Yardsticks

WHEN I thought I had edited this entry well enough, and hence I could hand it in for publication, I wasn't sure, whether the English word “yardstick” could have a plural form. Even if it didn't, I had decided to keep it that way.

For my cherished readers who may be conversant with German, the plural of yardstick exists as, “Masstaebe”. Masstaebe could mean criteria also. Yardsticks! Memories of yardsticks that I carried for quite a time as a student were not beautiful. But the mistake was on my side. My depression today, talking of the same word, is because I fear the mistake could be on our side too, and this time, I am referring to our beloved Republic.

I would like to apologise that I am aware of the fact that, apportioning blames must be something that we all find so easy to do. Accepting a fault is what nobody likes doing. But, let me continue, in the hope that I might get the message across, and hopefully, pretty well too.

I once knew a young man who read one of the humanities at the University of Ghana, Legon, during the time when I was also busy trying to qualify in a 'healing profession' somewhere else.

He one time was in an awful mood when I was on vacation, and I unknowingly walked into a funeral in his home two nights after my arrival. A telegram informing me of his uncle's sudden departure from this world did not catch up with me before I boarded the plane heading for “home.” His uncle drove into a “trench” in the middle of the road at a construction site. The “road-contractor” left no warning sign anywhere, and the poor victim reached the spot at night, and he probably was not driving fast.

Thirty years later, I have just suffered a similar fate, only I must have had more angels to protect me. As I drove away from the awful site, anger, and an elevated blood-pressure stayed with me for several days.

The vehicle I was driving on the day in question, “takes me to the mechanic, as a result”, almost every month since then, and the end of the ordeal seems not to be in sight.

The problem is with some mechanisms beneath, which the mechanic can swear must have got messed up, as I rammed the vehicle into a trench. In my situation, just like in that of my friend's uncle, nobody paid a pesewa by way of compensation.

In both situations, the contractors were foreigners whose families had been in business in our beloved Republic, since many generations. In Europe, or the orient, their places of origin, they would not go scot-free, having caused damages to property, and worse, loss of life. This is not being xenophobic, let us get that clear!

As I discussed the issue with people I know very well, it was to my utter disgust that I got to know that frequently, you may purchase an item in Accra, or Kumasi, or Nkawkaw, for that matter.

You boldly, and with satisfaction in your heart, walk into the shop that sells an item you are familiar with in Stuttgart, Germany. It is an item made in Korea, but you know it by its quality, for you have used it for several years.

Your joy evaporates as you reach home to discover that this time at Nkawkaw, unlike in Stuttgart, the batteries you know have disappointed you. You storm back to the shop, and you find the same owner standing behind the counter, and you spew venom to express your disappointment. The shop owner “keeps his cool” to begin with. You are really so lucky that many years of sojourn in Europe has taught him a little bit of what is called customer-satisfaction.

He agrees to offer you a new set of batteries, from a different package, all from Korea. You walk home, and try them on the machine you want to use. Same effect: Zero performance! Your second trip to the shop doesn't bring you the courtesy you enjoyed about half-an-hour previously.

For the first time, the shop owner calls your attention to the fact that “when Koreans manufacture products to markets in a country like Germany, they do so with a different yardstick. The goods must match German quality else they won't be able to sell.

He went on to add that the African businessman who has flown to Korea to purchase the commodities, requests from his Korean manufacturer to make the product not to the same quality as those meant for Germany, or England. “Make them cheaper, even if inferior, for Africa,” the African would add. I have found it very difficult, imagining the kind of face that the compatriot would wear, as he looks into the Koreans face, requesting inferior quality for the goods he is requesting, when after all, he is paying for them. But, that is what I understand obtains.

To crown it all, someone added to the temperature of the amusement. An Australian company had manufactured farming equipment. On testing it, they discovered that much as they could not pinpoint any fault directly, the machine was deficient somehow. Weeks on end, the experts had come to see the product, and tested it.

None was happy with what they saw. In disgust therefore, the boss of the company turned to his subordinates, and trying to cheer them up muted, “gentleman, there is no room for despondency in our corporation.

Just pray for God to send us an African Minister of Trade.” That seemed to have made the day for them all, for they knew, even if it might take some time, such a Minister was likely to show up, and it would depend on how much they would push into his pocket.