It’s Perfectly Safe
on Anthony Lovat in Bolgatanga (Ghana), Unknown, 34 days ago
The next stop on our tour of science resource centres was Bawku. Sue did not come with us - partly because Bawku is still classified as a war zone due to the ongoing ethnic conflict between the Mamprusis and the Kusasis. I had been assured that it would be perfectly safe, however, and that the military had the whole situation under control.On the way to Bawku, Veronica explained a little more about the history of the conflict. It was, she explained, Flight Lieutenant Jerry John Rawlings, the man who took over the country in a military coup in the 1980s, who forced the Mamprusi chief to stand down in Bawku in favour of a Kusasi man. It is therefore the political party that Rawlings later set up, the NDC, that is supported by the Kusasi people and the opposition NPP party that is supported by the Mamprusis. The conflict has political sponsorship and support.Political debate in Ghana is quite different to what we are used to in Britain. I was listening to the radio yesterday– the radio journalist was interviewing local leaders of the NDC and the NPP at a district in the south of the country where local elections were taking place. The NDC woman was accusing the NPP of setting up a roadblock with over two hundred people to prevent voters attending the polling stations. She shouted angrily into the microphone of how her car was surrounded and intimidated. She accused the NPP of bullying voters with physical force. The NPP man yelled back at the journalist, telling him that the woman had run over several of his party members and killed them. She was, he yelled atthe radio audience, a murderer – yes, he repeated, a murderer. The police, he continued, hadn’t done their duty and the commissioner should resign. The woman screamed back at the man, telling him that he was a liar and a criminal - trying to send her to prison for political reasons.This is of course, a good deal better than political debate in many neighboring West African countries. Nonetheless, the political allegiances in Bawku have turned that small corner of Ghana into a mini ethnic conflict.Veronica is a Dagombe from the Upper West but has lived in the Upper East since marrying her husband, a Guruni. Some years ago, Veronica was posted as a headmistress to a junior high school in Bawku town. She talks proudly of that time and describes how she used to be very strict with the students to help them pass their exams. Veronica’s husband’s distant cousin was a member of the NPP in a different area of Ghana and so, one evening, Veronica returned home from work to find her house burned down by Kusasi supporters of the NDC. She left Bawku with her young children to settle in Bolga where she’s lived ever since.Entering Bawku was like entering a military town. We passed a squadron of soldiers, kitted out in combats, boots and guns, jogging in formation along the pot-holed streets with their short sleeves rolled up to reveal a line of thick ebony arms glistening with sweat. This sight delighted Veronica. Who will dare shoot at us, she observed, when these brave soldiers are running around. We were waved through several military checkpoints and even passed a waiting tank with a burly man sticking out the top– his bald black head polished as shiny as his colleague’s boots.There is a curfew in place for six o’clock – recently changed from four o’clock. At that time, every man, woman and child must be indoors or risk being shot by the army. We had to get our work done quickly to be on our way back to Bolga. I didn’t want to risk being shot. The sight of a white person in school caused a stir amongst the students – white people rarely come to Bawku.Before leaving, Veronica asked if we could drive through the centre of town. It will be safe, she promised. There is a junction in the middle of town with a number of scattered shops around. It being a market day, the town was busy and bustling with energy although there were few of the ubiquitous motorbikes. The military personnel kept to the shadows, lurking on intersections and keeping lookouts from high strategic positions. Veronica shouted at me to stop and my heart skipped a beat. I looked over and was relieved to see her eagerly smiling and waving at an old friend. I pulled over and was told to move on by a burly soldier. The friend ran to keep up the car as we found an acceptable place to pull over and chat whilst the inhabitants of the street watched us with suspicious eyes.There was, until recently, a ban on any motorbikes in Bawku. It had been the practice of shooters to have one man on the back of the bike with a gun and another man driving. Together they made an effective quick killing unit. Following a month of peace, the ban had been partially lifted– only women were allowed to ride in town when we were there. Several days earlier, Veronica’s friend told us, a man had dressed as a woman because he wanted to ride his motorbike. He fooled the military on the first day but was caught when riding in a dress the following day. “The soldiers beat him terribly”, he told us, gravely.We were stopped on the way out of Bawku so the army could frisk us and search the car for weapons. As we finally left on the road back to Bolga, Veronica asked if I had seen those Kusasi people in town watching us.“I know them,” she told me. “I know them all. I lived in Bawku for many years so I know all the people in town – all those people along the road – and they know me but I would not stop to greet them. I would not wave or be friendly to any of them at all. Those Kusasi people burned down myhouse. I won’t talk to Kusasi families now. They know who burned my house but they keep quiet.”So the conflict continues.