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FEATURED: Scientists Can't Prove God Wrong Yet Only A Few Believe In God...

Opinion | Nov 6, 2018

The plastic fish in his net

“Look Kwame, they got a net half full of plastic again,” was Kojo saying overlooking Jamestown seeing in the distance Castle Osu from where once the slaves were exported to the New World. ”And I am sure, the rest of the catch is full of micro-plastic.”

“We swallow all the rubbish of this world, I am telling you,” responded Kojo with a smile on his face. “We are too stupid to fight against it!”

Kwame was observing the young girl named Jasmin doing her family washing outside her parents chip board house not bigger than a kiosk over flooded constantly when the rains were over flooding the drains of Accra.

“Her story being given away by her parents in Kumasi to a family in Lomé as a three year old, than sold from there to a family in Lagos, forced into prostitution at the age of 13, finally making the decision to find her way back home to live in poverty rather than in prostitution,” said Kojo seeing the GA girls laughing at them.

“I once, as a small boy, was a slave on a fisher boat in the Volta region…hard work, I am telling you,” mentioned Kwame smiling. “Today this still goes on by our own folks.”

Kojo looked down on the hot sand that in the night would be covered again from the water of the Gulf of Guinea, looked around, smiled at white tourists passing by and pronounced: “We Blacks are mentally and emotionally much stronger than any white man as the hardship in life we face, this training, is making us tough people. It creates a character we should take advantage of. Any white man facing our challenges, would run away from life and kill himself. They are pampered to softness.”

“Whites pampered to softness…” was Kwame repeating laughing out loud. But you are right, we are tough people…especially our ladies carrying the burden of family life and their own as a woman with poor health care.”

“And most of us men here cheat too much on them making babies everywhere…,” added Kojo.

Kwame got up to walk along the sea shore with his childhood friend along the hugh coconut palm trees looking into the far distance beyond the horizon.

“When the White Man tells us to stop littering our environment, to protect nature and make money from recycled plastic, we simply do not care. As long as he has not the power to enforce his good ideas, his ideas are wasted. He is wasting with his initiatives not only his time, but also ours,” lectured Kwame directing his feet into the shallow waters of the sea that was quiet that day.

“The White Man simply does not understand the Black Man and always comes with intentions and ideas that are not helping us,” added Kojo scared to enter the water like so many others in Africa.

Kwame picked up a coconut from the sand, looked at it saying: ”God has created Ghana as a paradise..really!”

“We Blacks do not know who we are,” mentioned Kojo.

“Yes, we Blacks, we live anyhow.”

“And this anyhow is our old, wicked mind.”

“The White Man knows who he is and always makes him stand before and on top of us.”

Kojo sat down in the hot sand complaining: “Democracy is working well for the White Man, but not for us. We are not trained for it and our history is different from theirs. What we need is an elected King, a Kingdom and not a Republic.”

Kwame agreed with his friend: “You are telling the truth… as many aspects of our society, be it the economy, our governmental system, infrastructure, social system and many more things need a generational thinker and representative…a President can never do that.”

“For the day to day job a Prime Minister with his Cabinet must support him and a counselling body like in the olden days of Greek must ensure he is not misusing his great powers but honours the contract with the people he serves. In the end, when he dies or steps down, a new King must be voted for by all people.”

“That sounds to be a good idea…but,” mentioned Kwame knowing his people, “only a White Man, an outsider, can help us that has no connection to our wicked mind, is not involved in any historic corruption and has not rubbed his shoulders with our political elite.”

“A dream come true?”

“Is it wrong to dream my friend?” was Kwame asking with a big smile on his face.

“Right now, everyone is only analyzing and talking…only action is triggering a change.”

“And the action is missing!”

“True…action is missing…at least from our side.” Kojo was greeting more and more white tourists as closer their walk directed them to Castle Osu where it all had begun.

“You want to implicate the decision will be taken from outside over our heads?”

“Most likely”

Karl-Heinz Heerde
Karl-Heinz Heerde, © 2018

This author has authored 250 publications on Modern Ghana.
Author column: KarlHeinzHeerde

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