IN THE MIDST OF CHAOS

Accra is that city you’d love to loathe but simply can’t bring yourself to it. It is dirty, unplanned and overpopulated yet it has some of the most amazing historical places to visit on the West African coast. It has also got a distinct culture that is sure to pique your interest. When we talk of Accra,we could be talking of the historical traditional Accra or metropolitan Accra or even regional Accra. I’m going to talk about all three though my focus would mainly be on regional Accra. Whether you are at Oxford street, Bukom or James Town, Accra has a distinct way of speaking to you.

“In the midst of chaos,there is also opportunity” (Sun Tzu wrote in his famous book). I’ve been trying to find this opportunity in the last nine months. In other words, I have been living in the midst of chaos within Ghana’s capital in the past few months.

That brought me memories of my childhood days in the higher civilization. As kids, we always looked forward to the annual tradition on the school calendar; an excursion to the nation’s capital. I remember how we used to hassle our parents incessantly for the excursion fee. We just wanted to be part of the lucky seventy who made the trip annually. Stories from this excursions formed the theme of all conversations in the school, weeks and sometimes months after the excursion.

I was not so fortunate to undertake the pilgrimage till class six, I was about ten or eleven then. I recall the sleepless nights,weeks of anxiety I had to endure before that fateful day in October. It wasn’t my first time traveling to the capital but the thought of visiting the zoo,national museum and the national theater was too tantalizing to let pass as an ordinary event. That visit brought a certain fascination to my young mind. I kept asking my mummy why she wouldn’t seek a transfer to Accra so I could enjoy visiting the zoo every weekend. At the very least, she could send me away to live with my uncle. Unfortunately,my persistence couldn’t sway her.

Did I regret missing out on life in the capital? To my young mind, it was a tragedy. But few years down the line, I quickly dispelled any idea of living in the capital. I found Accra to be too chaotic and too underdeveloped for my liking (reminds of an article I wrote in 2015; “A city on its knees”). Perhaps I had grown to love the serene and natural surroundings of the higher civilization of my upbringing.

I considered it a compromise then,when the hustle of real life in Ghana demanded I moved from the familiar surroundings of my higher civilization to Tema. That ancient city designed,planned and developed by the urban planner, Theodore S. Clarke. Perhaps, I thought Tema would be close to my civilization. I was so wrong. Nkrumah’s carefully planned city had lost its glory. I don’t intend to talk about the growing slums within the city or even the ever present burning refuse dump along the site 20 stretch of the main harbour road.

You would agree with me that renting an apartment should be a fairly easy thing to do, right? Apparently, it is not so in Accra/Tema. In contrast to the higher civilization,where there are enough rooms to spare because there are simply no tenants,the concrete jungle is faced with a severe housing bubble. My friend, Ahmed, was quick to remind me of our experience at Ekumfi Otuam when we first got there to teach. As Ahmed put it, this problem is not peculiar to Accra/Tema. I am not sure if I agree with my friend.For instance, I didn’t have to deal with any annoying real estate agents in Ekumfi.

I came to the sad realization of the phenomenon of ‘housing agents’ rather belatedly after a few friends I called to help me get an apartment pointed me to that direction. But then if the so called agents could actually help, it wouldn’t have been such a big deal. Nothing seem to be straight forward in this epic centre of chaos.

First, there was this agent who insisted I pick him from his office in a chartered taxi. Never mind, the ‘office’ was just a bench under a big tree within the community four vicinity. Apparently Opana just wanted a ride in a taxi. That is the best way I can put it! Because I can’t imagine how the man wanted me  to live in a house without a toilet facility and pipe-borne water. Well, I didn’t know such basic stuff were luxuries here. Of course, I didn’t take the offer.

My friend David then offered to help. He brought good news some few days later. He had gotten a ‘chamber and hall’ for me. The price was moderate. Without any agents’ commission to worry about, I was clearly fortunate or so I thought. I mean the place was close to my office and David also lived near by so there was justified reason for my excited mood. The landlord was also a Canadian ‘borga’who was returning to his Toronto base in few weeks’ time. He needed the money quickly to sort out some ‘local business’. At this point, I started making comparisons in my head to ‘Canada House’in the higher civilization.

You can imagine my bewilderment when I was shown the ‘chamber and hall’apartment. It was nothing but a single room apartment with a porch. Obviously, I had missed the script again, for what we called porch in the higher civilization qualified to be a hall/kitchen in the concrete jungle. That was the least of the troubles though. Right behind the room was a ‘blue kiosk’. Yeah, you read right, a joint for selling alcoholic beverages and cigarettes,perhaps even marijuana. I mean how could I expect to sleep  safely each night under such dire circumstances? Tema New Townto me was a slum within a city. But is the whole city not one big slum?

I’m sure you’re wondering, why didn’t I try searching online. Well, in this city, the online real estate marketing portals aren’t helpful either. After booking an appointment to check out two places, I simply gave up. Not only was the contrast between virtual and real stark but simply disingenuous. Decent bathroom tubs and water closets that looked very new and neat on the internet suddenly turned into decrepit prison cells facilities to the naked eye.

Don’t worry your head about how I eventually managed to get an apartment. It was a nice experience though. I recall this agent who took me to Villagio.A two bedroom room apartment was going for $3500.00 per month. Imagine that in a country, where the average salary hovers around $400-$500 monthly. The agent had gotten frustrated that I was rejecting all the places he had taken me to, so apparently that was his idea of ‘teaching me a lesson’. He wanted to tell me I haven’t reached the top echelons yet so I should stop being picky. It was obvious to me that the city wasn’t only suffering from chaos and concrete invasion but a dangerous inequality gap.

Unfortunately my fascination with the city was far from over. I was just beginning to settle in when I got unlucky one day. A friend forced me to take a walk with her one Sunday morning. Of all the places, we could rendezvous, she chose the railway station. There was something antique about her choice. The sight of the railway lines had always reminded me of our glorious past. Perhaps it could present a mystical avenue for a romantic walk this wet Sunday morning. All those notions became but a futile banal dream.

Urban poverty, as I call it , is a very depressing thing. I am not in anyway saying we have eradicated poverty in the higher civilization. Indeed, according to the Ghana Statistical Service, the higher civilization is the fourth poorest region in the country after the three northern regions. But in the higher civilization, we could always count on the vestiges of our traditional family system. We could easily count on family members for  support especially if it involved hunger. We could easily go down to the stream (fortunately spared by the galamseyers) if we could not afford tap water for bathing. We could always count on family houses for shelter. It is not so for the weary souls of the young men and women I saw at the railways.

It was sad seeing young people, some with babies , having to sleep in front of kiosks and in the open during the night. Regardless of the difficulties they go through daily, they always carried a glowing smile of hope as I observed them along the path. How could one afford to smile through such treacherous life? How do they feel seeing the obnoxious wealth being displayed around them daily? Why have they not risen in revolt against the wanton dissipation of their country’s wealth by their leaders? They had the one thing I wished I had, which is hope.

Poverty to me was fear. I dreaded it and for years, I was depressed by such thought. I had seen poverty and I didn’t want to live such a life. Yet the more I fought against it, the more depressed I became. I had no hope as a struggling young man few years ago but the young folks I saw had loads of hope. They just need their energies unleashed to positive pursuits. I even chanced  upon a conversation between two of them. They were having a heated argument about the durability of hyundai cars. They had dreams of owning one in the not-so-distant future.

I think I’m still living in the concrete jungle because of the motivation I draw from this young people. If they are still around despite the difficulties they face daily, then I have no excuse in abandoning my job because of the pressures of the jungle.

Perhaps, if only the traffic indiscipline could disappear, I’d finally fall in love with the city. I lost hope on it though after reading chapter seven of Chinua Achebe’s‘the trouble with Nigeria’. I am convinced not to even talk about it again. In the 1980s, Achebehad so eloquently written about indiscipline on Nigerian roads. I’m sure he was hoping to effect change. Few decades after, one would be forgiven for thinking Achebewas writing a prophetic treatise on the future of Ghana. Indeed if the venerable Chinua Achebe in all his brilliance and eloquence couldn’t use the power of his literary writing to effect change, then who am I? A wondering activist I guess…

Well, let me hope for one last time that you reading this now might be touched to change. I am still enjoying life in the concrete jungle so anytime you pass by, let meet for a silo breaker