Cardiac arrest is not my name. Stress is not my nickname either. Never have I crossed the borders of Ghana. I donít even know where London is. I have never been convicted of raising any finger against anyone; at least not in my adulthood. I was a naughty teenager, though.
Why Komla Dumorís ghost haunts meÖI am a young Ghanaian who believes in the Ghanaian dream (maybe if thereís one). I love Ghanaians and especially, I love my Ghana (do I even have any choice?). If for nothing at all, I get to everyday hear from our Ďsaviourí politicians the Ďsecondí coming of a better Ghana of which I so excitedly want to be a witness.
Human as I am, I have ever wished the death of my enemies though I have never committed manslaughter or caused the death of any man. ButÖ today, I can barely have a good night sleep because another manís ghost just wonít let me be!
My nightmarish, sleepless nights have become so obvious. Like the President trying to unravel the Ďeconomic jigsawí, my eyes are kept wide open each day from dawn to dusk. Ei! How I wish to be haunted no more!
I have a confession to make. Let me tell you why I am having insomniaÖ
Life never began at 40!
Some of us grew up (or are still doing so) with the myth that life begins at 40. They would while away time, after all they are not yet 40 to get serious. Like seriously?
Komlaís life ended a couple of years after 40 and stressing that it was a well-lived one will be the greatest understatement of the millennium. If you are waiting to be 40 to take life seriously, you might as well wait till 60!
A couple of our youth sit in the comfort of their homes looking up to some non- existent employment-reeling government to wave its magic wand to make them the bosses overnight.
After grabbing a degree from wherever and patiently waiting upon this Ďheroicí government for God knows how long, two scores would have been long gone!
Life may or may not begin at 40Ö after allÖ when the supposed dream job (after all the wait) would shatter your dream asking for nothing less than a decade of job experience; the same decade you might have spent in Ďhousehold-keepingí.
The point isÖ your destiny, as a youth, is in the hands of only one person- you! The youth that Komla was, even in his grave, is daring me and every young person out there to go out there and restlessly chase their dreams; with or without the governmentís help.
Whether or not you have a degree, start something on your own as much as you can. Dream big; start small. Be creative like Komla was. Everyone can complain; only the purposeful work instead of singing choruses of challenges!
The youth dreams
Today, every young personís dream is to go to Ďabrokyireí, foreign land, to wit. The church wonít let our ears rest with every prophet promising almost everyone of God blessing them with a visa. AndÖ all I wonder sometimes is if thatís the only way God can bless the African, as portrayed by our anointed men of God.
Gone are the days slave masters came with those rusty ships to yank us to their homeland. Now, we throng the embassies queuing up endlessly to beg our Ďslave mastersí to be fair in considering this generation, too, like they did our ancestors.
The visa has become more hallowed than errrmÖ the cedi or even a degree. Can you imagine? For the cedi, at least, we can blame it on the dwarfsÖ but not the degree!
Many of our folks, both young and old, would dare risk their lives on deserts and all sorts of unthinkable meansÖ just to be the slave of another of his kind. Ah! Many wouldnít even mind starving the souls out of them on the cold seasÖ all because ofÖ seeing some white man!
Our governments arenít any different, crouching at the feet of their western co-equals begging for what they already have. Independence? Tweaa!
ĎThe Boss Playerí has proven beyond every doubt that the black man is as good as (if not better than) the white man. Heís daring every young man (andÖ oh woman) to see the white manís land as another place like our homeland GH; one that doesnít deserve that much ungodly attention given to it.
Playing Ďhide-and-seekí and Ďcatch-me-if-you-caní games in a foreign manís land (when your brains never got used up) never got anyone to the top!
The writer is the C.E.O, Scribe Communications, Accra.
Source: Kobina Amoa Ansah
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