The Modern-Day Juju man

What do you expect from a write-up with such a title? Perhaps you are expecting a virtual roller coaster ride through the various shrines scattered across the length and breadth of Ghana. Or better yet, you’re yearning for an in-depth analysis of the job description of juju men. Well, that wouldn’t be necessary because the Ghanaian and Nigerian film industry has brought us all into close contact with the activities of these men. I’m neither a wannabe juju man nor a traditional believer. Rather, I’m just a young writer whose attention was drawn to the new twist in the modus operandi of our juju men.

Recent centuries have seen the world being dubbed a “global village,” perhaps due to globalization and its effects. Hence, cultures are now being bridged. Today, with just a single press of a button, one can access a vast collection of information from archeology to zoology. Voice communication has also seen a further boost. At least, I can now talk to my nomadic friend, Abdulai in far away Zuarungu, without having to make that 817 km journey up north from Accra, which translates into 14 hours of steady travel by bus. With these technological advancements, many opined that the influence of jujumen, whom some refer to as traditional healers or priests, would dwindle. Many were of the view that as society developed, the once exulted position of these men would come to naught. Quite ironically, that’s far from the reality. As the African adage goes, “Since hunters have learnt to shoot without missing, birds have also learnt to fly without perching!”

For the sake of some readers who have little or no idea who a juju man is, let me pause here and shed just a little light on them. One reference work traced the etymology of “juju” to somewhere in West Africa or France, as a term used by the “white” imperialists who in times past visited the African continent. They used the term in reference to the indigenous West African Religion. With time however, the term gained roots in the Americas due to the number of West African slaves who became victims of the inhuman Trans-Atlantic Slave Trade, who took their acts of juju along with them to the “White Man’s Land.” A juju man’s preoccupation is looking for omens, casting spells, preparing charms, curing the incurable as well as dealing in acts of necromancy. In recent times, they even strengthen marriages, aid in the acquisition of travel documents, help clients secure promotions at work, aid university students in the attainment of first class honors. A few months back, it was rumored that one of these men even aided a Ghanaian head of state in securing an overwhelming victory in a general election, by as it were, binding voters with a spell. Well, the least said about that particular issue, the better!

In times past, to find a juju man was a very arduous task due to the fact that they dwelt at the remotest parts of villages as well as in the thickest of forests. It was thus attendant on their seekers to search them out. However, what pertains today? Are they still operating in camera? Ex cathedra, I dare say that the opposite rather pertains in our modern society. Thus, instead of globalization clamping down on their activities, it has rather been a phenomenon that has given juju men the right publicity they need. Their trade has thus become far from unpopular. Readers in Accra may have on a number of occasions heard of Nana Kwaku Bonsam, Nana Oboa Nnipa, Nana Ababio (Akingye Wura, i.e., lover of challenges). How may they have heard of him? Through the radio! Day after day, commercials of these men are run on most radio stations, providing contact details and type of services provided. In addition, they all have large digital billboards littered all around the city. Nana Kwaku Bonsam for instance has a mammoth billboard at Sapeiman, a suburb of Accra, with the inscription “Nana Kwaku Bonsam welcomes you to Accra!” among others.  A similar billboard is erected at Kasoa bearing the same inscriptions in addition of “consultation days and hours.” Well, that’s what technology can do. Perhaps readers in Kumasi may have also heard of Mallam Zack’s commercials on Hello FM. Such a touching commercial! And perhaps also heard of Nana Kwaku Bonsam’s escapades in the Garden City! Thus, gradually, these men have tapped into the various elements of globalization to promote their ventures.

In their bid to increase their fan base, many of them have made copious use of the internet, with most of them having websites and email addresses through which their clients can contact them.  If you’re on FACEBOOK, do well to search for Mallam Zack and Nana Kwaku Bonsam and add them as friends. Who knows, you may need their help someday. You can also get them on YOUTUBE as well!! That’s how far they have come. No doubt they even ride in the flashiest of cars! That’s how far our modern day jujumen have come.

In fact, I had wanted to take some footage of some of the billboards mentioned herein. On one occasion, I was on location, only to realize I took no batteries with me. Perhaps he cast a spell on me! On another occasion, the billboard scared me: it had a fearful picture of the juju man in his juju outfit with the inscription “Akyingye Wura” boldly written above his portrait. I must confess I got scared and put my camera back into its pouch.

What more can I say…………………………………THIS PAPER IS STILL UNDER CONSTRUCTION


By Stephen Duasua Yankey.

Cheers for Jeers

The task was loathsome; the victory, sweet!

All ‘friends’ assembled, the victor to meet.

All his winnings they helped him spend,

For he called each one of them, ‘my friend’.

The tables turned; our hero had a downfall,

Those who knew him came – one and all,

He looked up and saw the jeering faces,

They belonged to those he called ‘my friends’

The very ones who enjoyed with him in the lofty places!

Sleep's Victory

Once I saw a man battle Sleep,

A fight to the death it was, on the plains of Dreamy Deep.

Sleep lured him gently, like a cobra lured by a charmer,

A couple of dozes and he was almost a goner-

But he regained his senses and opened his eyes wide,

He looked around to see who pushed him over to Sleep’s side.

He shrugged off the lure and thought of a cure,

He stood from his seat and walked about; never to sit for sure!

His shadow followed submissively, and so did Slumber,

Every step he took was mimicked by the sneaky stalker.

He pinched himself to ward of Comfort: a harbinger of Sleep,

He stifled his yawns: the whistle for calling in Sleep,

With blood-shot eyes he staggered wearily back to his seat,

He looked at his watch, still too early to accept defeat,

He rested a while; the battle might still be won.

The stalker threw into his eyes the potent mesmeric powder,

He rubbed his eyes in agony; praying silently for power,

The powder started to work; it inundated his nerves and senses,

Like an inebriated man, his head dropped and his shoulders sagged,

He saw the stars, the moon, the heavens and the angels,

He called for help; he felt his strength ebbing, his resolve flagging.

He stretched out his hand to touch a star but fell from a cloud,

Falling down onto the earth, he let out a mighty yelp and turned,

Onto the floor he fell, for he had fallen off his seat.

‘Oh my God, I have been sleeping’! he let out in defeat.                                                                

TELEVISION ANTENNAS- LITTERING OUR TOWNS AND CITIES

T

elevision is one of the necessities of life. You find it almost everywhere you go; homes, schools, hospitals, prisons and even on the streets. In fact, for one to be able to call himself ‘a man of marriageable age,’ he should at least own a television set; be it black and white or colored, for the viewing pleasure of his wife. It is this quest and craze for the ownership of TV sets that has led to the virtual littering of the Ghanaian sky by our own form of skyscrapers - ‘TV poles.’ I was especially struck with disbelief when I spotted how TV antennas have really littered Apam, a town in the Central region of Ghana. I was travelling from Cape Coast to Accra when I decided to take a sneak peep at Apam. Trust me, the sight was awful. What amazed me more was the fact that about five or more antennas could be found situated on top of a single household. What makes the situation worse is what has come to be known as “compound houses.” A typical compound house can host about ten families. Per the number of families, vis-à-vis the number of TV sets, that makes it ten TV antennas in a single household, and that even worsens the already worsening situation.

I wrote this part of this write-up from the top of a two-storey building at Mamobi, a suburb of Accra. This gave me a perfect view of Mamobi, Nima, parts of Accra New Town, Pig Farm and Kotobabi. You can’t imagine the number of antennas I saw. Counting them was like counting the stars that decorate the beautiful heavens. The story is no different at Effiakuma, a suburb of Ghana’s oil twin city, Sekondi-Takoradi where the problem of TV antennas is virtually an eyesore. Some of these antennas come in various sizes, length and even shapes. While some seek to be as tall as Osama Bin Laden’s World Trade Center, others just hang on, possibly content with the quality that they produce.

The big question that deserves to be asked is, does it matter the height of your antenna? Is there no way there could be an embargo on the erection of outdoor antennas? How can the various television stations help curb this rather appalling phenomenon? I can’t help but wonder if all the owners of these skyscraper-like antennas really pay the stipulated TV license, as the Government would be making lots of revenue from that. For me, I strongly believe that this craze for TV sets which has capitulated into the mounting of outdoor television antennas can be really regulated. These antennas are not only visual aids but are also death taps. In view of their astonishing height and lack of proper staking or support, most of these antennas collapse during rainstorms, and you can imagine the harm it can cause- damage your roof, that of your neighbor and even injure a passer-by. Such is the dilemma we find ourselves in. This problem if not carefully looked at will definitely spell doom in due course. This emphasizes the fact that there are many pressing issues that our ‘leaders’ must carefully consider, but in most cases they ignore these issues. And for all you know, these ‘leaders’ use Satellite dishes and not TV antennas, thus not understanding what the problem is.

Come to think of it, how does an aerial or bird’s-eye view of our towns and cities look like? I bet they are nothing short of miniature skyscrapers sticking up in the deep blue sky. The earlier the right thing is done, the better, and once people’s attention are drawn to the problems that antennas can pose, we can make headways in the fight against the erection of antennas.

In the Alleys of Life

I

n the alleys of life

There you'll find

Recurrent banging of doors

Sluggish dragging of slimy feet

Screams of yesteryears

Aromas of unripe tomorrows

And appeals for brighter days

I

n the alleys of life

There you'll find

The surplus of yesterday's meal

Poured into one large cistern

Accompanied by the woes of ailing inhabitants

Vented upon their rulers,

And the repetitive cheers

Of the unworried tongue bearers

I

n the alleys of life

There you'll find

The struggle for survival

Sweat tippling down their ridges

And pleas of the tired merchants

For someone to send them home

I

n the alleys of life

There you'll find

Soon to come from their sojourn

A widely costumed bunch of people

In a unique resting place

Devoid of the unfinished speeches

And the uncovered meals

I

n the alleys of life

There you'll find

All and sundry say in unison

To the grateful listener

 “Rejoice, for we are at the threshold

 Waiting on the fringe of the whistle

 So we all in one accord

 Can go backstage and undress.”

A day @ the P.P.C

Attending to nature’s call is one of the musts in life, just like eating and sleeping. When nature calls, one cannot do anything but answer. The best one can do would be to put the call on hold, although that cannot be for long. Even a beep from nature can spell doom. Dukes, monarchs, presidents and in fact, everybody in the second world, Facebook, answer the calls of nature.

It was in my quest to answer one of nature’s calls and also satisfy my curiosity that led me to a public place of convenience in one of the suburbs of Accra. It took me quite a while to make a choice as to where to answer that disturbing call. I had a number of choices though but I settled for one that outwardly looked attractive. There were some PVC pipes pointed heavenwards though, probably to allow some not so fresh air to get into the atmosphere. And to think that I breathe in that same air gives me chills. Thank God we don’t see the air we take in.

Well, I paid a meagre sum of Ten Pesewas and while expecting to be given a toilet roll, I was rather given a page from an old newspaper. I figured it was the Kotoko Express, the official Newspaper of Kumasi Asante Kotoko FC. With that in hand, I was directed to the male cubicles, although I had to fight the temptation to use the female cubicles which appeared much cleaner. Well, I didn’t need anyone to tell me where I was because the stench did it all and carried the message across to me. There was a queue of about three other men waiting for their own special sessions with nature. After having their turns, it was mine to do same.

Being my turn, I had three cubicles to choose from, and I carefully examined all three. My verdict was that I choose one that hadn’t undergone much staining. Well, the cubicle I chose didn’t even give me enough room to remove my garments. Somehow, I managed to do so and managed to hang them on the narrow door. Jesus Christ probably had this door in mind when he mentioned about a large and narrow door in the bible. Back to the cubicle, it was littered newspapers of various sorts; The Daily Graphic, The Mirror, The Ghanaian Times, Lottery papers, Exercise book pages, among others.

It was then time for the real deal, you know. You can’t imagine how long it took me to find a posture. I considered sitting, squatting, bending and what have you. However, I finally settled for sitting although I wasn’t so insane as to barely sit on the WC. At this point, I was as well prepared as a Ghanaian soldier on a peace-keeping duty in Lebanon. Quickly, I brought out my own newspaper from the pocket of my pantaloon and having covered the toilet bowl with it, I read my Kotoko Express and savoured the aroma underneath, or should I rather say stench underneath. Interestingly, the newspaper made me forget about where I was and even wanted to finish reading both sides of it before leaving the cubicle. No doubt there was a winding queue awaiting me when I came out of nature’s consulting room, and trust me, I have never donned the apparel I used on my trip ever again.

I don’t need to tell you why- well, it’s just that the natural perfume from my day at the public place of convenience still lingers in my dress and mind.