The Dark Side

“See I believe in money, power, and respect. First You get the money. Then you get the (expletive), power. After you get the (expletive) power (expletive) will respect you.”
– From “Money, Power, Respect” by the Lox, 1998

Those on the right say liberal-leaning folks are not outraged enough. Those on the left tell those on the right to not cast the first stone as they live in a glass house. African-Americans bemoan the fact that Cosby was treated differently and Christians attribute all that to the moral decay in Hollywood.

All because of one man – Harvey Weinstein.

Well, to the right I say, “Remember ‘Grab them by the p****’!” To the left, well, he gave you guys a lot of money and championed your causes. Could it be you looked the other way too long? To my fellow blacks, “Have you listened to the misogyny in hip hop music lately?” To those holier-than-thou Christians, “Remember the priests and the boys?”

So if it is not a right or left, black or white, moral or immoral issue, what is it then?
Let’s go all the way back to 1887 and read an opinion in a letter the historian and moralist, John Emerich Edward Dalberg Acton, first Baron Acton, expressed in a letter to Bishop Mandell Creighton:
“Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Great men are almost always bad men.”

That is it folks – POWER!

The issue of the powerful preying on the helpless for sex is as old as humanity itself.
Genetically, the primary goal of every organism is to propagate itself. It is no different with humans. For this primary purpose, males are hardwired to donate sperm at every and any opportunity whereas females have the ability to pick the best mate. Just as with animals who prefer the stronger type who can protect the female and her offspring, so is it with women too. They tend to go for the powerful who can protect them. It follows then that the more powerful men in society are going to have access to more women and sex.
As stated earlier, power tends to corrupt those who wield it. This is through the growing of an ego that tells them they are irresistible and sexy. They develop the notion that they can have all they want, when they want and how they want it – a condition what one author calls “Sexual Hubris”. Could it be a function of people who never had now having access to all or is it an inbuilt issue of character? Is it an issue of opportunity like Bill Clinton famously explained, “…Because I could!’?
Whatever the cause, if one then combines the budding ego, the access to women and the fact that power is a rather potent aphrodisiac, we have all the makings of predatory behavior.

Yet this behavior is not confined to only men, even though they make up most of the culprits. Women have also been shown to become power-drunk and predatory.
Remember the biblical story of Joseph and Potiphar’s wife, Zuleika? To borrow an expression from Michael Che of SNL, “…she tried to weinstein Joseph for a piece of his harvey”.
When he fled, she got him jailed. This was around 2000 BC!
A survey by Professor Joris Lammers, of Tilburg University in the Netherlands,of more than 1,500 readers of a business magazine found that powerful women also tend to prey.

A psychologist, Larry Josephs describes a measure that is used to rate this pathology – “ the dark side”. He finds it in both sexes.
“It is a combination of narcissism, Machiavellianism and psychopathy,” he once wrote.
It explains quite well the behavior of men like Caligula who had sex with his sisters while his wife watched, Elagabalus who set up a brothel in the palace in Rome and pimped himself or the 18th-century Moroccan ruler Moulay Ismail who fathered 888 children with his 500 concubines. King Solomon is said to have had a 1000 wives and concubines and in 8 BC China, the emperor had one queen, three consorts, nine wives of second rank, 27 wives of third rank, and 81 concubines. My own maternal great-grandfather had 8 wives!
In modern times we have our Donald Trump, Bill Clinton, Eliot Spitzer, John Edwards, John Ensign, JFK, FDR, Arnold Schwarzenegger, Dominique Strauss-Kahn, Tiger Woods, the FOX News executives and Harvey Weinstein.

Yet not all powerful men are dogs. The missing link is self-restraint, a quality one learns growing up. Some never do and if they do become powerful men, all hell breaks loose. So it’s a question of character as well as sexual make-up. Then is the empathy factor as well as a respect for those weaker than, especially women. In a place like Hollywood, this is especially precarious. Like a former editor of the Hollywood Reporter, Janice Min, once wrote:
“The fundamental predatory nature of Hollywood is young, attractive people — largely females — putting themselves in front of men to be judged and appraised and chosen. All this calls for a certain level of character in powerful men that may be hard to find.”
And it is not only in Hollywood.
We turn a blind eye to the indiscretions of our young athletes, call them “jocks” and excuse it as locker room behavior. Sometimes coaches even get these young men strippers and prostitutes! In all industries across the US, there are powerful men and some women, abusing their power and preying on young men and women who need their favor to get ahead in their careers. I bet this is the same story all over the world to varying degrees.

No decree from Congress or executive order form 1600 Pensylavania Avenue can outlaw this behavior. No amount of outrage can stem it. The only things that will save us from this scourge are things that we need for everyday life – character, self-restraint and empathy. It will behove all powerful men and women to acquire these traits then something interesting happens when that power flees. All those women and men flee too!

Do That Exam!

Do this..!
…..at least once a month…
Look at them in the mirror, look at them with arms raised, look for discharge, feel them while lying down, feel them while standing…
Do this not only because it’s October…do it for you and for those you love and care about!

That Place Called Nambia

On Wednesday, President Trump delivered a speech to the Heads of States leaders of Côte d’Ivoire, Ethiopia, Ghana, Guinea, Namibia, Nigeria, Senegal, Uganda, and South Africa at the UN.
This statement he made earned and still earns him a lot of derision on social media:
“Nambia’s health system is increasingly self-sufficient.”
You see, there is no African nation named Nambia and everyone wondered if he meant Namibia, Zambia or Gambia.
Yet with everything Trump, within the web of lies, half-truths and exaggerations, there often lurks a hint of reality on which his deck of cards is mounted.
The clue to all this is found in the first paragraph of his speech. He said:
“Africa has tremendous business potential. I have so many friends going to your countries, trying to get rich. I congratulate you. They’re spending a lot of money. But it does — it has a tremendous business potential…”
So Trump has a lot of friends who go to Africa to make lots of money.
They go to this continent racked with disease, poverty and war to make a lot of money.
So where do they go to make this money? Well, you won’t believe it but they go to…Nambia!

I can already see the looks of incredulity as you read this and the question, “Where is this Nambia, Nana Dadzie?”
Well, Nambia is not a place per se. It is an institution. Nambia is an institution that allows a continent to be exploited to an unimaginable degree.
In urban parlance “nam” can stand for “a nothing” and one of the meanings of “bia” is weakling.
“Nambia” – “a weak nothing!”
Doesn’t the continent often comes across as a weak nothing?
Yet it’s not the whole continent that is a Nambia per se.
You see, the continent of Africa is blessed with resources. Like crazy amounts of gold, diamonds, oil, uranium, land and human capital.
The institution of Nambia is that which allows only allows a few access to these riches.
In the era of early European exploration and colonialism, they traded in everything, even humans! As the Indigines languished, they amassed sick wealth.
The whole continent was sucked into a giant Nambia.
The whole continent was a weak nothing!

These days, you see Nambias in Lagos, Accra, Abidjan, Nairobi, Lome, Luanda or even Johannesburg.
The men and women who populate them are Nigerian, Ghanaian, Ivorian, Kenyan or even Angolan. They wear thousand dollar suits from Saville Row and Rolex watches bought in New York. They ride in Mercedes AMGs over potholed streets that are lined by hungry children begging for a morsel yet these men and women do not see them through their tinted windows. They live in million-dollar homes far-removed form the crumbling hospitals and dilapidated schools their poor constituents have to use.
You see, these are the men and women with power and access to all the resources the continent have.
These are the men and women Trump’s friends go to see when they go to make money. These are the men and women who cavort with the North Americans, Europeans, Japanese and especially the Chinese who want to reap the riches of the continent. These power brokers sell these foreigners access to Nambia and together, they get to enjoy this paradise. To assuage their guilt, they throw the masses a bone, a like a health center, every now and then.
In this rarefied air, the masses who are afflicted with disease, racked with hunger and killed in wars don’t get to play. They hear their nations are rich but they never see it. They hear of this place called Nambia and bid their time. if they ever make it there, they take as much as they can, propagating the cycle.
These men and women may have all the trappings of wealth but due to their greed, they are weak nothings!

So laugh at Trump all you want. He was right. His friends go to Africa to try and make lots of money. They spend a lot of money doing that but only few of the Indigines benefit from that.
The place they do that is called Nambia and unlike the rest of the continent, its health system is increasingly self-sufficient and those who populate it are far-removed from the misery of life on a continent that is poor in the midst of riches.

The Hardest Thing

It always amazes me how a simple song can bring back long-lost or even repressed memories with such clarity. Music is really the soundtrack of our lives.

Whereas my son is totally into Afro-Carribean music, my daughter seems to enjoy rock classics, indie, grunge and the Motown stuff.
When we are in the car, she often loses the battle for which station to listen to by a ration of 3:1, so occasionally, I’ll throw her a bone. I did so yesterday.
Scrolling through the Sirius-XM stations, I landed on one playing a Tom Petty song she liked – “Into the Great Wide Open”.

Suddenly I was back in Leipzig, Germany. 1992 or 1993, I think. Medical School. Time for the more serious clinical rotations. I wanted the community hospital experience so I picked a hospital outside Leipzig. It was about 19 miles away and I had to be on the floor (ward) by 6 am to prepare for rounds.
I would wake up each morning when the alarm went off at 5 am, wondering whether this was how life was going to be for the rest of my life. In a mad dash, I would get ready and set off in my trusted 1989 VW Golf, still wondering. On the occasions that my then girlfriend spent the night, I rushed out with her still sleeping soundly without a care in the world. I was always so jealous of that.

For some reason, two songs stuck with me on those commutes. They would play often on the radio station I listened to. Both were by Tom Petty from the album “Into the Great Wide Open”. The first song was “Learning to Fly”. The other was, well, “Into the Great Wide Open”. I remember one particular morning in the dead of winter when there was quite a bit of snow so that traffic had slowed to a crawl. I knew I was going to be late. The sky was grey and I wished I was back in bed. In the space of 15 minutes, the DJ played both songs. That day, I was struck by the words.

The refrain of “Learning to Fly” goes:

I’m learning to fly, but I ain’t got wings
Coming down is the hardest thing.

That of “Into the Great Wide Open” went:

Into the great wide open
Under them skies of blue
Out in the great wide open
A rebel without a clue

To be honest, I found the songs quite unhelpful. One told me I had no wings and the other said I was clueless. The songs somehow reminded me of how alone I was – far away from family, “in the great wide open”, trying to grow my own wings so I could fly. Even back then I knew coming down was not the hardest thing. What was the hardest thing then?

As the song played on the radio yesterday and I was taken all the way back, I felt those sharp pangs of nostalgia.
The years have gone by since those days when I drove to Borna from Leipzig but I must say those words have proven to be quite true.
I ventured into “the great wide open” all by myself and so far, I’m surviving. I have fallen often because of the immaturity of my wings. I still do but I am not giving up.
And that “…without a clue” thing, how right was he! After all these years, I still wake up at 5 am, still steal out of the house careful not to wake my wife and kids and still wish I was back in bed.

And then as the song finished playing, it hit me. Coming down is not the hardest thing. It’s having the courage to take off again. Again and again even though the wings are not ready or immature. Knowing that you may come down much sooner than later but doing it anyway…..over and over in spite of crashing repeatedly till one day, you stay up…..maybe even soar to the heights like an eagle.
The years teach you that. Finding it in myself to wake up each morning even when I didn’t want to taught me that. Overcoming fears, anxieties, bad habits, procrastination and just doing it teaches that.
It took my daughter’s taste in music to remind me of that.

One day when she and her brother get ready to step into the world, I may send them off with some Tom Petty. He was a good companion to me once upon a time. Maybe he will be a good one to them too….in the great wide open.

Water, water everywhere

Suffering and misfortune are as part of life as the air we breathe. The late Chinua Achebe, the great Nigerian writer, captured this fact superbly in a quote from his book “Arrow of God”:

“When suffering knocks at your door and you say there is no seat for him, he tells you not to worry because he has brought his own stool.”

In this quote, part of a speech by the character Moses to the elders of the town of Umuaro, he compared the folly of not accepting the fact that the white man in the then colonized Nigeria had all the power to not accepting the inevitability of suffering in life.
Just like the European showed up on the African shore with his own stool and took over, regardless of the fact that the latter did not invite the former, so does misfortune sometimes intrude into our lives without an invite and takes over.

I look at the misery imposed on the people in Houston and other parts of southern Texas, Sierra Leone and Mumbai and cannot but think of how suffering walks around with its own stool.

So if we humans hate to suffer, why do we do things or make decisions that invite misfortune into out lives? I’ve always wondered about this and somehow, the miserable images on TV in the last few days have amplified this deliberation.
All that musing brought to mind a verse from a poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge, “The Rime of the Ancient Mariner”.
The story of the mariner in the poem contrasts greatly with the story of the people in Houston – he brought his suffering upon himself, the people of Houston did not. However, in both instances, water played a great role in the nightmare that ensued.

So a brief synopsis of the poem – a mariner, his crew and their ship are headed on a voyage. A storm drives them towards the Antarctic. Lost, they got caught in ice. Suddenly, an albatross appears and with it a wind that leads them out of the icy debacle. All is well as they follow the albatross but then the mariner shoots the bird with his crossbow and kills it. Following that, it was as if the gods and spirits had conspired to punish them. The very wind that seemed to have lead them out of the ice of the Antarctic lead them into uncharted tropical waters. Lost, all of a sudden the wind stopped. The ship just sat in these unknown waters, immobile. All his men blamed the mariner for their misfortune. It was in these dire circumstances that Coleridge wrote these lines:

Water, water, every where,
And all the boards did shrink;
Water, water, every where,
Nor any drop to drink.

Water, water everywhere indeed!
I’m sure the people of Houston look out and say that to themselves and wonder why such misfortune was visited upon them. Unlike the mariner in Coleridge’s poem, they never shot an albatross!
Well, like Achebe wrote, suffering walks around with his own stool. He imposes himself even if you do not want him!
Going back to the poem, the mariner is forced by the death of his crew and him being alone with the corpses on that lonely immobile ship to learn to appreciate life and realize how senseless the killing of the albatross was. From the misery, he grew. He found the proverbial silver lining.
So, is that why suffering marches around with his stool? To force us to learn? Are those who make mistakes and dare misfortune the ones who are more apt to learn faster? Is it that the majority of us fail to grow, so suffering has to knock on that door and induce misery so we can learn? Is suffering really the only way to sometimes learn the harsh lessons of life?
Is that why in both scenarios water seems to be the common denominator?
You see, water is life but in the case of Houston, Sierra Leone and Mumbai, it has became the killer! How can life turn on itself? How can life connive with suffering? Could it be that life itself wants us to grow? That life itself thinks the only way for us to develop and be greater is through misfortune? Water…it calls to mind the Christian custom of baptism, rebirth renewal…
Water, water everywhere!

Maybe, when we open that door and suffering is out there, we should gladly invite him in. We should tell him:
“As miserable as you look, I know there is a silver lining in you. I am going to find it so set that stool in the corner and sit down.”

In all this water and suffering, I hope Houston and the rest of Texas, Sierra Leone and Mumbai find the silver lining.

This Thing

All over the world, wherever the English introduced their language to the Indigenes, an adulteration of the English language ensued. It got mixed up, slanged, patoied, pidginized and even drawled out.

It was no different in Ghana where we not only made English our official language, but also created our own pidgin version out of it. Not satisfied with that, we borrowed a few words to add to our everyday discourse. In the process, we have at times so altered the meanings of the original word or phrases that not even Chaucer will make them out.
Sometimes, we translate directly from the vernacular into English, using that literal translation as an expression. A good example is the expression, “skin pain”, a term that means “jealousy”. In the Akan language, jealousy is “ahoa” (skin) “yaw” (pain) and just like that, we have a term.

One old and popular phrase that is probably older that most living Ghanaians can remember is the term “distin”. The term was birthed from the phrase “this thing”.
The term was used to describe anything or any event whose name the speaker could not remember or did not know. Often these were people whose command of the English language was fragmented. However with time, it got into popular usage. Following is a good example of it’s use:
Remember back when cellphones first appeared on the market. If I tried to describe one to a friend and I couldn’t remember the name, I could have said, “I saw “distin” you can use to make calls that is wireless”.
Boom! I didn’t miss a beat!

Thus “distin” grew and with time became the Swiss Army knife of everyday Ghanaian conversation, morphing into other branches of our discourse.
So now, one can hear the term, “It was a sad distin” meaning “It was a sad day or It was a sad event”.

The term has also crept into our bedrooms where all things conjugal fall under the broad umbrella of “distin”. Here one even hears variations like “to distinate” or “the distinate”…..I’ll leave the meanings to your imagination.
Matter of fact, all parts and participants of that male-female interaction can be described with “distin”:
“His ‘distin’ doesn’t work anymore but that is not catastrophic since we live in the age of Vitamin V”, Ama confided to Abena.
One can only marvel at the versatility of the word!

I cannot end distin without my favorite “distin” story.
This past July, I was in Accra with the family and took the kids to Coco Lounge at Stanbic Heights for brunch. Street-level parking was full so we used the underground lot and thus, had to take the elevator up. The minute my son saw the elevators, as he is wont to do, he ran over to the door and starting pushing repeatedly on the call button.
Suddenly an attendant appeared like out of the blue. He was an older guy. He pushed my son’s hand away from the call button and yelled:
“Why you pressing, pressing, pressing? Don’t you know you’ll break the distin?”
At that moment, all I could imagine was my son breaking a distin.
I still laugh when I remember that funny distin.