Attitudes — Are they in the DNA?

November 16th, 2006

Attitudes:  Are They Transmitted through DNA? ©
 

©By Kali Sichen
 

Today, a young Ghanaian postal worker was upset when I asked her a simple question, “Why does it take 30 days for a registered letter to be delivered from this post office, when I was told earlier this week at the main post office that delivery will take 7 to 10 days?” 

 

This question was quite valid to me, since the two post offices were in the same town.  But the young girl was annoyed that I had the audacity to question her, so I asked to speak to the postal manager.  I had to decide how to post some documents without spending three hundred thousand cedis, which is the monthly salary for many working people in this town.

 

Based on the answer from the postal manager, I decided to check the speed of the mail and bought a simple stamp, with no frills or registration.  I gave the same postal clerk the single bill to pay for the stamp; she picked it up by the edge, as if it was infected with a virus, and dropped it on the counter.  I thanked her for being so “gracious” and took my letter to the box and posted it.

 

I have found this attitude to be very common among the working women in the service sector, especially in government offices in Ghana.  It is as if they are annoyed that they have to be on the job, and even more annoyed that you want them to perform their job!  Then I remembered that this attitude is about the same as that which we see in America, among some African American women, especially those in government jobs and the social service sector.  Many of the women act as if they are doing you a favor to even be there, and if they actually do the job they are paid to do, then you should bow down to them with gratitude and thanks.

 

One of the best comedy skits that I have seen on “Saturday Night Live” comedy show in America was a take off on the African American female postal worker.  The postal worker had extra long false fingernails painted with extravagant designs, a hairdo that required stiff hair gel; she had an attitude that would make you beat your chest in anger.  Whoever wrote that skit certainly had that experience more than one time, because the skit was perfectly written and executed.  I laughed until I was almost in tears.

 

According to my own experience, not just in the post office, but in many other stores and services, this “chip on the shoulder, what are you asking me to do” attitude is prevalent among the African women and the African American women.   This is certainly not a condemnation of all African American women or Ghanaian women, because I have had good service from most.  Is it just a coincidence that their expressions, the same smacking of the lips, sucking of the teeth, rolling of the neck, rolling of the eyes are the same in many African countries as well as it is in America?  So I wonder if this attitude is transmitted in the D. N. A. 

 

Sometimes I see gestures, posturing and hand waving that look just like the folks standing on the corners in “the hood” in America.  This tells me for sure that we are the same people.  We just haven’t had the exposure to each other’s every day life, through media or any other source that we can imitate.  The idiosyncrasies are too similar, and must just “run in the blood”, in the D.N.A.    

 

We really have to learn to treat each other better, both on the continent and in the Diaspora.  I believe that this lack of respect for our sisters and brothers is simply a lack of respect for ourselves.  We can not make progress if we harbor so much self hatred.  I have seen the same workers change their attitude when dealing with people of races other than our own.  No African would dare to display that disrespectful attitude toward a white woman or a white man.  They are simply too afraid of Europeans.  So they grin and shuffle whenever a white person approaches them, the same as many of our people do in the States.

 

I have witnessed this change of attitude when dealing with the clerks in the local Shell station store in Elmina.  The women have always had an attitude when I visit the store, and there have been times when I refused to purchase the products because of their nasty attitudes.  It appears as if they don’t want to issue a receipt for purchases; the women assume a very nasty posture when I ask for a receipt.  One day I refuse the purchase because of the poor service.  As I was leaving, a European woman was entering the store, so I decided to observe the clerk’s behavior.  The same clerk, who always treated me like dirt, smiled and gave the European woman the most gracious service.

 

Here is another case in point. There are two wonderful ladies who work at my local post office in South Atlanta, Georgia, USA.  Because of my mail order business in Georgia, I see these women three to five times a week.  They are friendly and helpful, and give me all the respect.  One day, however, I arrived at the post office at my usual late hour, near closing time, and one of the ladies told me she was in a very bad mood.  I understood, and kept to my business without any small talk.  But when the white woman from a local business, whom I always meet at the post office around closing time, arrived a few minutes later, the postal clerk cheerfully greeted her with smiles, laughter and small talk.  I made no comment; I simply noted how she changed when she dealt with white people.   This behavior is just an example of how we interact with each other, and how we change that behavior when interacting with others whom we either fear or whom we hold in reverence.

 

One unfortunate exposure that is having a negative influence in the youth here in Ghana, is the “bad boy, hoodlum, rap videos” that are being shown on TV.  I have seen some young boys wearing their trousers low down over their rear end, exposing their underwear.  I am told that the Ghanaian members of parliament are planning to outlaw this type of dress.  Sure, freedom of expression is something that we all desire, but to mimic such behavior, which has its roots in the American prison environment, is not only stupid, but it is self-effacing and self destructive. 

 

It is my understanding that this style of wearing over-sized low ridding trousers came out of the American prison population.  Prisoners are given standard sizes and are not allowed to wear a belt.  So if the pants are too big, it just rides the rear end.  For this style of dress to have infiltrated the African American popular culture, and then to move to the African continent, begs for an answer; “If our role model, idol and aspiration is to become a prisoner, what kind of value system is this?!”

 

I enjoy the Nigerian produced movies that are shown on television here in Ghana.  I like the simplicity of the stories, some which are based on traditional lore and legends. However, I am beginning to see a change in the story lines lately, with the Hollywood gangster image, and violence toward women mimicked on the screen.  I was in a department store watching an ongoing video which was playing on simultaneously on several televisions; I was comparing the picture quality, and planning to purchase a TV set.  As I gazed at the screens, I realized that something was happening to the woman.  There was a man sitting in front of the woman, the woman was moaning and groaning in great pain and agony.  The man appeared to be poking something between her legs.  I continued to watch the TV screens, amazed that such a scene would be on public display for all to see.  Out from between the woman’s legs, the man brought a bloody Coca Cola bottle!  The woman was being raped with a Coke bottle!

 

I was outraged!  I asked the sales clerk if he knew the nature of the video that was showing.  Did he know what was happening to that woman on the screen?  He laughed and ignored me.  I asked to see his manager.  He pointed to a western suited East Indian near the check out line.  I approached the manager and tugged at his arm to follow me.  He was shocked that I would touch him, he being the boss and used to the unspoken caste/class system in place in most African nations, i.e., white man on top, brown man in the middle and black man at the bottom.  He jerked his arm away from me, but I continued to hold him to the television section of the store.  Everyone was amazed that I would take the man by the coat, but as they realized that I was an American, they thought that I just didn’t know better. 

 

I told the Indian about the scene in the video, and reprimanded him for allowing such a horrible movie to be in the public view.  He blamed the sales clerk saying, “Oh, these are just Junior Secondary School graduates, they don’t have class or sophistication.”  I responded, “But you hired them and you are responsible!”  He took the video out of the DVD player and gave it to me.  “You can have it,” he said.  I took the DVD, bent it and gave it back to him.

 

Just a few years ago, a scene like that, a woman being raped, would never be shown on Ghana television, and even though the movie was on a DVD, years ago that level of cruelty and violence against women was not projected in movies produced in Africa.  So the Western influence has penetrated into the culture too much, and scenes such as this will certainly have an impact on the populous. Many of them believe that they should imitate everything that they see from Europe and America which shines and glitters.

 

Many behaviors are created by repeated exposure and circumstances.  The “Willie Lynch Syndrome” is still very much alive in Africa, as it is throughout the African Diaspora.  As the seasoned slave master from the West Indies , Willie Lynch, taught the new Virginia slave master back in the 17th century ”How to Make a Slave”; 
 

“Separate them in every imaginable way, especially by color, by height, by age, by hair texture and by sex, and teach them to distrust each other, and to love only you, the slave master.  They will teach their children and this behavior will be self perpetuating for four hundred years” 
 

Some attitudes, I believe, are a genetic memory.  The fun loving, singing and dancing, optimistic, happy and smiling, lively and sociable outlook that we see widespread throughout the African societies, is simply the nature of a people who were blessed by God with abundant food, warm weather and close family ties.  Nature did not harm us, but supported us in our natural, easy-living tropical environ.  Just as we find Europeans who are cold, unfriendly, selfish, combative, war-mongering and self-absorbed, they are reflective of a hostile environment that demanded that they overpower the elements of the freezing cold weather to survive.

 

Our four hundred years of the “Willie Lynch Syndrome” is over, and we need to move forward.  One major element which contributes greatly to the perpetuation of this syndrome is the image of the “Savior, Jesus Christ”, as a blond haired, blue eyed man.  This image is especially powerful in Africa, because of the myth of white supremacy and the lack of exposure of the masses of people to the Caucasian race. 

 

In America, because we African Americans have so much exposure to Euro-Americans, at work, in school, on television, everywhere we look, we see them in all their disguises, and we know who they really are.  Most Africans have never sat down with a European to talk or eat or socialize or exchange ideas in a one-on-one and equal setting.  Therefore, they do not know the true nature of the European race.

 

I know that one can not paint everyone with a broad brush, but there are personality differences that are characteristic of a people.  I see it clearly in African societies, just as in the African American society.  Even though we have been separated for hundreds of years, the genetic memory and behavioral patterns still live, and it is very difficult to erase.  Our names have been changed, our language is changed our clothing is changed, our education is changed and our religion is changed, but our behavior has not changed; we are the same people.   Apparently, it runs in our genes, our D.N.A.   Let us hold on to the positive traits and nurture those; let us caste out those negative behaviors that keep us angry at each other, and divided from one another.  The strong D.N.A. can thrust us forward into a new beginning for the twenty-first century.  In the words of the great Osagyefo Dr. Kwame Nkrumah, “Forward Ever, Backwards – Never!!”

 

Totting Christianity to Africa

November 15th, 2006

Totting Christianity to Africa~
Diaspora Africans Don the Cloak of Missionary©
 

By Kali Sichen, Iture, Elmina, Ghana, West Africa

I escaped the New World in search of peace, quiet and comfort.  The stresses of the “civilized world” had taken its toll on me; to save myself, I traveled a tiny fishing village from which many of my forefathers were captured and sold into slavery.  It was a fitting retreat to secure a bit of solace from a demanding business and a demanding relationship. 

Mother Luck found me a comfortable place to live, with a mature woman from New York, who had made a place of retreat for her children and friends, comfort in the Mother Land.  As Luck would have it, I asked if there was possibly a permanent place to lay my head, and within a day, I was introduced to a local man who domiciled in France. He had built a vacation cottage on the ocean front.  He was returning to France in a few days, and was looking to lease his cottage for two years.

As Destiny would dictate as well, the cottage was beside a church pastured by European American Christian Missionaries, who had raised a family in Africa.  However, the family no longer lived at the Mission.  Rumor had it that they were out of town when they ventured into a remote village with the message that those villages didn’t want to hear. 

That wasn’t the end of my confrontation with the Christian dogma.  As a child of 12 years, I rejected Christianity when I discovered the hypocrisy of the church elders and community leaders in the southern town where I grew up. To further complicate my own beliefs and values,  I received messages to expect family friends in Elmina, who were passing through on tour.  Ironically, both of the friends were women, and both were Christian ministers.

This posed a dilemma for me.  Both of the women I knew and loved; they both were really good people.  They were sincere, good hearted and out to make a difference in the lives of the people they met.  These women were not at all in the category of the pedophile priests who disgraced Catholicism, the television preaching warmongering hypocrites who blemished the face of evangelism and the Baptist ministers who don’t know how to keep their pants up and their hands out of their parishioners’ pockets.  

These two women were matured women who had worked hard all their lives, had raised wonderful children and still had more time and more heart to give in service to others.  So I thought to myself, how do I handle this situation, with people I deeply respect and admire, who were totting a philosophy that I questioned?   Then I asked, why are they totting this philosophy?

It has been extremely difficult to teach the truth about anything in America.  Americans have been hoodwinked into thinking that they live in a country of freedom of information, freedom of the press and freedom of expression.  What the majority of the people do not understand is that none of this is true.  Revelations over the past months have uncovered a leadership, presidential and congressional, whose greatest efforts are designed to keep the public from knowing the truth about anything.  All forms of media, including radio, television, newspapers and magazines all belong to a few wealthy families, and only the news that serves their interest in published.  

Educational institutions do an even greater disservice in teaching truth, especially about the history of this world.  As a result, the Christian dogma, which sanctioned the genocide of Native Americans, the robbery of their land, the enslavement of Africans for the wealth and financial gain of the ruling class, has left out the truth about these evil deeds from the books used for education and learning.  They have instead justified their evil deed in the name of teaching “Christian values” and “salvation through Christ”.

What I can’t understand is how anyone, especially intelligent, educated thinkers, can not see that those who are bringing the teachings of Christ are doing the greatest evil in this world, in the name of Christ.  Why can’t these women, whom I respect and appreciate so much, see that the greatest enemy to the well being of the people, to whom they are preaching the word of Christ, is the messenger whose word they preach, the Church elders?

When I listen to “Christians” speak of their “salvation”, I believe that they leave their thinking brains on the bed pillows when they go to church.  Logic would ask questions, especially in Africa, how has Christ saved them when they sit at the entry to a gold mine in their own land, and beg for food?  Why is it that the wealth, by which the entire world sets a standard value, gold, is found mostly in the land where the poorest people live?  If Christ is your salvation, why are you suffering from a lack of basic survival goods and services?

Then my question to the Diaspora African missionaries is this – “How can you support a doctrine that denies the basic survival goods and human rights to the people to whom you minister?”  In the case of my two women ministers, I know that they both are aware that the wealth of the European and American people comes out of Africa.  If the natural resources of Africa were to cease shipping tomorrow, every assembly line, every production facility, every stock market in the world would collapse within 24 hours, and the world’s economy would crash within three days.

So what do the African people get for holding the world on their shoulders?  They get “salvation through the blood of Christ”.  They don’t get enough food, clothing, health care, clean water, roads, decent housing or education for their children– any of these!  They just get “salvation”

Frankly, I wish I knew what “salvation” means!!  If salvation means to “save”, then how are they being “saved”, and what are they being “saved” from?  Salvation can mean “deliverance”; are the Africans being delivered from poverty, hunger, poor health care?  Salvation can mean “rescue”; are the Africans being rescued from hopelessness, exploitation or malnutrition?  Salvation can mean “recovery”; are the Africans recovering their stolen land, their stolen resources and their stolen people? 

Most interesting of all is that “deliverance” can mean “escape”.  This, I believe, is the true meaning of “salvation through the blood of Christ”.  Salvation, as it applies to the Christian doctrine serving the African people, is that they are provided an “escape” from the truth of their lives.  Instead of food they are feed rhetoric, instead of water they drink Christian gospel songs which don’t even apply to them; i.e., “Amazing grace, how sweet the sound, to save a wretch like me”. This song was written by a slave trader who knew that trafficking in human beings was a wretched business, hence, he was the “wretch” who was grateful to be saved.  This song doesn’t apply to the African.

Another song, “I will cling to the old rugged cross, and exchange it someday for a crown”.  Africans were wearing crowns when they were given Christianity, and in exchange for the crowns, their Kings were given the title of “chief”, which stripped them of their royal titles.  Instead of wearing their own traditional clothing today, their meager salaries only allow them to purchase those discarded, used clothing of their European and American exploiters.

This one day allowed for “escape” from your earthly burdens, to seek “salvation” in a promised afterlife, keeps the African in tow, so that their Euro-American exploiters can continue to enjoy this life in the “here and now”.  If all who use these words would just simply take your brains with you to church next Sunday, and ask questions about the sermon you are being “spoon-fed”, you would leave the church with clarity and focus, instead of more sand in your eyes.

The masses have been mesmerized, put to sleep, and zombe-fied, walking around in a deep sleep, under the spell of an evil demon, in the guise of Christian church elders.  The preachers and elders have convinced the people, in spite of all logical evidence, that he is their salvation.

It is the lack of education about yourself and your history, which has placed all the people in this stupor.  You cannot operate in darkness, and it is the darkness of ignorance and knowledge of your self and your history, that allows for the evil demon to possess you!

Both of the women ministers are well educated.  In fact, one who just graduated from Divinity school was traveling with her professor on a group tour of Africa.  Hence, you must question the type of education they received.  Were they given the true history of Christianity?  Do they know about the original battle that loomed over Christianity from its inception in Africa until the days of Constantine and the Council of Nicea in 425 AD?  Do they know about Constantine’s ongoing dispute with the African Elders of the Church, and Aurius in particular?  Do they know the role of the Roman Ptolemy family and Serapes, who wanted to introduce himself and the Romans as “gods” into the hierarchy of the saints?   Do they know about the oldest church in Europe, built by Africans in Constantinople, in honor of the Mother-Goddess of Wisdom, the Hygia Sophia?  Do they know that the first popes of the Church, which was the Coptic Egyptian Christian church, were Africans?  Do they know about the paintings of Michelangelo and the depiction of Jesus as a blonde-haired, blue-eyed man?  Do they know who Joshua Ben Pendera was, and how the life of Jesus of the New Testament was based on the true history of this man?  Do they know how women were removed from the Holy Trinity at the inception of the patriarchal dominance of the Church, i.e., the Father, Son & Holy Ghost instead of the Father, Mother and Son?  Do they know that the original Madonna and Child were not Mary and Jesus but Isis (Auset) and Horus (Heru), the Black Madonna who is still worshiped in Europe, and the Vatican instead of the white Mary and Jesus?   Can women go forward into a church that denies them their just place in the hierarchy and the scriptures?

If these teachings were not a part of the learning of the Christian missionaries, then they have not been given the truth in the so-called “truths” that they preach. As a result, they are totting the deceptions and lies of enslavement and indoctrination to Africa for the “slave master” himself.  No longer does the European or American missionary have to endanger his own life in the tropical heat, risking malaria and other tropical diseases.  He has sufficiently trained his “servants” in the Diaspora to act on his behalf, to assure his dominance and white supremacy for at least another generation.

I do not blame these wonderful women whose hearts and souls are given to their work.  They are victims of a cruel demon who purports to be godly.   If the “devil” lives among us, who is credited with the “sins” that we are to be “saved” from really exists, and possesses all this power, don’t we realize that he would disguise himself as a saint to lure us into his unsuspecting trap?  Certainly he would point to someone else as the “evil one” as is the case today, with Christianity and Judaism pointing to Islam as the “demon” and Islam pointing to Christianity and Judaism as the “demon”.  Critical analysis is needed by thinking persons to examine these “isms” for themselves, in order to free themselves from religious dogma and “false prophets”. 
 

As for the “gifts” the African Diaspora missionaries bring to Africa, I have heard many church preachers and elders brag about the churches, clinics and schools their American parishioners are building in Africa.  Clinics and schools are desperately needed, provided they are not a continuation of the religious dogma and indoctrination processes.  I believe that these congregations would better serve these African communities by digging wells for fresh, clean water, providing sanitation in the form of toilets and bathing facilities and assisting with irrigation in dry places so that the people would thrive in a truly “clean and godly” environment.  Sanitation is far more needed in Africa than any church, and if each congregation in the African Diaspora provides one village with just these facilities, that congregation has really acted in the true sense of Christian salvation.

I know that by writing these words and asking these questions, I will be called all kinds of names, “savage, heathen, demon, and devil worshipper, blasphemous” and a multitude of words even more damaging.  But I quote a friend and elder, Condemnation without investigation is the height of ignorance.”
 

In concluding, I beg you to please investigate these religious teachings before repeating words you don’t understand and totting indoctrination and mental enslavement” to people you think you are “saving”!!  Investigate, read your history, ask questions at the theology schools, ask questions of your minister.  If they are unable to give you sensible and concise answers, you are being misled and mis-educated. 

Accept nothing on blind faith!  Don’t be led to the “gas chambers” on blind faith!  Don’t feed your children (your future) or your parishioners a “faith” just because you were fed that same “faith”.  “Faith pills” do not always cure us from disease; sometimes they kill us!

The Iron Benders

November 15th, 2006

The Iron Benders & Stone Masons – Skills Preserved from
Ancient Times by African Craftsmen and Builders©
By Kali Sichen
 

After many years of watching pre-fabricated, factory assembled houses constructed and completed within five days in America, it has been quite a treat to see steel and stone foundations structured by hand, expertise that is carried over by craftsmen with the skills from ancient days.  I have the pleasure of watching this craftsmanship unfold at my doorstep, while listening to the waves crashing against the rocks at my front door.

A steady and reliable access to water is a real challenge in this village.  If you want water each time you turn on the faucet, you have to erect your own water tower.  At times during the dry season, water does not run in the pipes supplied by the municipality for days, and sometimes there is no water for weeks.  Therefore, people are left to their own resources, and have to obtain water from wherever they can find it.

For most villagers, this means carrying water on their heads for long distances.  This can be a real chore.  For those with just moderate financial resources, they are able to purchase a water holding tank to supply a steady water source.  The water tower is constructed high over the residence, to assure enough pressure to force the water to the desired areas of the house, the kitchen and the bathroom. 

Construction of these high towers takes great skill.  This is an even greater challenge when a tower is being constructed close the ocean.  The torrential tropical rains and high winds, thunder and lightening bolts that accompany these storms roaring in from the ocean, and the constant high humidity and salty air, is a hazard to almost any structure.

However, I have seen many of these towers and buildings stand quite well, even under these adverse conditions.

This is truly a testament to the solid workmanship that goes into these buildings, and I wonder if the pre-fabricated houses that are being built close to my home in suburban Atlanta could withstand these conditions.  I don’t believe that the factory made houses could last even one year on this tropical shore.  I remember one storm that hit South Atlanta which caused several of the newly constructed houses to spring leaks, loose roof-tops and crack siding, and I felt real compassion for the people who had just mortgaged their lives for 30 years to buy a house for $180,000.00, knowing that after 30 years the total payment could reach at least $500,000.00.  This figure, of course, does not include repairs and maintenance, new roofs and new appliances. 

While talking to the stone mason one day, he told me that some of the mud and thatched roof huts in old Elmina town and Iture village have stood for more than 200 years.  I am told that this area where I am staying has been in existence for the last 700 years!   I still don’t understand how a mud house can withstand the torrential rains and high winds of these tropical storms.  So I beg to wonder how God has favored the simplicity of life and closeness to Nature maintained by the inhabitants.

Even though there are water challenges and many other utility problems, especially the electricity supply that we take for granted in America, I choose to face these shortcomings.  I have found a peace of mind, I sleep soundly at night, and I don’t fear being the victim of racial profiling when I walk or ride down the street, minding my own business.  

I am grateful for the slow process of steel and cement construction, the iron benders and the stone masons, because at the end of this gradual building procedure, there is a structure that will withstand the ravages of Mother Nature for centuries. 

Playing Football By the Ocean and the Danger of Loosing the Ball to the Waves

November 15th, 2006

Playing Football by the Ocean and the Danger of
Loosing the Ball to the Waves: 
Training Grounds for the
Future Black Stars ©
 

©by Kali Sichen
 

At the height, I counted 21 boys, mostly teens, some a little younger, maybe one or two over 18 years.  They gathered in the grassy knoll of a white American missionary church yard which was deserted and left in the hands of locals.  But that’s another story.

 

The weather was balmy in the late afternoon.  After the stinging rays of the equatorial sun subsided, the breeze of the Atlantic Ocean ascended.   My beloved ocean front cottage lies next door to this Christian mission.  I was sitting on the screened veranda (we call it a porch in the old south), watching the ocean waves, after a busy afternoon connecting with business interests in the USA. 

 

The boys descended on the grounds with a thunderous roar.  They were excited about kicking the soccer ball around in a suitable, flat field.  It was a safe area.  Half of them wore shoes, some wore only socks, and others were bare foot.  These disparities made no difference to them.  They were ready to play.

 

There were no goal posts, no net, and the stadium “seating” was the ocean front. Only the waves bore witness to the game.  It was apparent that the object was to kick the ball around with as much skill and power as any could muster.  The game was on!

 

I noticed that a young father had joined the group.  He was sitting on the sidelines, on the back steps of the church, with his two year old daughter climbing all over him.  He was patient and attentive; he seemed not at all perturbed at the presence of the baby.  Later on, I noticed that some of the smaller boys, not yet teens, took over the care of the baby girl; they were riding her on their backs.  Meanwhile, the young father had joined the game.  “It takes a village to raise a child”, an African proverb, is more than a catchy phase on the African continent.

 

The excitement of the nation of Ghana’s “Black Stars” actually qualifying for the semi-finals in the World Cup Soccer Games in Germany had infested the nation.  In fact, the whole of Africa was proud of Ghana’s achievement.  There was jubilation throughout the nation and around the continent.  Nigeria was ecstatic; Senegal was jubilant; South Africa was celebrating.   Naturally, every young boy in Ghana dreamed of becoming the next super-star football (soccer) player, with the hopes of climbing out of what he perceived to be a life of hopelessness, poverty and despair.  They were all honing their skills.

 

It took great dexterity to kick the ball around, while avoiding the ocean.  These youngsters were pretty good at it.  Most of them lived in the village just across an open field from my cottage.  They, also, shared the ocean as their front yard.  Their tiny huts were small, even compared to mine; some lived in mud huts with thatch roofs. 

 

None of these differences mattered while the game was on.  All were vying for the ball!  Hit it any way you can, with your foot, head, chest, shoulder, behind; just hit it, being careful not to break the official rules of the soccer game!

 

The clash was on; the ball moved backwards and forwards, kicked with bare feet, diverted with a single hard blow from the head, thrust from a sliding jolt from their youthful bodies.  “Pussy-cats” need not join the game!

 

The ball got away from time to time, sliding into the rocky raven dividing the grassy field from the ocean waves.  They were lucky for this small barrier, with enough space between the playing field and the powerful ocean to allow just a small leeway.  There appeared to be some built in pecking order which determined who would retrieve the ball from the raven.  Only the boys understood this social foray. 

 

The game lasted more than one hour as the evening light gradually faded.  The ball took a dive somewhere, and was apparently lost.  The older boys left the field, while the young boys stayed behind to search the ravens for the ball.  Soon everyone left the field, apparently unable to retrieve their prize.

 

The next day the small boys returned.  I noticed that the ball was found.  Someone was persistent enough to search diligently, and it proved successful.  Without the interference from the teenagers, this time the young boys could play the game with full participation.  They were happy.  As the game was over and the sun was setting, they stopped at my veranda to ask for water.  I was happy for them.

 

 

 

God Lives in Africa

November 12th, 2006

God Lives in Africa©
By Kali Sichen

July 17, 2006

Catchy phrases and popular sayings have a way of being uttered without any real consideration for their meaning.  But when, after visiting Africa,  the popular motion picture and television superstar, Will Smith declared to his adoring American audience that “God lives in Africa”, I wasn’t quite sure what he meant, and if he saw the same sights, sounds, smells, tastes, smiles, tears, laughter and reverences that I experience when I am in various African nations.

I’m certain the Will Smith has not seen some of the back streets in shanty towns and remote villages of Africa that I have seen.  No doubt, his hosts and sponsors on his African nation tours have kept him away from some of the more unsightly and horrific scenes that one finds in any poverty-ridden place of earth, including America. 

I see very ordinary life events as I walk the back road of this small village on the Atlantic coast.  Because access to the internet is a challenge, early mornings I stroll to the nearest resort hotel to use their business center four or five times a week.  Sometimes I travel the main road, and if the sun is too hot, I can easily take a shared taxi ride from the hotel junction to the muddy road to my beach front house.  More often, I walk the back street, through a tiny village, where, early mornings, I see children bathing, soaping themselves completely before pouring a small pan of water over their shiny bodies, or adults brushing their teeth vigorously with a small cup of water in hand.  There are the sheep trekking through the grasses, tasting tid-bits of luscious morsels of grass, and pigmy goats climbing the rocks searching for more interesting morsels of grass and wild flowers of the deep coastal gullies, testing their mountain climbing agility while defying the waves at the coastal front.

This village road was paved at one time, perhaps during the days of Osagafo Kwame Nkrumah, perhaps when this village passage road was the only access to the Elmina Beach Chalets.  Before the resort hotel was built, these tiny chalets were the weekend retreat for the rulers, the ministers and members of parliament of this new African nation.  Those tiny chalets were thrown to the wayside, to make room for the sprawling beach resort hotel.  The road through the village was replaced by a major two lane highway, and the village passage fell into total disrepair.  Here and there lie patches of pavement that reminisce of the days of glory when Ghana was riding high, head to the sky, shoulders back and chest out, with full knowledge that God had a new agenda for Africa, and Ghana was leading the way.  During the rainy season, this back road posed a great problem, with the puddles of muddy water that had to be navigated to continue the journey to the hotel. One particular puddle was a real ordeal; it was almost the size of a small pond.  Tall grass grew on both sides, and the sides of the puddle were like a slippery creek-bed, showing signs of other passers by who have already slipped into the muddy ravine.   On several occasions, I almost turned around to seek the main road, but decided that I would meet the obstacle instead.  I would hold tight to the tall grass, praying that it would hold fast and not break to leave me tumbling into the muddy waters.

I will never forget the day when I saw an older woman standing in the middle of that same mud puddle, taking the water in hand and putting it to her mouth.  She would slush the water around and spit it out.  The last handful I saw her swallow, and I said, “God lives in Africa”.   Here is a puddle of water that has been standing for at least 6 weeks, people and cars trekking through it, goats and sheep marching through, and this old woman is drinking from it! 

I was so dumb-founded that I thought that I would be speechless as I approached the elder, but I managed to smile and greet her, “Good Morning”; she smiled and replied, “Good Morning, Madame.”  I walked away, thinking that only an African could drink that water and survive, because God walks with them!

Several weeks later, as the rains were beginning to subside, and the puddle was getting smaller, from a distance I eyed an old man who was bent over in the same muddy puddle.  As I approached, I saw him removing what looked to me like rags, but which could possibly have been his only clothing.  He pulled them from a shaggy rice sack, one by one, and dipped them into the puddle.  At a closer view, it appeared that he was doing his laundry.  As I approached and passed him, with warm greetings and exchange of smiles, I uttered to myself, “God lives in Africa.”
 Several weeks later, I was sitting with a village elder on my comfortable screened veranda, overlooking the waves splashing against the rocks, and he began to give me some history of this small village.  Before the return of the people from the African Diaspora, who somehow, have inhabited the far end of this once famous road to Nkrumah’s beach chalets, the village people never crossed the road to this beach-front side.  It was a sacred grounds, where the ancestors dwelled, and one had to be prepared to meet them with alms and gifts and reverence, when you visited this side of the road, near the beach.
Interestingly, this same road leading to Nkrumah’s beach chalets continues on through the historical, ancient town of Elmina, where it meanders through the village center and finally leads to the bridge across the river Benya onto the infamous Castle at Elmina.  It is likely that this same road was used to drive the captured Africans to their final destination, the “Door of No Return”, the Dungeons of Elmina where millions of Africans were carted onto the slave ships, headed for the auction blocks of America.

The lore and legend of the people whose ancestors watched as their mothers and fathers, brothers and sisters, aunties and uncles, cousins and friends, marched past their huts, never to be seen again, remain with them, an ancestral memory of fear for their own survival.  That other side of road held the mournful cries of their people who, after disappearing into the holds of the castle, vanished from their homes forever!

Often, things are not what they appear to be.  It is with knowledge that you know the true meaning and the true value of a puddle of muddy water.  That muddy puddle may not have been what I thought it was at all.   It could have been where the ancestors took their bath, and the spirits dwelled within bestowing their blessing and protection.

We who think that we are educated, sophisticated and knowledgeable, often miss the true meanings of simple things, because their meaning is not on the surface, but are occult, hidden from view, and accessible only to those who open their hearts to truth.  I am humbled, knowing that those of us from the Diaspora, who have come to dwell on this beach side of the road, which you could very well call it Diaspora Road are sitting with those ancestors who have remained here, waiting for our return.  I pray that in our ignorance of their ways and their truths, that we do not make stupid mistakes and copy the behavior of those wicked Europeans who captured and took us away from these shores.  I pray for the ancestral guidance and their blessings.

Epilogue
 

I took my grandchildren for an outing at a beach resort toward the western end and just off the Diaspora Road.  The resort is past the infamous slave dungeon known as Elmina Castle.  Posted on the resort bulletin board were photos of famous visitors, and Will Smith, the actor who said that “God lives in Africa”, was among them.  I realized then that, indeed, Will Smith had witnessed the teaming life, the music and rhythm of the people who continue to thrive in the shadow of one of the most wretched chapters in the history of mankind, the Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade.  Yes, Will Smith’s eyes did witness the miracle of the survival of the African people who, in spite of all the odds, continue to thrive living so close to the earth, so close to God.  God truly lives in Africa.

For our people to still be kicking strong after the hundreds of years that that have passed since the strongest and most able bodies were stolen away and sold into slavery on foreign soil is a testimonial to God’s protection of our race.  Under similar circumstances and during the same time frame other races have fallen almost into extinction.  Ironically, those wretched soles responsible for the dastardly deed of slavery are themselves falling into extinction.  As quiet as it is kept, the fact remains that the Europeans are not reproducing fast enough to replace themselves because of the low birthrate and the seriously low sperm count of the men.  Truly, God lives in Africa, and God will continue to breathe the sacred breath of life into His/Her Original People.