Akua Bonsu
It must have been 2 AM and, not knowing exactly how I got in the car, I found myself riding in a right-hand-drive Volkswagen Beetle on the streets of Accra. The driver pulls up and says “here, you drive.” That is when I noticed that I was alone at night with none other than former president Jerry John Rawlings. We switched seats and I began driving, or shall I say struggling with using my left hand to change gears for the first time in my life.
We began discussing the obvious – politics, but in an adversarial yet respectful manner. On issue after issue we differed even though for the first time, I gained an insight on why he does what he does. We stayed away from one very important subject – the killings. He was not going to bring up the killing of all those heads of states because, considering that he has previously attempted to blame them on the let-the-blood-flow chants by university students across the country back then, you sort of get the impression that it is not a period he is proud of. And I certainly was not going to bring that up lest it triggers his penchant, even if hidden at this point, to permanently silence people he does not agree with.
So we rode along. We touched on tribalism. Why does he incite such tribal hatred and accuse the NPP of tribalism when one could make a credible argument that he is just as guilty, if not more guilty of the vice in his appointments when he was president. With a pair of headlights closely following behind us, I have to admit that I have no idea what his response to my question was. All I could think of was that his boys were following us, and it was time to move in for the kill. It wasn’t until that vehicle had passed us up, and I convinced myself that the occupants have nothing to do with us that I breathed a sight of relief.
After roughly an hour of riding around Accra – just he and I, he abruptly told me to stop the car. We were right across the Police Headquarters approaching Danquah Circle. We both got out of the car, and of course I took a quick visual inventory around to make sure that we were alone. When we got out of the car, Rawlings began to get excited. He raised his tone up and was almost shouting at me. “Why do you criticize everything that I do, what do you want from me?” He was wearing a khaki jacked that dropped a good six inches below his beltline so I could not tell if it was covering a gun or not. That was where I forgot about politics and began to think about myself and the family that depends on me. At such close range, all it would take is one shot. Don’t forget he has a military background – he knows how to use that stuff.
I calmly asked him to calm down and to check all my writings to verify that even though I have criticized him in the past, I have kept it at the political level, and that I have never gotten personal with him. “Are you sure about that?” he asked. “Yes I’m sure, you can check it yourself.” He began walking to the driver’s side of the car saying “alright, let’s go home and check.” But as I approached the passenger’s side to get in the car, he stopped abruptly and smiled. “Actually you’re right. In fact my wife is very impressed with you for whatever reason.” Then he got in the car and realized I had the keys in my hand. “Oh I forgot. You are driving.” With that we switched sides again and I began driving.
We continued driving in that smoke-filled car for almost another hour. Rawlings smoked all the while we were together. Secondhand smoke bothers me but I quickly remembered that it would only potentially kill me later. I was preoccupied with getting out of this encounter alive. A gunshot now versus cancer later? I choose cancer later any day. May be I can even beat it. Finally with our discussion ended, and the silence being more disturbing that political disagreement, I decided anything – even disagreeing with him was better than this deafening silence. So far, disagreement with Rawlings has not worked badly for me. I was not going to take a chance on a silent car ride with the most feared man in Ghana in the middle of the night and in the middle of essentially nowhere.
I began talking about corruption in government. I asked him how, despite Mabey and Johnson he still finds it in him to accuse others of corruption and finds the way to exhort his usual holier-than-thou posture when he obviously presided over a proven case of corrupt practices. Clearly, he insisted, the NPP was much more corrupt that the NDC would ever be. He also asserted that what makes NPP’s corruption harder to bear is “the way they flaunt their wealth.” With his voice rising an octave higher, and preaching on how the masses need food to eat but go to sleep hungry, I decided to leave that alone and began to think of another subject to maintain a conversation.
Just then he motioned me to stop the car. “This is where I picked you up from. Have a good day,” he barked. I got out of the car, and without uttering another word to me, he sped off. The next few steps were the most nervous ones I have ever taken. All I could think of was that his people were hiding somewhere in the woods of Cantonments and that I would not make it home alive. It did not help that just then I heard the police siren. As I thought to myself “this is it,” the siren got louder and louder. And yet when I looked around, I saw no headlights approaching. Still the sirens got loud enough to only feet away from me.
That’s when I woke up. That darn cell phone alarm. Of all the sounds I could choose for alarm, I chose the police siren. I lay briefly in bed trying to make sense of my dream but all I could think of was that Halloween came in early this year. Happy Halloween!
