Notes

The Good Man
replica uhren

When I signed up for my month in Ghana, I hoped the journalism part of the experience would bring exciting encounters and colorful events into my life. Little did I know I would share the room with a man who would soon be one of the most important Ghanaians — on my first day with the National Trust, the small weekly newspaper I tried to help.
Today’s post recounts that first assignment in four short vignettes, formed by the memories and writing from that day.
Confusion Inside
ABECEG, ASROG, NDC. Hold on a moment. It’s my third day in the country. I’ve only met Theo, my editor, a couple of hours ago. I don’t know any of those people or what those organizations are. I barely understand a word here.
I sat in a large hall at the Engineers’ Centre in Roman Ridge, Accra, lost in thoughts and confusion about the events that engulfed me.
With a notebook on my knees, pen in one hand, and camera in the other, I tried to connect the words on the program sheet, which was thrust into my hands at the entrance with the faces on the stage and the barely identifiable words those faces shouted into the mic.
“What a good man, African, and politician” the guest of honor was, was about the extent of what I could decipher from the five opening speeches that started the afternoon.
Oh dear. What have I gotten into? I questioned the logic of my decision to come here.
Cooling Down
And it began so pleasantly a few moments earlier.
I noticed the air conditioning even before I crossed the doorstep.
Relief.
I still needed time to acclimatize and be comfortable in the mild winter heat, which intensified inside the tro-tro vans that didn’t count capacity by the number of seats.
I noticed it so strongly that I jammed it into the 500-word article I wrote about this fourth “Interaction with Flag Bearers of Political Parties” session for the 2008 presidential election as the banner that hung on the wall behind the podium called what I was attending.
Twice did I refer to the air quality in those 500 words. I was quite proud of that color at the time.
Confusion Outside
Maybe it was the stressful journey to Roman Ridge, a district of Accra unfamiliar to me.
Thankfully, I wasn’t on my own. Theo had sent a local along to guide me. His name is buried in the currently still inaccessible part of my journal.
But the young man helped at the Trust frequently.
The only problem was he didn’t know where this Engineers’ Centre was, either.
That made for an entertaining journey across town that didn’t end when the final tro-tro delivered us to a busy main road that looked more like a motorway.
My guide walked as if he knew what he was doing. It turned soon out he didn’t. We eventually realized we had to find a way to get to the other side of the river of cars that separated us from our destination.
I think my companion procured local knowledge at some point, a point that made me fear we would miss the entire event. That would be bad cosmetics, for sure, I thought with worry.
To my relief, the next turn I was signaled to make brought us into a quiet side street. And on the left side, in the distance, I saw people gathered outside a larger building.
“There it is,” my companion beamed with excitement about a successful conclusion to our search as he gestured toward the Engineers’ Center.
On The Campaign Trail
The guest of honor was Professor Atta Mills, a presidential candidate for one of the major political parties in Ghana. I heard, read, and understood all of that, but the true meaning of who I met that day didn’t hit home before the end of the day.
Too confusing and sudden was this dip into Ghanaian national politics. I had prepared some basic research before I started the trip, but I had not expected to be thrust into the country’s general election on day one.
After what I jotted down as a “warm introduction by officials of both host organizations,” Professor Mills delivered his address to the groups of road and engineering contractors.
And I was delighted when suddenly the microphone seemed to deliver much more clearly, and I could understand every word the professor spoke.
I could feel the election campaign was in full swing. The professor’s speech had that tone. Was I surprised by how similar politicians sound, even if they are continents apart?
He spoke of creating a stronger infrastructure and applauded Ghana’s competitiveness, which didn’t require the use of foreign contractors. He tried to sell his plan of contractor packages and a streamlined administration that would always have a receptive ear for contractors.
When the speech ended, he “left the podium under the sound of great applause that broke through the silent, air-conditioned white hall,” as I tried to describe it back in 2008.
I had been in the same room as the man who, a few months after my return to Europe, would win the election and served as Ghana’s president from January 2009 until his death in July 2012 — on my first day on the job.
My write-up met smiles, nods, and approval when I followed my editor’s request to read the draft to him and his colleague, the paper’s owner. When I opened the print edition in the morning, I read a version with my byline attached but not a single word of the draft I had submitted.

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