Hannah, Joseph, and Alison at Sophie's and my birthday party, October 12, 2007

It’s pretty tragic that it took the death of a friend to breathe new life into this old blog. Well, the death was tragic. The dormancy of the blog is really just lameness on my part. I am not a good diarist. But then, you already knew that.

But this isn’t about me. This is about my friend Joseph Nyabire, who died December 30th, a week and a half ago, at the age of 29. My readers (still can’t believer you guys are out there) will have heard a lot about Jo during my first few days and weeks in Ghana. He was a constant presence, showing me and Kevin around Accra, teaching us the ropes, from how to eat waakye, to buying phones, and negotiating cab fares. I’ll link to posts he was in at the end of this one.

His disappearance from the blog in no way reflected a disappearance from my life. Mostly, I didn’t stay good at blogging regularly for very long. Also, though, Jo stopped turning up in blogs because he stopped being out of the ordinary. I realized how little I discussed him with those overseas when I e-mailed a group of my closest friends the day after he died:

You’ve probably never heard of him unless you were avid readers of my sporadically kept blog, because he was so much of a part of my life in Ghana that he stopped bearing mention pretty early on, sort of like the air, and the ground we walked on together so often. Joseph was always there, loving me fiercely, irritating the hell out of me, introducing me to new foods, and drinking my beer. I can not believe that he is gone.

I’ve actually written a fair amount about Jo since he died, mostly in e-mails to people who knew him, to tell them what happened. Here is some of what I wrote the morning he died:

I am devastated to write and tell you that our friend Joseph Nyabire died a few hours ago at 37 Military Hospital, in Accra. He had been in a coma for about a week as a result of head injuries received from a motorcycle accident. He fought hard to come back to us, but eventually the injury was too much for him…

For those of you who have not been in touch with Joseph in the last few months, I want you to know he was doing really well. He moved into a new place a few months ago, ending his long tenancy with his hostile landlord. He started a good and stable job working for a towing company in August, which was flexible enough to allow him to go to school part time as well. He started school in June, and wrote me one of his inimitable e-mails on his first day: “it  was very  turf  and  challenge  for  me  to  meat  up  with  my expectation  so  i  am  taking  cool  at  the  moment   at  the   same  time  making  an  impact  i  was  very  happy  to  se  myself  in  a clas  room  with  people  is  abaut   100+  but  that  does not  make  me  feel  strange.”

He finished an SSS preparatory course earlier this month, and when I chatted with him last Monday he was still waiting for his exam results; he thought he’d done pretty well. He had registered for a two-year SSS equivalency program to start this year and had signed up for courses that would be suitable prerequisites for eventually pursuing a career in law. Eva tells me he was thinking of volunteering at the Law Resource Centre as well. I was, am, so proud of him.

Despite his long frustrations with Ghanaian politicians, and past protestations that voting made no difference, he cast his vote for the NDC in the election earlier this month. He would be happy to know that it looks like Mills has won yesterday’s runoff.

On the one hand, of course, it is appalling for him to lose his life just as things were finally going right for him, after a particularly challenging year, and the many struggles he’s overcome since childhood; I’m trying to see it as him making an exit when he was on top. Despite my frustration that he continued to ride motorcycles even after a number of serious accidents, I’m trying to remember that Joseph valued freedom above almost everything else, and motorcycles certainly made him feel free. Most of all, I am remembering how much love and laughter he brought into my life, and thinking that, though it was far too short, he sure fit a lot of life into his life.

No matter how much I write and talk about Joseph’s death, I don’t really believe it happened. I can’t really imagine that he won’t be there to greet me with a rib-cracking hug and goofy grin the next time I land in Accra. That isn’t actually possible. So it can’t be true. And yet it is.

His funeral will be at the end of this month. It’s been a tough call to make, but I have decided not to attend. The money I would have spent on a rushed trip to Ghana will honour his memory better if used to help those he loved achieve the things he didn’t have time to. (If you knew Jo and want to know funeral specifics, though, I can give you details, just ask.)

I don’t know that there’s much more to say. Joseph’s death has been a powerful reminder to me to cherish my loved ones while they’re alive, and also a kick in the pants to finish recording my Ghanaian memories while I still have some of them. I will be finishing uploading my photographs onto Flickr (already did a few batches last week), and accompanying them with some stories here. No promises about when exactly, we know I don’t keep those.  But I will do it. And then, who knows. Maybe I’ll actually get into the habit of writing here.

Joseph Links:

A Facebook album I made of Jo-related pictures.

More blog posts with Jo in them: First Day in Accra, Filling in the Blanks, Filling in the Blanks: Day 3, Filling in the Blanks: First Weekend, Rosh HaGhana.

Part 2 of this episode of the CBC’s show the Current is a story produced with Joseph’s help. So good to hear his voice.

And, while there will eventually be a blog post about it, for now, the Flickr set of the one vacation Jo and I took together, to Aburi botanical gardens.

As predicted, I have yet to follow up on my recent announcement that I would start blogging again. A major reason for that, though, is that I was way behind on my picture uploading, and I wanted to be sure that my next entries were not as boringly text-heavy as the last litany of columns. So, this weekend I went on a photo-editing and uploading spree. I’ve still December to deal with (including Mole National Park and my Christmas elephants), but my flickr page now has all of my 2008 pictures (like these headbutting Cape Coast goats) available for your viewing pleasure. So, please continue to be patient with me. And, as a reward (or perhaps a cause for more patience?) take a look at my most recent attempts at photography. (You can access my flickr account from the link in my right hand navigation.)

Wow. I owe a whole lot of you a big apology. I logged onto WordPress this week for the first time in ages to update/backfill this blog of mine for the first time in three months. Out of habit, I went straight to my stats page, and expected to find a flatline of next-to-no page views stretching back weeks, if not months. Instead I found that an average of four people have popped into this barren wasteland of a blog every day for the last month. Your faith in me based on absolutely no supporting evidence is mind-boggling and flattering. I’m honoured, and a complete bum for making you check in without recompense for the last three months.

Today I’m uploading a big pile of my unposted GO columns (including one from November 14 that was never put on the Ghanaian Observer site). In the next few weeks I will do my very best to do some retrospectives of some of my travels (Amedzofe, my mum’s visit, Mole National Park), and start putting some kind of regular updates on this thing. As we all know, though, I’m not necessarily all that good at keeping this thing afloat, so please don’t hold it against me if I start slipping through the cracks.

Briefly, though, let me fill you in on where I’m at these days—and have been lately. Those of you who knew my schedule, will know that I was supposed to finish in Ghana on the 15th of February. I am, however, still here. This is due to a number of reasons. Initially, the plan was to finish on the 15th, and take off with my friend and colleague Kevin for a six week African adventure, sampling Mali, Burkina Faso, Tanzania, Rwanda, Malawi, and Addis Ababa (we were flying Ethiopian Airlines), and squeezing in as many trains, ferries, festivals, markets, and giraffes as possible into a jam-packed but awesome itinerary. I would then have landed back in Vancouver just in time for my first Passover on the west coast in eight years.

Our trip was not to be, though. After returning from my Christmas with the elephants at Mole National Park (if it’s the last thing I do, I promise you’ll get a post on that), I slipped in my shower and dislocated my right shoulder. This immediately threw our travel plans into question, because, since it had been eight years since the first and last time I dislocated it, I had no memory of how I would be feeling seven weeks later when we were scheduled to take off on our trip.

It ended up being a moot point. While my arm was still immobilized in a sling, Kevin applied for and was offered another JHR position in Sierra Leone, and therefore had to resign as my future travel companion. Since the one thing I knew was that I didn’t want to do the whole trip alone, it was canceled. I re-booked my ticket for February 25th so that I could at  least take the ferry down Lake Volta before coming home, and started psyching myself up for winter, a season I thought I would be avoiding this year.

Turns out that was a little premature. About a week after I changed my ticket, a colleague of mine who was part of the two-person team that co-ordinates JHR’s regional workshops resigned. Since he left at about the same time I was supposed to, I was offered the opportunity to fill out the rest of his contract so that his partner wasn’t left with a two-person workload to complete on her own. Having made up my mind to going home, I was quite torn, but eventually realized that a person only gets one chance to take advantage of once-in-a-lifetime opportunities, so I accepted the position.

What followed was a whirlwind of finding new housing (that’s another post, but allow me to quickly mention my mango tree: I have a mango tree!), changing flights, extending travel insurance, and figuring out exactly what my new job entails (also another post). Suffice it to say for now (because I’m tired and want to hit publish so I can go to bed), that I am extremely happy: my job is interesting and challenging, my new living situation is bliss, and I’m loving this little gift of time to enjoy Ghana further. I am now scheduled to leave May 19th, and will spend my first month in North America crisscrossing the eastern seaboard (Boston, DC, Philly, NYC) for bar mitzvahs, convocations, reunions, and just general catching up before heading back to Vancouver. So, if you’re in one of my old eastern haunts, I hope I’ll see you in late May/early June, and if you’re out west, I’m coming to join your ranks mid-June! In the meantime, stay tuned for some more Ghanaian hijinks.

Thanks again for your loyalty and patience! I’ll try to deserve them more henceforth.

Uh oh. I’m going to have start writing actual blog entries, because my final column for the Ghanaian Observer was published here, and is posted (phew!) below:

I am writing this, my last GO column, from a hotel room in Tamale. Though I am leaving these pages this week, I am not leaving Ghana for another three months. My location today is a reflection of my new role, which will have me travelling throughout Ghana working with journalists in different regional capitals, without time to regularly contribute to this paper.

Many of the column inches I have filled these last seven months have focused on problems I have with the way power is exercised in Ghana. In particular, I’ve taken issue with the Accra Metropolitan Assembly (many times), the Ghana 2008 Local Organising Committee (a few times), and even President John A. Kufuor himself (at least once). I can tell you now that when I do leave Ghana, I won’t be missing any of them.

There is a lot that I will miss, though, and I plan to work hard at appreciating all of those things during my last months on Ghanaian soil. First and foremost, I will miss the openness and friendliness of Ghana’s people, which was much ballyhooed before my arrival, and has completely lived up to its billing. I don’t mind confessing that I often felt my privacy invaded by all the people greeting me on the street in my first weeks and months here, and I don’t think I’ll ever feel comfortable being grabbed by strangers as I pass (which happens a few times a week). I know for certain, though, that after ten months in Ghana I will find my fellow Canadians incredibly unfriendly when they fail to greet me as I walk down the streets in my hometown once I have returned.

Most particularly among Ghana’s people, I will miss her children. I will never forget the first time a Ghanaian child (a boy of about three) ran at me to hug my knees as though I was his best friend, not a stranger walking toward him. It is such a joy to meet children every day who are affectionate, curious about the world around them, and have not been taught to fear and shun strangers as most Western children are. I hope I manage to raise such children some day.

What I won’t miss for a second is the sight and sound of parents and other adults meting out physical punishments against these delightful children, and calling them “stubborn” for failing to see the “reason” in the violence they are subjected to. If, as adults, we react with anger and indignation if we are assaulted (and surely that is true for the vast majority of us), how can we expect anything else from our children? I look forward to someday visiting a Ghana where her wonderful children are treated with the respect their parents demand for themselves.

Speaking of which, another thing I will miss is the passion and determination of Ghana’s ordinary people to extract justice from those leaders and authorities I have complained about so liberally. The road to justice is certainly not always easy or clear, but I’m moved by the way those who suffer in this country genuinely believe in its capacity to do right by them, if only they can make their concerns and voices heard. I hope that my work with journalists has done a small amount to help them get their stories told, and I look forward to seeing the results of the struggles of these “little people” against corrupt “big men” in the months and years to come.

I could go on at great length about things I won’t miss (impenetrable bureaucracies, traffic, open sewers, litter, being stared at) and those I will (food, beaches, trotros, being stared at), and it still wouldn’t come close to summarising my experiences here. I have made so many friends, learned so many lessons about Africa, development, justice, life, and myself, I couldn’t possibly fit them all into this small space.

What is clear to me is that I can in no way recompense Ghana for all she has given me. I will spend my last few months here trying to give back, having spent the last seven receiving more than anyone could possibly repay. There is one thing I know I can give, though. Luckily, no matter how big it gets, it will fit anywhere, including this little column. That thing is gratitude. Let me start by expressing it here.

Thank you Ghana.

Can you bear it? My second-to-last column was published here, and can also be savoured below:

I didn’t think the AMA could surprise me, but a few weeks ago they did. After months of criticizing the policies and practices of the Accra Metropolitan Assembly, I thought I was beyond the stage where they could shock me. I was wrong. I wish I could say the surprise was a pleasant one, but it wasn’t. Just when I thought the city’s administration couldn’t get more absurd, they announced that taxi drivers would be arrested for failing to wear sky-blue shirts and blue-black trousers.

That’s right, in a country where important road safety laws like seatbelt and helmet use aren’t even enforced, the AMA has decided to use its resources to impose a dress code. I have traveled extensively, and have never encountered a law determining the daily dress of private citizens, especially independent business operators (which many drivers are). Even in Beijing (the capital of a communist dictatorship, don’t forget) taxi drivers wear what they choose unless their company has a uniform policy. I simply can’t imagine what reasonable justification for this policy could exist in a free market economy and democracy with so many more important problems than keeping up appearances.

You’ll note that I’m not grousing about the other component of the policy, the required embossment of vehicles. That’s a question of public safety and accountability, and I applaud it (see, I don’t hate everything the AMA does). But pairing that sensible policy with an absurd one makes the latter seem even more ridiculous. If the AMA is genuinely concerned about public safety, I repeat, why not use the officers enforcing the uniform rule (one driver I spoke to estimated there are about 60 working throughout the city) to fine people not wearing seatbelts. Believe it or not, Ghana’s road traffic regulations do require seatbelt use, and for a very good reason.

As usual, I didn’t want to come out and complain about the policy if I was on a completely different page from those who are actually affected by it. So, I’ve been conducting an informal “survey” of all my taxi drivers over the last week, chatting with them about their uniforms or lack thereof. About half were in uniform, but only one said he thought it was a good idea. The others who wore it said they did so because they didn’t want to get caught out, and often knew others who had been. Most felt that the AMA had no business in their closets, and shared my opinion that there were a lot more important things the administration could be working on (though since most weren’t seatbelt wearers, they were probably thinking of other uses for AMA resources).

Yet again, an AMA policy has appalled me by its emphasis on maintaining appearances over making actual change and improvements in the lives of Accra residents. Typically, also, the enforcement regime for the policy is disproportionate to its importance. Arrest for wearing the wrong coloured shirt? Isn’t the slogan of the party that appointed Accra’s district chief executive “Development in Freedom”? I fail to see how this policy increases Accra residents’ access to either.

This week’s column was published here, and is posted below:

Two weeks ago I was so enchanted with the excitement surrounding the football tournament taking place in Ghana right now, that I refrained from expressing concerns I had about the way the Cup of Nations was being run. As the competition nears its close, though, I feel the need to rant a little about some of the issues that have frustrated me.

The most obvious problem, of course, is ticket distribution. I’m not even going to try to propose solutions to the empty stadiums at all the non-Ghana games (though I think they’re appalling), and I’m not going to touch on the issues of hoarding and scalping, because I’m not an expert in these things, and I really don’t know how they can be solved. (I’m pretty sure someone knows, though, and I wish the Local Organising Committee would ask them.) What I do want to do is share one ticket-buying experience and a suggestion that occurred to me out of it.

Last Thursday, along with the rest of Accra, I was desperately trying to acquire tickets to the Ghana-Nigeria quarterfinal. Around mid-day, I got a call from a friend who was queuing at the Ghana Commercial Bank branch at Kwame Nkrumah Circle. She’d heard the tickets would be released at 2 p.m. I rushed to join her, and arrived just before 2. For the next half hour we waited, occasionally experiencing a frisson of anticipation when people at the front of the line stirred. Eventually word was spread—not through an official announcement—that the branch would not be selling its tickets that afternoon, but the following morning at 8:30. My friends and I left, and assumed everyone else had done the same.

The next day, as I rode my morning trotro to work, I called the bank to confirm that they would indeed be selling their tickets at 8:30. The man who answered the phone informed me that an angry mob had refused to leave the bank when we had, and that the bank had given in to their demands and sold them the tickets that day. In other words, hooliganism had been rewarded, while those of us who had respected the bank’s wishes were denied an opportunity to buy tickets at all.

Bad decision making at the bank aside, this entire situation could have been avoided with a simple piece of policy making on the part of the LOC. I appreciate that it may not be possible to have tickets arrive at all selling points at the same time. But surely each game’s tickets could have a designated sale time that could be publicly announced. That way, whether they arrived on Wednesday evening or Thursday morning, all tickets for Saturday’s match would go on sale at noon on Thursday, and since everyone knew that, people wouldn’t waste days in queues that didn’t even result in tickets being sold. Before the games started, a number of people talked about how productivity would suffer because everyone would be too busy watching football to work. It seems excessive that we have to lose workdays to ticket-buying too, when such a simple policy could streamline the process.

Talk of work leads me to my other, more serious, complaint. I have been lucky to get tickets to five matches so far. I’ve really enjoyed the stadium experience, and particularly found the many blue-shirted young volunteers helpful and enthusiastic. What I can’t get enthusiastic about is the fact that they are volunteers at all. Wasn’t one of the major selling points of this tournament supposed to be its economic benefits? Why, in this age of Ye Wuo protests and unpaid National Youth Employment workers, did the Ghana LOC not hire these eager young folks to work in the stadiums rather than take advantage of their enthusiasm to get them to work for free? Would it have been so difficult for them to use the tournament to put money in the pockets of Ghanaians other than themselves?

It is decisions like these that make me wonder for whose benefit the contest is actually being organised. And there are times when I’m not sure I like the answer.

This week’s column was published here, and is also conveniently posted right here:

Last week’s news was dominated by an odd duet of stories, with coverage on air and in print alternating almost exclusively between the Cup of Nations football tournament and the botched bust of the child prostitution operations at Accra’s Soldier Bar. Time and again call-in shows focusing on the previous night’s game found themselves fielding calls about escaping child prostitutes (and vice versa), in an awkward but telling demonstration of the divide in Ghana’s collective consciousness.

As the week began, I was in full football fever mode, but by Tuesday I’d begun tuning out the never-ending analysis, and tuning in as more details about the bust and subsequent disappearance of the apprehended minors from government custody emerged. As the week wore on, and focus shifted almost exclusively to who was responsible for the girls’ “escape,” I was disappointed to find little attention paid to the issue that had attracted my attention in the first place. I share in people’s disbelief and anger about the girls’ release from the social welfare centre, but I wonder why they’re not angrier about another troubling aspect of the story.

I’m referring in particular to the assault on the three journalists who were present at the bust: Anas Aremeyaw Anas of the Crusading Guide, Halifax Ansah Addo of the Daily Guide, and Alex Mensah of Joy FM. In the interest of full disclosure, let me state that Anas and Halifax are both friends of mine, and add that neither of them are aware that I am writing this column, or have contributed to it in any way (I have never met Alex).

The fact that Anas, Halifax, and Alex all received rough treatment at the hands of police was reported in most of the early coverage of the case (though not all). For the most part, their beatings were justified by explaining that the police didn’t realise (or believe) that they were journalists, and washed over by saying that the police have apologised. What upsets me is that no one seems disturbed by the fact that the police were beating people, whether or not they were innocent. Of course I am well aware of the prevalence of police brutality in Ghana, but I had hoped that people weren’t so desensitised to it that they wouldn’t even bat an eyelash at it when it made its way into the news. It appears that Ghanaians assume their police officers will beat citizens at every opportunity.

The police in Ghana, as in most democracies, are authorised to use force when making arrests. As far as I am aware, however, that force is still required to be “minimal,” “reasonable,” and “legitimate.” To my understanding, for the force to be legitimate, the victim must be physically resisting arrest, for it to be reasonable the force must help in making the arrest, and it ought at all times to be the least amount of force necessary.

As far as I can gather, the journalists were attacked for taking photographs, something the police ought to have talked to them about, not assaulted them for. If they had refused to stop and the police had had good reason to think that justified their arrest, I still fail to see how breaking or bloodying (depending on the account) someone’s nose is a minimal way to ensure their arrest. Is there a powerful nose-centred self-defence technique I’m not thinking of? Were the journalists at risk of sneezing their way out of police hands?

Given that the journalists were also not committing any crimes (which should have been made clear by the fact that they were taking pictures of the bust, not fleeing), and that the violence used on them was neither minimal, reasonable, nor legitimate, a mere apology should not have satisfied anyone—not the journalists, not the public, nor the police force, whose reputation is damaged by such behaviour on the part of its officers. I naively expected a clamour for an inquiry into the evening’s events, and disciplinary action to be taken against the officers.

More fool me. In the aftermath of the Ministry of Women’s and Children’s Affairs bungling, I instead heard people talking about how the police had “done exactly what they were supposed to do.” If beating innocent civilians is exactly what the Ghana Police Service is supposed to do, this country has some serious rethinking to do about its status as a democracy. If investigative journalists working hand in hand with police can expect to be rewarded with beatings, what hope do the rest of us have of peaceful interactions with this country’s peace officers?

After a long hiatus (to be explained in a later post), I wrote a new column, which was published here, and appears below:

As I write this column, commentators on my radio (and I’m sure every other Ghanaian FM station) are dissecting the Black Stars’ opening match win over Guinea in the African Cup of Nations. I had intended to dedicate my return to GO’s pages (did you miss me?) to one of my trademark rants against a problematic Accra Metropolitan Assembly policy. But, like the rest of the country, I’ve caught a case of Black Star fever, so the rant will have to wait until the fever has broken.

When I first learned that I would be spending seven months in Ghana, one of the first things I went to research was football. As a citizen of one (Canada) and former resident of another (the U.S.) of the few countries in the world where football is not the most popular sport (they even call it soccer!), I am always happy when my travels bring me to countries that share my love of the beautiful game. I’e been lucky to find myself living in both England and France during major football tournaments, where I could find other enthusiasts gathering around every available TV set to watch match after match after match.

You can imagine my joy at discovering that not only would there be a major African football tournament while I was on the continent, but in the very country and city where I would be living.

As the games have approached, my enthusiasm hasn’t waned, though as I’ve expressed on these pages, I’ve been concerned with a number of the policies adopted by Ghanaian governments at various levels in preparation for the games. Hosting the continent’s (and world’s) football enthusiasts could have been an opportunity for Ghana to help its most vulnerable citizens as a means of showing the world a Ghana we can all be proud of. Instead, attempts to “beautify” the host cities in order to “welcome” visitors, have more often than not harmed the country’s most vulnerable, and in some cases (notably Accra’s Tema Station) made the area to be beautified more chaotic and less attractive than before.

In the immediate weeks and days preceding the tournament, I’ve also had some gripes about the Local Organising Committee’s inefficient and chaotic distribution of tickets and information. In particular I’m irked by the greeting I receive when I dial the phone number posted on the LOC’s website, namely a recorded message that says: “The subscriber you have dialed is temporarily disconnected.”

All those concerns and complaints evaporated Sunday night, however, when I gathered with Ghanaian and obroni friends to watch the game. We’d wanted to go to the stadium, but didn’t manage to buy tickets, despite pursuing numerous legitimate (and semi-legitimate) avenues. We may not have been able to compete with the stadium, but our little group was nonetheless a hotbed of enthusiasm. We moaned as shot after shot sailed straight at the crossbar, goal posts, or into the hands of Guinea’s goalkeeper, whose enormous talent we begrudgingly acknowledged. When goals were scored, people not only cheered, but jumped, danced, ran laps around the room, and kissed the TV. Watching one another’s reactions was as much fun as watching the match itself.

I’ve often thought that observing Ghanaians’ behaviour during and before the tournament would teach me a lot about this country, and it has. It didn’t occur to me, though, that I’d learn anything about myself. Sunday night, however, I made a discovery.

As soon as I’d learned the Cup of Nations would be played here, I knew I would be supporting the Black Stars. At that point my decision was based purely on the facts Ghana would be not only the host nation, but my country of residence. Not having a prior allegiance to any African football team, I would support Ghana by default.

Since I had no reason to change my mind on this subject, I hadn’t thought about it again. Until Sunday, when I had my realization, which was this: Ghana is no longer just my default team. While I of course still appreciate the talents of the other teams playing, I genuinely want Ghana to win, and will be as devastated as my Ghanaian neighbours, friends, and colleagues if they don’t. So what’s changed?

It appears that my six months here have not just been an interesting experiment in eating banku and riding trotros. Ghana has worked its way into my heart and soul, planting on its way a newfound loyalty to the Black Stars. I may be leaving Ghana soon to return to Canada, but I know now Ghana will never leave me.

This week’s column was published here, and appears below:

Like most people in Ghana, I’m looking forward to the upcoming Ghana 2008 football championship. At least, I think I’m like most people in Ghana. Certainly the endless streams of promotional materials, advertisements, and merchandise are creating a feeling of anticipation, and I’ve talked to lots of Ghanaians who seem excited about the upcoming tournament.

I have also, however, been part of a number of discussions now in which Ghanaians took quite a negative view, if not of the tournament itself, then of what it will mean for the country. While the Cup of Nations’ corporate and government sponsors are touting the money that will pour into the country along with foreign visitors, many Ghanaians I have spoken to are convinced that the major imports during the Cup will be drugs, diseases, crime, and immorality.

I must confess that I have been extremely surprised to hear this point of view expressed so widely. Before coming to Ghana I was told to expect open-armed hospitality, and I have certainly experienced it since my arrival. I have a hard time imagining the same Ghanaian welcome being extended to people thought to be bringing AIDS, cultural adulteration, prostitution, and petty thievery. I would be devastated if it turned out that the arms Ghana spread so wide to welcome me (a Canadian) weren’t stretched just as far for the thousands of Africans expected to arrive in January and February.

Of course, any gathering of people as large as the Cup will bring an increase in crime, but it’s unreasonable to assume that the crimes are more likely to be committed by visitors than by Ghanaians. There are desperate people willing to break the law to get by in all countries, and they will take advantage of opportunities to do so when they present themselves, whether at home or away.

The concern that visitors will bring disease is equally irrational. There are no diseases in neighbouring countries that aren’t already in Ghana. True, Ghana’s HIV/AIDS prevalence rate (2.3%) is among the lowest in Africa, but Benin’s (1.8%) and Burkina Faso’s (2%) are lower. I doubt Burkinabés and Beninois are planning to stay away because they think Ghanaians spread disease, and Ghanaians would be rightly insulted if they did. The way to prevent further infections during CAN is the same as at every other time of year: Ghanaians need to take responsibility for their own HIV status (and health in general) by getting tested and avoiding high risk behaviours like unprotected sex.

My hometown of Vancouver, in Canada, will be hosting the Winter Olympics a little over two years from now, so I’m familiar with the feeling that a horde of sports fans is about to invade your home. There are days when I think I will leave town during the Olympics, and days I wish Vancouver wasn’t going to host them at all (though that has more to do with my wish that my tax dollars were paying teachers and nurses, not building stadiums). Other times, though, I see the Olympics as my city’s chance to show off to the world, and its residents’ opportunity to meet people from all over by simply walking out their front doors.

Those days when I’m not keen on the Olympics, I think of buses and sidewalks being crowded, my favourite restaurants and quiet spots overrun with no room for me, and local leaders with their attention focused on games rather than important social issues. Even when I’m not keen on their arrival, though, it’s never occurred to me to think of the Olympic visitors as immoral disease-spreading criminals. They’re sports fans.

And that’s what most of the people coming to Ghana 2008 will be: sports fans. Sure, if people aren’t careful, crime and disease could both spread during the tournament. But so can international understanding, cross-border friendships, and maybe even a little prosperity.

There are plenty of things to complain about as CAN approaches (“beautification” at the expense of the local poor, abuse of power and funds by officials and companies involved in the tournament…), but it makes me sad to hear Ghanaians complaining about their future guests. Ghana gave me the warmest welcome of my life five months ago. I hope those travelling here for the Cup of Nations will be able to say the same.

This week’s column was published here, and appears below:

Since my very first column some months ago, I have actively avoided mentioning what brought me to Ghana in the first place. It’s not that I’m ashamed of my work here, I’m proud of it, but I didn’t feel it had a place in this space. This column is a forum for my own personal views and observations, and I didn’t want to give the impression that I was writing as the representative of the organisation I work for, rather than as myself alone.

You see, I work with the staff at The Ghanaian Observer, but I don’t work for The Ghanaian Observer. I am employed by an organisation called Journalists for Human Rights, and my purpose in Ghana is to build the capacity of the reporters I work with at GO and beyond to write the best human rights stories they can. You may have noticed some of the results of my work already in these pages; I hope you will continue to long after I have left the country.

I’m sure you’re now wondering why, after five months of failing to mention my reason for being here, I’ve suddenly decided to bring it up. There’s no big story here, no sudden need to “come clean” with my readers. The entirely mundane reason is Human Rights Day.

Monday was the 59th anniversary of the United Nations’ adoption of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, on December 10, 1948. In honour of the occasion, I thought I would address some aspects of Ghana’s human rights situation that I’ve observed since I arrived. And since I thought you might find that odd without context, I figured I might as well provide it.

One of the things I have noticed is that Ghanaians are widely aware of the idea that they have human rights, but don’t necessarily know precisely what those rights are. An evicted hawker—to give an example that will be familiar to regular readers—will be the first to tell you that her “rights” have been abused, but if pressed will likely not know that the rights she’s been denied are her entitlements to livelihood and property.

A child who does not attend school may feel indignant that he has been deprived of an experience being shared by his peers, but he is unlikely to know that international (and Ghanaian) law guarantees him an education that no one has the right to refuse him.

And, in fact, the rights to property and education are some of the better-known guarantees included in the Universal Declaration. I have found Ghanaians surprised to learn that they are also granted in law the right to rest and leisure, to clothing, housing, and medical care, and to enjoyment of the arts. The knowledge that you have rights is incredibly important, but it can only take you so far; it’s hard to defend your right to something if you don’t know exactly what it is.

Another widespread gap in peoples’ concept of human rights exists in their understanding of the relationship of international human rights law to Ghana’s own statutes. (I want to note here that though I’m talking about Ghana, this misunderstanding extends far beyond this country’s borders into developing and developed countries on all continents.) I have interviewed law makers and enforcers who consider themselves entitled to violate Ghanaians’ rights because they are enforcing Ghanaian law. I have spoken with Ghanaians who view rights in the Universal Declaration (the right to leisure, say, or to equal pay for equal work) as “nice ideas” that “don’t apply here.”

In fact, by ratifying human rights treaties (and Ghana has adopted most of the major international agreements on rights), a country accepts the contents of the treaties as law. Not suggestions, not pleasant fantasies, but enforceable, triable-in-court laws. That means those government representatives saying they’re allowed to confiscate that hawker’s goods because they were trespassing are themselves violating the laws of the land. And it means that the right to equal pay for equal work, even if not immediately achievable, does apply here, not just in imagination.

I don’t want to come across as castigating Ghanaians for not knowing the Universal Declaration of Human Rights by heart. I realise that knowing it intimately is part of my job, and not necessarily something everyone else wants to spend time on. It is, however, a pretty interesting and empowering document to read, if I do say myself. If you get a chance, give it a read before its 60th birthday a year from now. You’ll be giving yourself a gift.