You may have no idea about the kind of havoc the Coronavirus pandemic could wreck on your life until you come face-to-face with security guards supposed to comfort victims and point the way for treatment.
On first hearing the name of Covid-19, you might well assume wrongly that it is a kind of motor sport. The only speed it knows is the affliction rate, which multiplies faster than sound. Otherwise, its operating level is in the slow lane, with victims put into self-quarantine or in an isolation centre.
Since the one-time lead counsel, with residential and office quarters at the India-crafted state edifice on Independence Avenue, put all of us to sleep and popularised a new diction fondly referred to as lock-down, the bald old academic has joined the old nurse, virtually adding to the sitting room furniture.
With supplies running out and state officials discounting the Asebu household as unfit to receive state hand-outs, the bald old academic had to venture out with the intention of checking on the old bank balance whether it was worthy of offering a stimulus package to the household.
The sheer size of the Veronica bucket with its running water in front of the banking hall, told the story of a new dawn. These are new times from what obtained in the era of the one-time dashing young man. It is now ‘Nearer my God to thee.’
The sight of the security guard holding that small pistol-like device and aiming it at the forehead is itself a frightening experience. With the temperature gun pointed at the old forehead, the apprehension was whether or not there were bullets in the small gun which would result in several scenarios ‘patient, assassination, crime-scene’ and police raid. Even without bullets, the temperature recording of 38.7 degrees brought its own Wahala.
Suddenly, the mood of the security officer changed. In a rather stern posture, reminiscence of a stern military officer reading the riot act, the security officer’s left hand shot out pointing to the front door.
The experience of leaving while others were ushered into the banking hall was the closest one could come to understanding the Biblical message: “Many are called, but few are chosen.”
The first inclination was to head for an isolation centre, probably in the house and call in the medical team. Another message from the same old head directed the bald old academic to seek solace from another bank. There was no sign anywhere of any impending cold, nothing pointed to the onset of the common flu either. Touching the forehead and other parts of the body, there was no indication that the old body was suffering from anything untoward.
It was at that stage that the old brain sprung back to life. Try other banks, old boy, the message drove through the vein from the brain. The ride to the next bank was smooth though. The only problem was a little bit of apprehension about the potential reading of the next temperature gun. This time, the reading was way below the apprehension stage. 36.3 degrees was way below the boiling point, and the old academic was allowed into this banking hall to grab a life-line stimulus package.
The fear of Covid-19 is creating different problems in different societies in the same country. The other day, thousands of ordinary folks poured onto the main street in Akropong to welcome their new Overlord. Five leaders were arrested. The next day, however, hundreds flocked to the Omanhene’s Palace to witness the installation of a new Omanhene. The state apparently approved the lack of social distancing associated with the installation of Oseadeyo Kwasi Akuffo II, Omanhene of the Akuapem Traditional Area.
Contrast this with the happenings that have culminated in the closure of the Agona Swedru Central Market. Apparently, the market women do not know anything about social distancing. Instead of spacing themselves up, the traders are milling up all over the place.
The Agona West Municipal Council sent in its workforce, including Information Services Department vans, to try and educate the traders without success.
One woman was asked what she knew about social distancing. Her answer must rank as one of the most amusing spectacles in this nation’s drive to contain the Coronavirus pandemic.
You are warned that what you are about to read in the Fanti dialect might affect the state of your lungs.
“SWEDRU DZE YEN TON ‘SOZA’ DISTANCE WO HA. NO BO YE DZEN, NTSI SE ERE WHE WHE BI A, GYEDE EKO NKRAN. EHO NA WOTON ‘SOZA’ DISTANCE NO!”
Translating this into the Queen’s language is itself an uphill task. With the likes of S.K. Otoo and Kofi Annobil, who wrote a number of Fanti literature books some of us used when in school, visiting their ancestors, it would be a tall order to put the woman’s words into their proper perspective in the Queen’s language.
Forgive me if my efforts do not match the literature on offer. Loosely translated, this is how the woman trader responded: “We don’t sell social distance here. It is very expensive. If you want to buy some, you have to go to Accra.”
It is as clear as daylight that some of our women traders do not know what the Coronavirus and its social distancing are all about. At Swedru, they are dancing. Not because of any cure for Covid-19. Rather, they think those preaching Coronavirus and its social distancing are from the moon.
As you read this piece, the Swedru Central Market is under lock and key, bringing untold hardships to the municipality. The usual hustle and bustle that made Agona Swedru a hit in the run-up to independence is no more. In its place, it is all doom.
In those days, when the Adra Brothers ran a bus service from Accra, through Nsawam, Swedru, Ajumako, Saltpond to Sekondi-Takoradi, Swedru was the attraction for commuters.
With cocoa production at its peak, Swedru was the hub of all activities in the Central Region. Heard of ‘Swedru Ebuei? Kutukutu Femfem. Efa Ha A Poo, Efa Ha A Paa. Beebi A Ekan No Yestina Dzi Dokon Nyina Adani Mbrogo Mbrogo.”
Putting this in its rightful English expression would require the services of a Queen’s representative. With the brain slowing down as a result of daily attacks on the faculties, it is a tough order. But Asebu Amenfi does not shy from challenges.
Loosely translated, the man says Swedru is now developed. The sounds of motorbikes and other vehicles are all over at the place. If you turn here you are accosted by the horn of a car, if you turn the other way, there is the motorcycle. All areas we used to sit to eat kenkey are now full of block houses.
Swedru would always remain a household name in the folklore of this Republic. Once upon a time, Agona Swedru was well represented in the national first division football league. Agona Fankobaa was the pride of the indigenous Agona-speaking people. Like any municipal enclave, Swedru has a fair representation of its neighbours. In this case, Gomoa and other Fanti groups of people founded the Swedru All Blacks football club, popularly known as the Black Magicians.
One of the interesting dynamics that made the town and its football club unique is that while Fankobaa Football Club was linked to the Agona paramountcy, headed by Nana Nyarko Eku, Omanhene of the Agona Traditional Area, Nana Aba Eyimba, Queenmother of Swedru was officially recognised as the founder of Swedru All Blacks.
On that particular Sunday, when there was a local derby, the Swedru township was split into two in its support on the field. In 1974, the rivalry got so intent that one Kwesi Nana took matters into his own hands.
Kwesi Nana decided that it was time All Blacks were relegated from the first division. In that way the rival club could no more worry his pride football club -Agona Fankobaa. The sight of police standing guard as the juju (voodoo) was being uprooted from the centre circle was a front page attraction on one leading national daily paper.
Swedru has also attracted many dare devils into the Sakawa underworld. At one point in time, this Central Regional Municipality was the unofficial headquarters of Sakawa in Ghana. Weird stories of young boys and girls, some so horribly young, riding in expensive vehicles during the day, and sleeping in coffins in the night without taking their baths, was so prominent.
In the 1970s, one national weekly newspaper got everybody looking for Swedru on the map. A group of daring thieves raided the then Ghana National Trading Corporation (GNTC) in Accra during a weekend. The thieves apparently occupied the various shops at the supermarket for the whole weekend.
They ate quality food for sale and quaffed quite a bit of alcohol on sale. Before they left, the thieves left a very interesting note for the operators of the state facility. “WE CAME FROM SWEDRU, YOUR SECURITY IS WEAK.”
Needless to state that all crack security and detective personnel were deployed to Swedru to no avail, which tells everything magical about Swedru. The sad narration is that Swedru is fast becoming a footnote in the history of the development of this country as a result of the behavior of its folks.
Do not tell Kwaw Kese and Patapaa, composer of the hilarious song: One Corner, though!
The post Social Distance is too expensive, we don’t sell it here’ Swedru Market women lament as temperature gun plays tricks on Asebu Amenfi appeared first on The Chronicle Online.
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