On My Way to the NPP Headquarters Because of Democracy, But Reminded of Ghana's Fallen Eight Anniversary

I never knew democracy was breakfast for the New Patriotic Party (NPP), served extremely hot and requiring red and black clothes, hats, and headbands, along with a small pamphlet of questionable patriotic love letters once considered an abomination before the Jubilee House. I believe the financiers, movers, and shakers of the recently diagnosed 'fake', trunk-sounding elephants, diagnosed by a renowned Ghanaian cardiologist said to have entered and examined the hearts of the most senior elephants, will agree with me.

"Whom am I" to doubt him if he can easily count the insulated heartbeats of an overworked 'gold-plated' elephant who recently flawlessly leased a dwelling in the most protected neighborhood for twenty years without having to pay for utilities and is patiently waiting for some of his colleagues to join him as neighbors in the same gated community with probably lesser lease terms.

Many never thought he was a prophet when he prophesied from under his bed electronically through radio waves how that breakfast and lunch on the streets of Accra on tired elephant legs was going to be on a faithful August 6, 2026. No wonder his prophecy broke the internet and social media churning out varied choreographies dancing to his melodic call to action.

I nearly lost my way to the NPP headquarters when I got a call from Kaaka warning me about the conveners of the breakfast and lunch gathering. Painfully, he could not hear me, so I obliged and took a different turn. May his soul rest in peace.

To my dismay, I heard mechanical sounds coming from a crowd and at first thought they were the result of my failure to heed Kaaka’s counsel. They were not. As I drew closer, I saw eight civic-minded souls, including minors, lying on the ground, struck down by munitions paid for with their own tax cedis.

Electoral collation centers became maiming centers, while ballot boxes looked helplessly at the culprits. If the boxes could speak or move, they might have begged to be broken instead of watching citizens exercising their civic duties, having their bodies broken and their breath taken away.

Interestingly, true democracy invited them from home, and they happily obliged for love of country and freedom they believed was unconditional. Sadly, under the reign of those shouting democracy on a memorable sixth day of August sent them to a different home prematurely never to vote and contribute to democracy anymore in person.

Sad as I was and still am when I recollect these stains on democracy, I forged ahead only to receive phone calls from different callers at the same time. They were from numerous radio stations contributing to authentic free speech, including those with Gold as their Surname. They had one statement to sadly assert at the same time to my listening and that was, 'free press died too' under the same shouters of democracy and free-speech reign.

To my astonishment, a bus carrying about forty arrested demonstrators drove past. A bold inscription on its side read “Democracy Hub and Civil Society Members,” while “Anti-Galamsey” displayed prominently on the front windscreen. What appeared to be “NPP” was boldly painted on the driver’s forehead, glowing like the vehicle’s hazard lights. I could hardly believe what I was seeing, but I stayed focused.

At this point, I was confused. Suddenly, a man resembling a neighbor I knew called ‘Caleb’ ran past me at the speed of light but easily humbled and given some strokes for attempting to take 'selfies' of financially bloated vehicles parked to be worshipped by some security officials. If democracy were an instant savior, Caleb's selfie would not have attracted those lashes from worshippers of vehicles with 'financial balloons' on them while democracy looked on.

The one person who might have broadcast Caleb’s ordeal to the world was, coincidentally, also pursued by men and women wearing democracy gowns stitched with press-stifling, authoritarian buttons. Fearing for his life, he was reportedly fleeing to South Africa on an “Azure” Airways flight. The only thing on those so-called lovers of democracy that briefly concealed their shame was a red, yellow, and green lapel pin, with its usually cheerful black star buried and visibly unsettled within the colors.

Being fed up with the marathon hypocrisy, I quickly asked the first among three questions ringing on my mind, and it is, was the breakfast and lunch democracy match convened to weaken the accountability hammer currently nailing past corrupt government officials, many of whom are allegedly to be invited to appear before the meticulous silver-bearded investigator soon?

The second question immediately pleaded, so I asked, was the match to serve as a springboard for some to woo delegates to vote in their upcoming national executive elections of the NPP?

The third question will not set my mind free, so I must ask, why must the day of the match be the exact day when Ghanaians were remembering the Galant Eight who lost their lives while performing national assignment?

If it is their wish to bury the memories of the Galant Eight, then I beg their pardon, the Galant Eight will forever live in the minds of true democracy loving Ghanaians appreciating their contribution to true democracy.

For the day they chose to match was exactly a year ago when death's cold hands visited the skies and rained on the Gallant Eight.

Eight on the eighth month of the year on that fateful day.

The day the skies were bright, the forest remained green, but thick smoke would rise to slap a nation with shock.

Shock with heavy heart and tears, Ghana sadly counted fallen eight.

Eight brains, devoted to a nation's positive fight.

Fight in the line of national assignment that true lovers of democracy and the environment knew they happily embraced as a duty.

Duty, they understood, saves a nation and generations in diverse ways.

Ways to stop babies born deformed, prevent water bodies polluted, and to see death in pits curtailed.

Curtailed will be their lives, never to be in the sight and arms of their families again.

Families that lend Ghana their precious men of wisdom, selflessness, and courage.

Courage, they knew expected no laurels from none in their land of birth but a contribution to their homeland Ghana.

When will the end of the reason they had to give up their last breath be?

I am not the one to ask, you may equally not be the one to ask, but all must ask.

Some, you may have already heard, made mockery of your fall.

They do not know that, while battling gravity, your prayer was that they would never be gathered as ashes if they fell.

Death may have consumed the Gallant Eight to honor their heroism.

Will you be digested by death, and where and how will you be honored?

Point not a wrong finger to their death or belittle it, for the rest of the fingers point at your deeds towards death too.

Wished them dead? Then count your days for death may have ears that hear beyond silence.

Genuine service to the nation brings the priceless national honor gifted heroes, in breath or out of breath.

From a small town's backyard to the open Black Star Square, the national colors brightened and celebrated their heroism.

Few may earn heroic status, whether standing tall or lying still.

But when citizens genuinely see their nation as a family, we are all guaranteed heroes and heroine status.

Be it standing, sitting, or laying on our back. In breath or out of breath, heroes we can be to each other.

The Gallant Eight were Ghanaians first before becoming politicians, their memories must be a Ghanaian memory and not viewed as a partisan political memory, for we lost them in the line of duty.

I rest my PEN.
Mustapha Alhassan
Pennsylvania, USA.