Number Seven (I am getting tired of standing at the ‘first time visitor’ call out).

Yaw, Anokye, and Nana’s Grandma -- A Visit To New Russia

Idrissa’s B-Day: ‘Go Shorty, It’s Your Birthday’ (that song really came on in the car)

The Bus Trip To Kumasi: I Won’t Be Broken! (that was an ordeal).

Nuri-Haque aka Bush!

Getting Back To Tamale

Being A Journalist Can Be Dangerous: A Mob in Kumasi

The Bus Trip To Tamale (that was an ordeal).

Genesis and Lightning

JHR Update

Well, today it feels like Africa; what I mean is that the sun is hot!!! Yesterday I got a lot of sun on the back of my neck: the back of my neck is dark brown now, while the rest of me is ‘white and bright’. Being that we have been in the rainy season it has been relatively cool (which is still warm). It seems we are coming to the end of the rain clouds, and after a few more weeks of off-and-on rain storms, I think we are going to feel the sun in all of it’s glory.

Sorry to cut out so quickly, but I need to get to work and handle a whole load of things!

Talk to you all soon.