All that glitters in Obuasi is not gold

Kofi Yeboah Writes,

It is Good Friday, April 7, 2023.

Jesus Christ has been killed by the Jews after one of his disciples, Judas Iscariot, sold him out for crucifixion 2023 years ago, so says the Bible.

Christians across the world are mourning Jesus Christ, some with church services and others with ‘Gbonyo Party’.

I am doing none of those.

I am travelling to Obuasi.

But I am soberly reflecting on the saving grace of Jesus Christ secured by his death on this day.

One nagging question, which has never betrayed me on this occasion like Judas did to Jesus, but which I desire to kill like the Jews did to Jesus, is that if the death of Jesus Christ brought salvation to humankind, did Judas, who contributed significantly to the killing of Jesus, do wrong?

Another nagging question: why did Judas Iscariot commit suicide after gaining handsomely from the betrayal transaction?

To the latter question, I guess the answer may not be far-fetched: money is not everything in life.

Anyway, let me mind my own business and leave Judas to mind his.

 

Metro Mass: ‘Moving the Nation’

 

I am traveling to Obuasi by public transport.

My choice would have been a VIP or STC Intercity bus, going through Kumasi to Obuasi.

But I am at the Metro Mass Bus Terminal at Kaneshie.

I had sworn never to patronize that bus again because the few times I did under unavoidable circumstances, I suffered serious bodily harm.

But someone has convinced me: Metro Mass now has ‘VIP’ type of buses, with air-condition ‘full nyanya’ and better seats than the plastic ones I know.

With the belief I have in my source, I breach my resolve against Metro Mass and opt for it.

“After all, Jesus Christ suffered serious bodily harm on Good Frida for my salvation so it is not a big deal to suffer same on Good Friday,” I muttered.

From the outlook, the bus, indeed, looks like a ‘VIP’ bus but I am still thinking about that local adage: “No matter how madness may flee from a man, he will still retain a little madness to scare children”.

After buying the ticket, I head to the front door to board the third bus for the day.

A gentleman is sitting at the door and he tells another passenger ahead of me we should use the back door.

Why?

He is conversing with the driver.

“Lalai! If Jesus does not come today and waits till Sunday, hell will break loose here,” I whispered.

It dawns on me immediately that there is a little madness left in this mad man called Metro Mass Bus to scare children.

But we are not children to pay attention to this mad man, as we insist on using the front door.

I have boarded the bus and immediately I am greeted with another spectacle of ‘madness’: the bus has middle seats, apart from the two seats on the right and left sides.

I am trying to hold the folded middle seat affixed to mine while sitting down and it trips, almost falling off.

Listen. I am hearing other passengers shouting about similar state of the middle seats near them.

I am getting frustrated and asking myself: “When will this bus get full? “How will passengers move freely with these middle seats?”

I see the driver getting up from his seat; he is wearing a yellow T-Shirt with black inscription at the back: “Moving The Nation”.

Moving the nation? In which direction? To where? With what vehicle? At what bodily cost?

Obviously, that talk is more rhetoric than reality.

 

The defects

 

Passengers are required to pay Ghs5 for their luggage but no tag is issued for luggage packed in the boot of the bus.

This is likely to result in loss of luggage, delay at bus stops for identification of luggage and even quarrels needlessly.

Inside the bus, it is clear the middle seats have fallen apart and the centre is not capable of holding them.

I am sitting in the bus for two hours as passengers get on board one-by-one and the discomfort of my seat (not a middle seat) – hard and tough – hurts my buttocks badly.

After almost three hours of loading, the bus begins the journey to Obuasi at exactly 10:22am.

I heave a sigh of relief and lift my head to watch the clock on the bus as I always do when traveling.

It reads: ’22:22’; that in Greenwich Mean Time (GMT) is evening.

I can now appreciate the direction Metro Mass is “Moving The Nation” – backward!

I cut some slice of comfort from the air-condition in the bus that seems to offer reparation for the huge disappointment I feel.

Sleep tip-toes in to steal my eyes, sending me into a trance.

Suddenly, there is a loud, rude awakening.

As the bus runs into potholes, I feel the crunch of the weak shock absorbers, while the windows let out a loud, clattering cry begging for mercy, all in a manner that keep flipping my head left, right, forward and backward, whilst the upper part of my body suffers serious tremor.

That was a constant handout to me on the seven-hour journey from Accra to Obuasi.

 

Bra Gordon in the mix

 

In the absence of middle seats, a gentleman who identifies himself as Bra Gordon is occupying the aisle, pacing up and down, and raving and ranting.

Bra Gordon is a drug peddler who has turned the bus into a healthcare facility and the passengers into ‘patients’ to administer his medication.

He is standing right in front of me; as soon as he starts business, I get my mouth and nose strongly girded with a mask to avoid ‘salivafall’ on me that may require me to seek medication from him.

The diagnosis Bra Gordon is subjecting his ‘patients’ to in this healthcare facility is stories about how the medicine he peddles healed people suffering from all kinds of diseases.

According to him, his medicine can aid menstrual flow, cure numbness, ease pain at the lower part of the buttocks and cure a person suffering stroke at the early stages.

Spicing his message with a good dose of ‘fear and aggressive marketing’, Bra Gordon succeeds in getting a good number of the ‘patients’ to buy the medicine at a cost of Ghs100 per full pack or Ghs 20 in smaller packs.

A medical practitioner traveling on the same bus later tells me the medicine Bra Gordon is peddling is Piroxicam capsules used to reduce pain, swelling and joint stiffness from arthiritis.

Interestingly, one week after meeting Bra Gordon on the Metro Mass bus, I get to buy a small pack of Piroxicam capsules for just Ghs2, far less than the price (Ghs20) at which he sells his drugs.

Indeed, Bra Gordon is doing brisk business with his health risk business.The dosage for this medication is based on one’s medical condition but the dosage prescribed by Bra Gordon is ‘one-size-fits-all’, without specificity of one’s condition.

The bigger picture is that when the medicine has not been prescribed by a competent medical practitioner and it is wantonly peddled and used, such as done by Bra Gordon and his patients, it can be grossly abused with dire health consequences.

 

Selling on moving vehicles

 

The law frowns on selling on moving vehicles.

Regulation 116 of the Road Traffic Regulations, 2012 provides that “A person shall not cause or permit to be caused nuisance, including preaching and hawking, on a public or commercial vehicle while the motor vehicle is in motion.”

I don’t understand why the Metro Mass driver allows Bra Gordon to peddle medicine on the bus from Accra to Kasoa.

Metro Mass is really moving the nation to everywhere but the right direction.

 

Africana Lodge

 

At 5:35pm, the Metro Mass bus arrives in Obuasi, the land of gold.

But I will soon realise that all that glitters in Obuasi is not gold!

I have checked into the Africana Lodge, situated in a serene environment and looking good, for bed and breakfast.

I jump behind my laptop to get a few pressing issues sorted out before bedtime.

Suddenly, the air-conditioner in the room goes off, although the lights are on.

What’s happening?

A dash out of the room and a gentleman is walking away from the area.

“Massa, why is the AC off?”, the obvious question drops.

“We have a problem with our generator. The lights will come back at 11[pm],” he responds.

That response sounds awkward.

But the response for asking why there is no prior notice before switching off the air-condition is more pathetic.

“Don’t you have fun in your room?”

Hmmm!

I am tired after the seven-hour journey and there is little energy left in me to ‘fight’ this kind of battle so I retire to bed straightaway.

It is daybreak the next morning.

I walk to the restaurant at 7:55am for breakfast.

A lady tells me breakfast has been served already and that the person who serves breakfast has gone to the market.

It is as though I’m watching a movie.

But this movie has to stop rolling sooner than later, I promise myself.

“Okay. I am waiting. Whenever she comes, ask her to serve me breakfast,” I tell the lade before leaving.

An hour and half later, the breakfast arrives in my room but I will spare the devil that lies in the detail.

At 11:25am, I reach out for the television remote control to watch the EPL match between Manchester United and Everton.

The remote control is broken and loosely patched; the battery cover is not there and the switch on/off button has sunk into the device.

In the room, the buttons covering electrical cables have peeled off in a messy spectacle.

In the fridge, there is half-bottled water lying quietly.

Obviously, there is lack of maintenance and cleanliness at this facility.

Time to check out after two nights: the receptionist checks the details from a compute and begins to walk away without issuing a receipt.

“Can I get receipt, please,” a request is promptly made.

She issues one; not a VAT receipt though.

I think I have had enough and I need to get out of the place as quickly as possible.

I walk away with one impression: all that glitters in Obuasi is not gold.

I think the Ghana Tourism Authority (GTA) must crack the whip and ensure that hospitality facilities in Obuasi that glitter are actually gold! 

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Writer's Email: kofiyebo@yahoo.com