Random episodes Vol. II

I looked on; as Oswald munched on his fish with a kitty relish; he wondered why it had taken me so long to introduce him to Auntie Ramatu’s joint. 

It was lunch time at work; Oswald and I were at my favourite banku and tilapia joint for his first time. Apparently he had fallen in love with the meal and like the lady in that funny TV commercial “I will come here every day to eat” Oswald whispered to me with an edge to his voice.

He and I had been friends not too long ago; he’s a budding playwright and a “classical poet” as he likes to call himself. 

Now before we left for lunch, I had informed him of the passing of Mrs Gladys Asmah and teased him on how he could cash in on the opportunity.  He had often put out poetry collections for sale in honour of very important people who passed on. You should check out his collections in honour of Komla Dumor and Maya Angelou. 

Across the table where Oswald and I sat was a boy of 14 years or thereabout, he looked quite unkempt to be honest and had a certain vulnerable look in his eyes. I could tell he was Ga. Don’t ask me why? 

Surprisingly, our young friend had before him, a lunch heavier than his pocket. Oswald particularly wondered how a boy of his looks could have such luxury. “Somebody had laid this table before him” we both wondered but obviously not God.

As we both agreed on this, a white woman approached our table to ask if the boy was enjoying his lunch. “We were right alas!” Our young friend’s lunch had been sponsored by the white lady. She seemed quite caring, a friend of children and to many street kids around the neighbourhood; a Good Samaritan. 

Like many of her other white friends, she teach these kids, feed them and inspire them to be better people. That didn’t come as a surprise. The white guys help us all the time; don’t they?  The reason I decide to write this is what we may both find interesting….

Just when the little boy was done eating, he got up from the table and snatched the fan chocolate his benefactor had bought for him as a desert.

 Our friend obviously couldn’t finish up his meal. He had some leftover; a lot actually but typically of an African kid, he was least bothered that he might probably go hungry again or had friends who may have had nothing for lunch. Afteral, he didn’t spend a dime on the food. Guess what her white benefactor, who I believe was American, did.

She asked for a polythene bag and gathered the leftover from the plate skilfully and said gently to the boy. We would give that to Brown, your dog when we go back.

That was the part that got me thinking: an old white lady buys lunch for a poor Ghanaian kid, gets him desert and still had the trouble of packing the leftover for a dog that belongs to the same kid.

I can’t speak for Oswald but I felt the shame in my eyes as I watched the little kid looked on unconcerned. All that mattered to him was that, he had eaten a good lunch, left some and had  desert as well.

That afternoon, our young friend was the victim; but indeed that is how many of us African governments behave; we claim to be small and poor to finance our budgets and appear vulnerable to our foreign partners and donors and when they do us the honour of extending some olive branches to us, we mismanage them with impunity. 

We expect these same donors to advise us on how to manage or allocate our resources effectively.   

Our politicians go on the rooftops about how bad our economy is, meanwhile the little we have is embarrassingly mismanaged.

Our governments lack the skill to prioritise and like the little boy, they lose touch of our future needs, As government functionaries, when we find something to eat and to fill our pockets, we forget that there may be citizens who can’t afford a decent meal or don’t have the luxury of drinking potable water. 

We ignore the plights of the many ordinary citizens who queue to vote us into power. We live our country men to go hungry and all that matters to us is that we are belly-full and have enough to waste.

A large proportion of our income is left to go waste and corruption has become a major devourer of the same scanty income we complained we had run out of. 

Our country is broke is the anthem we all sing; we have eaten the meat to the bone; our politicians keep telling us.

Meanwhile people drive empty V8 vehicles around, politicians spend large amounts on lunch and useless allowances. People continue to receive huge incomes they haven’t worked for and ministries, agencies and public corporations spend so much on unnecessary costs they have incurred by their own lack of proactiveness.

Then I particularly felt the shame when I remembered the number of times I had put my leftover in the bin or when I recall how assembly members at a certain metropolitan assembly I know take home double packs of drinks and savouries with undeserving allowances for meetings to discuss matters that had already been discussed at the previous meeting.

The white lady left me with a few lessons: I would continue to help the poor as best as I can and teach them to manage the little or more I give them and henceforth I’m not allowing any grain of food to go waste at home, I’m getting a new dog to eat my leftovers at least when I become irresponsible enough to fetch more than I can eat. I would think of my friends who can’t afford three square meals a day, I would learn to manage my little resource, I would live within my means and preserve for the future.