Vive La Revolution
on Anthony Lovat in Bolgatanga (Ghana), 22/Sep/2010 21:39, 34 days ago
Happy Birthday to the Upper (East) Region! 2010 is the 50th anniversary of the creation of the‘Upper’ Region. In colonial times, the more developed southern half of Ghana was split into eight administrative regions. The northern half of the country was a giant neglected ninth region – the ‘Northern Region’. Three years after independence, the Northern Region was split into the Northern Region and the Upper Region (the Upper Region being, counter-intuitively, further north than the Northern Region). Shortly after, the Upper Region was split into the Upper East and Upper West and there is even talk of splitting the Northern Region again some time in the future.Many people on the radio have been asking the question: what does the Upper East Region have to celebrate? It is, along with the two other northern regions, one of the least developed areas of Ghana and has one of the highest poverty levels. With many people struggling to afford the basic essentials of life and all the money from NGOs propping up the education and health systems, one might be forgiven for thinking there might not be enough ready cash around to celebrate with. Looking at the state of infrastructure such as roads and sewerage, you might think there is not much money in Bolga– certainly not enough to throw a party.The regional director for the ministry of national culture is a fan of TangaCulture. He likes our music and wants to help promote us. With this in mind, he put us forward to play at the Upper East at 50 fundraising event at the Catering Rest House complex on the northern side of town. It was a chance for us to perform in front of Upper East’s biggest and richest men.As soon as we arrived at the venue, we knew it was an important affair. The quagmire car park was full of new shiny 4x4s and, looking totally out of place, the occasional smart little sports car. A cluster of skinny drivers sat, some in uniform, under an awning keeping a faithful eye on their masters’ status symbols. There were smart besmocked and suited men extracting themselves carefully from the air-conditioned cocoons of their cars, trying not to muddy their shiny shoes. They greeted each other warmly and followed each other inside, complaining about the mud. Their immaculately dressed wives waddled behind their men, struggling in their high heels and long tight dresses.Some of these big men cast a curious eye over in my direction– a white man mucking in with an eclectic group of locals, helping to carry instruments. They looked confused and one or two nodded an embarrassed greeting at me although none of the big men actually spoke to any of us.The organisers had arranged for the Miss Upper East contestants to be the waitresses for the evening. Thirty or so stunning women flitted about, checking everyone had full glasses. Labran, an assistant in the carpentry shop who is happy if he takes home 40p from a day’s work, easily slipped into the role of a rock and roll superstar. He flirted outrageously, kept casually asking the girls for more drinks, making bets on which phone numbers he could acquire and blatantly checking them all out. The girls were having none of it – they were only interested in the rich men’s welfare. Money might not buy love but it might buy a mistress of a Miss Upper East. The big men were kept well entertained while their wives pretended not to notice.I was more worried about checking our instruments. The person in charge of sound was missing and had switched off his phone. This, I knew, was a golden opportunity to make a good impression on Bolga’s great and good. We waited and waited. I kept bugging the organiser – asking him to ring his sound man. He eventually strolled in just five minutes before the event started – about an hour after it was due to start. We plugged in our instruments, desperately tried to get everything levelled,and then had to stop – the regional minister had arrived, the biggest of the big men, with TV cameras following his every step.There were two or three hundred guests at the venue, all sat silently around plastic tables, leaning back in their chairs and not looking at one another. Everyone seemed heavily bored as they listened to endless speeches, the regional minister praising himself for all the good things he’s done for the Upper East and all the work he would still like to do.Our job was to entertain the VIPs before dinner. We were terrible. The useless sound man had mucked about with the levels so we couldn’t hear each other; I trod on a cable and yanked it out of the socket, breaking it in the process and Alfonze turned the bass up far too loudly so it drowned out everyone else. An internal argument developed on the stage during our second song and we were forced to stop. We received polite undeserved applause.The organisers invited us to take as much food and drink as we would like. The buffet was incredible– rice, pasta, yam, fish, chicken, guinea fowl, beef, TZ, light soup, okra soup, fufu, vegetables. I could see the eyes popping out of Labran’s head. He piled his plate gratefully with meat, ordered several bottles of beer from the beauty queens and declared this to be our greatest gig ever.After the food, the chairman took the microphone and went to each guest in turn.“How much would you like to give to the Upper East at 50 celebration fund?” the chairman asked, thrusting the microphone into the face of the guest.The whole procedure took a long time. There were a lot of guests. Each guest’s pledge was repeated and noted down by the secretary on the stage. The beauty queens led the clapping – each announcement of a donation being rewarded by applause relative to the size of the donation.At first, I wasn’t sure I was hearing correctly. The sums were astronomical. Each big man was giving the equivalent of £500, £1000, £2000 or £4000. With well over two hundred guests, the amount of money raised must have been huge.“Who are these people?” I asked Kwesi. “Where do they get all this money from?”“They’re contractors,” he simply replied. They are, he told me, the men who are awarded government contracts for fixing roads, supplying electricity, water management, maintaining government buildings and providing services. The great and the good?We thought TangaCulture might be called upon to play again but it was not to be. Every member of the band, myself included, fed themselves to bursting. At the end of the night we were given 180GHc (£90) – three times more than we’ve ever been paid for a performance to date. After the donations were finished, a vote of thanks and a prayer to bless the kindness of the guests signalled the end of the night. The big men drifted back to their monolithic vehicles and instructed their drivers totake them back to their mansions.It seems that, on its 50th anniversary, the Upper East is not only a poor region but also a massively unequal one. The rich big men of the Upper East are richer than anyone I know back in England (admittedly, perhaps I don’t move in the right circles – I’m sure English people heading companies that are awarded with government contracts aren’t short of a few pennies, even in this recession).I was talking the other day with Rose, the girl-child officer at the regional education office. There is one thing she really doesn’t understand about developed countries like Britain, she told me. Even though there are giant, glass buildings and hot and cold running water in houses and electricity and beautiful areas with parks and new buildings; even though there is lots of money in Britain, there are areas of the country that look as bad as Bolga. On the television, she said, she has seen pictures of people sleeping rough on the streets in London – in the terrible cold. She has heard of English people who do not get a good education. She has heard these stories of poverty from a rich country like England. How is this possible, she asked?It may be the same reason why people sleep on the streets and don’t get a good education in the Upper East of Ghana – not poverty but inequality. Based on what I saw at the fundraising event, there is plenty of money in the Upper East of Ghana but it is controlled by a small and powerful elite. Perhaps what the Upper East, Britain and, indeed, the whole worldneeds is a bit of old-fashioned redistribution of wealth. I hate living in an unequal world. Let’s tax those rich contractors, bankers and bonuses. Let’s make poverty history.The problem is that the rich and powerful big men of the Upper East and of Britain are unlikely to give up their privileges easily. Maybe they think that spending vast sums on giving the peasantry a party– a 50th anniversary bash or an Olympic jamboree – will distract ordinary people from more awkward and important questions. Maybe they’re right.A number of sign boards were erected across the Upper East Region last week.“Upper East at 50!” they exclaim. Look out for the London Olympic build up in the media as 2012 approaches. Is it money well spent?