28
Mon, Sep

And it is the small steps that count. We can only win the small battles, one after the other, and hope that they ultimately culminate in a win, until the next battle begins.

Little things. Image credit - coverghana

I went back to Battor Catholic Hospital last week. It had been a long time. I walked through the main gates with my family, and for the first time in 14 years retraced my steps from the consulting rooms, through theatre across imaging and to the living area. As a newly minted medical officer, right after my internship, I was privileged to start my growth in these walls. I made that trip hundreds of times during 2 years. And with each trip I grew. With each surgical case, each person I would talk to in the consulting room, each wound I sutured, every incision, every mistake… I slowly matured. I was pampered, in retrospect. There was a family of dedicated doctors, who would not let me face a problem alone. Coming back, and meeting some members of that family, still working away more than a decade later was humbling. The hospital has continued to flourish.

When George Floyd died, we frowned in concert; we trumpeted our disgust at racism. We may have found national high horses and railed at the wickedness in the hearts of a few policemen. Maybe we forgot what ...

Image credit - insight GH

There are times when humanity scares me. Not as much its presence as its absence. It is intriguing, what dehumanization does. We are human beings, and without humanity there is a certain state of being that is difficult to describe. There are some days when we are reminded suddenly of how completely humanity can disappear, and what capacity for evil resides within. Then we have to look directly in the chasm of this absence, and yet live on. There are the days when we have to remember, that the fact that humanity has dissipated from some people, does not mean that the world has lost its entire plot. These past few days have been like that for me.

There is a certain power that negative words have. They reflect the unpalatable sides of human nature. And as I drove, I thought about all these people who have survived the negative power of abusive words. John Lewis, Nelson Mandela, Martin Luther King, all these people ...

Civil rights icon Rep. John Lewis. File image

I was driving to work on a bright Saturday morning when I met her at the mud island at the junction created by the road construction in my area. There was only enough space for one car at a time, to turn.

The true actualisation of life in the urban jungle is how secure the bubble gets to be. And in the rat race that survival has become, the walls of the bubble are reinforced for independent survival of each bubble inhabitant. Security is individually guarded with high walls and barbed wire. Water supply ...

On Oneness

I was driving behind this guy when he lurched into my lane. It must have struck him that the he really had no idea where he was going… or something like that. I had to slam hard on my brakes, just to save my day. He was completely oblivious of what had happened, as I passed him. He was focused on the road ahead, and seemed to be nodding to some music only he could hear in his air-conditioned car. Moments like these, make me miss driving in more predictable environments. Where I know that there is a communal commitment to rules and guidelines. Sometimes this dedication is really admirable to see. In a country not my own, I drove a manual car on the opposite side, with the steering wheel in the wrong place, gear lever turned all upside down… and I still had more peace of mind than I have driving in Accra on a quiet day.

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