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16.03.2014 Feature Article

A Postcard from Tumu, Bugubelle and Wellembelle

A Postcard from Tumu, Bugubelle and Wellembelle
16.03.2014 LISTEN

Ironically, the word 'irony' is one of the most abused words in the English language. On ironies, Shakespeare wrote: “Life is like a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.” Many of us have tried hard to avoid being idiots, but our lives have not really signified much. Take for instance the story of a near 40 year old Ghanaian who knows the geography of Europe and North America more than his own country. He has visited only three out of the ten regions of the country of his birth, where he also had his free education. What do you do with a fellow like that when he talks about poverty in a country he hardly knows? He hasn't seen enough to compare.

Last week, I made a journey to Tumu in the Upper West region. It was my first in northern Ghana. The first time I heard about Tumu was in 1986 when I had just began my secondary school education. One of my teachers hailed from that town, or perhaps one of the surrounding villages. He used to tell us interesting stories about the communal nature of small town living, which made the anonymity of city life seemed painful and wearisome. In Tumu, you smell peace and some natural order, but you also see underdevelopment and lots of motorcycles used by men and women. Taxis don't work here; you either ride a motorcycle or a bicycle, or be prepared to walk the distance. A very small fraction of the population own cars.

I am in love with this small town. I have taken trips to the surrounding villages of Bugubelle, Wellembelle, Bechembelle, Chinchang and Challo. I have also visited Kowie, Bandei, Sakai, Sakalo and Vamboi. I have fraternised with lots of pleasant people who find reason to wear an infectious smile in the midst of deprivation and abject lack. From lovely school children who wave bye-bye even before a visitor would complete his visit, to adult farmers who are eager to see their wards in school at the peril of their dear lives, I am coming close to discovering an important part of me that had been missing for some 39 years. I would not mind relocating here to fully discover myself.

In the village of Bugubelle, I saw for the first time a donkey pulling a cart loaded with firewood and other farm produce on the only motorable road in the village. These are usually operated by women, who control the animals with amazing dexterity. The men in the village admitted they are not able to match the riding skills of the women. Yet, women here are mostly discriminated against and underrepresented at nearly all decision-making levels. They cannot even own lands for commercial farming.

At Wellembelle, the story was not different. As you may have guessed, the suffix 'belle' at the end of names of the towns, should mean something. 'Belle' in the Sissala language spoken here means a home or village or settlement. The women and girls in the villages are as hardworking and intelligent as those in the small towns and cities. In Sakai, I encountered Ruth, a 20 year old girl whose education has been interrupted by an unplanned marriage with a man she didn't love. Her parents had forced her into the marriage because they didn't have the resources to pay for her education and sustenance. She ended that façade of a marriage and returned to school after the birth of her baby. Her mates are in the senior secondary school while she is JHS 2.

Ruth is extraordinary. For a JHS girl, she has the brain of a university student. Her career aspiration is to be a journalist, and by Jove, that girl would make a very fine newswoman. Unlike her classmates, some of whom share Ruth's experience, there is fiery determination and a piercing urgency in her eyes. She is destined for greatness, you might say. Some of her contemporaries in the next village have abandoned their dreams and made their way to Accra, to pursue a Kayayee nightmare. They had to flee because they had lost faith in their villages–the same environment that has impoverished their parents, grandmothers and uncles. Any option out there should be better than the depravation and bleakness that stare them in the face.

Environment shapes your thinking and aspirations. Exactly a month and a half ago, I lived in a different environment in the Canadian capital of Ottawa. Well, even there I lived in a village. But this was a rich village, where my neighbours drove expensive cars and had great jobs. When they travelled, they took their dogs to a boarding house or daycare centres when their visits were short. Oh yeah, there are daycare centres and boarding houses built specially for dogs and other pets. And when a dog went missing, newspapers published the news as front page stories. Television and radio stations call in experts to discuss the circumstances of the loss and how it can be prevented. There are companies that fundraise for animals and campaign for animal rights all year round.

In western societies, the rich people live in the villages. Those who remain in the cities maintain a cottage in the village where they run to relax their tired bodies and enjoy their barbecues, scotch and beer. The lazy ones in the country who have never worked for a day in their lives still get some government income for just being lazy. They spend the money on booze, cigarettes, concerts and sometimes hard drugs. They are even able to save and travel to the Bahamas and Jamaica for enjoyment.

Here in Tumu, there are no freebies at all. Anybody who owns a motorcycle or a bicycle worked hard and saved very hard to procure the facility. Sometimes, it is difficult to put a price on hard work, because the good people here work too hard all year round. What do they have to show for it? We in the cities buy their farm produce at very cheap prices. Their schools are not doing well. The pass rate in their last BECE was 39%. This is the real Republic of Ghana, and this postcard does a poor job at telling the full story.


Kwesi Tawiah-Benjamin
[email protected]

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