Under the same sky

BBC Africa Service ^ | June 15, 2002 | Mark Doyle, BBC West Africa correspondent

[Clive]

When we told our four-and-half-year-old son Alex that we were moving to London, he thought about it for a long time. The idea was difficult for him to grasp because, although he has been to England on visits, he has lived most of his life in West Africa.

Alex thought hard about it, but then, remembering that he would travel on an airplane, he looked up at the sky and asked: "Daddy, is it the same sky all the way from here to London?"

"Yes," I said, after thinking about it, "it is the same sky, all the way to London."

Life in West Africa is sometimes so very different from life in London that it is hard to believe it's the same world.

But it is the same world, with good guys and bad guys, with stories of pleasure and pain.

First, here's a story I'll never forget. A bad story, a war story, the sort you might expect from this stark, poor, sometimes brutal corner of the world.

Terrorised

I shall never, ever, forget an open truck full of desperately wounded people that I came across in the Sierra Leonean capital, Freetown, in January 1999.

At the time the rebels, whose speciality was terrorising the population by chopping off innocent peoples' hands, were trying to take control of the city.

The rebel victims I came across had all been hacked at and were now being escorted to hospital by pro-government forces.

Most of the people in that truck had had their hands chopped off, and their torn clothes were covered with blood.

When they saw me, a lone white man in the middle of an African war, they assumed that I was some sort of aid worker or even doctor.

So they started waving the bloody stumps on the ends of their arms at me, asking for help. Some still had hands hanging on by flaps of muscle and skin. That was bad enough. But worse still, they looked into my eyes, silently pleading for assistance.

Ghana's democracy

I could offer none. I shall remember the helplessness I felt that day for the rest of my life.

But the war in Sierra Leone is now over, thanks partly to British military intervention and the largest United Nations peacekeeping force in the world.

And here's another story from West Africa, more mundane, perhaps, but one which relates another side of life under this bit of sky.

I was in Ghana and scheduled to interview the newly elected president. The election had been peaceful, free, and fair. In short, democratic.

That's newsworthy in this part of the world, and I was looking forward to meeting President John Kufuor partly because I knew from earlier personal contacts that he was not just a successful politician, but also a nice man, an approachable human being.

But there was a problem.

Good deed

The problem was the jacket. I didn't have one with me, and since I was due to interview the president for television as well as radio, I really had to look presentable and wearing just a polo shirt was not on.

The high class shops in the wealthy part of the Ghanaian capital were asking ridiculous prices for Italian designer jackets, the equivalent of about $600.

No matter, I thought, I'll go to the tailoring market in the poor part of town. Someone down there will sell me a jacket for a reasonable price, I thought. No problem.

I met an elderly tailor sitting at an old Singer sewing machine, the sort driven by foot pedals. He had a tape measure round his neck and thick pebble glasses on the end off his nose. "Good morning," I said. "Got any jackets?"

I admit I was a bit brusque. I was in a hurry. I had a president to meet. "Er, no", the old tailor said, "only these", gesturing to a few clothes hanging on the wall of his shack "and they're not for sale".

"Could I try one on?" "Er, yes sir, if you wish, but they are not for sale. These were made for other customers."

But I was in a big hurry by now. I found one that fitted okay and said: "Right, I'd like to buy this. I'm sorry. I'm in a terrible rush, so I'm going to pay you too much. How about US$50?"

The Ghanaian tailor looked at me with the sort of sympathy one reserves for stupid people. "Um. No sir, you don't understand, it's not for sale. It belongs to another customer."

I thought, in my cynical way, that this old man was driving a hard bargain. "Okay, look, I'm in a terrible hurry. I've got to have this jacket. I'll give you $100. Now. Cash."

Proud

"No sir." The wizened tailor adjusted his glasses and looked up from his sewing machine: "What would my regular customer think if he came this afternoon and I told him I'd sold his jacket to someone else? He would think me most unreliable, even dishonest. No sir. No."

"No!"

Then I had a brainwave. "Look, I'm sorry about offering the money." I changed tack. "I'm a BBC journalist. I'm off to interview your new, democratically elected president and I have to look smart."

The old man beamed. "Ah, well if that's the case. I voted for the president. He's a good man."

And then he said, so proud: "We've got democracy now, you know. You can borrow that jacket, so our new president can talk to the BBC. You can borrow it, for no charge, of course, but make sure you bring it back first thing tomorrow morning."

And that's how, when I interviewed Ghana's democratically elected president, I was decently dressed.

For free, by a poverty stricken tailor who refused $100 but was so proud of his country's democracy.

There are bad guys and good guys in West Africa, just like everywhere else.

And I don't think I was lying when I told my son we all live under the same sky.

[Clive]

-

[Fish out of Water]

bttt

[AM2000]

For free, by a poverty stricken tailor who refused $100 but was so proud of his country's democracy.

To hope.

[Imal]

Thoughtful vignettes. I like the tailor, and sure wish we had more guys like him to be U.S. CEOs and senior executives.

Imal

[headsonpikes]

One sky bump.

Do any seriously doubt it?

Occasionally, some thoughtless posters appear to be unaware of it, but that may be indifference.