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On that God forsaken Wednesday, I had just closed from work when the first downpour came. I remember we had just ended our usual midweek briefing and suddenly Mrs Grant, the secondary school principal, exclaimed that the weather did not look too good hence the need for all of us to hurry home.

I was particularly in a hurry to get home because I had just taken delivery of a new Samsung LED TV and therefore needed to take it home before the downpour. The storm came quicker than we anticipated.

As we all stood on the corridor contemplating when the rain was going to stop, it was obvious to us that it was not an ordinary rain - that was going to be the prelude to a long night of thunderstorm - there was that ever present foreboding feeling.

We started worrying our hearts and minds over how two colleagues, Ike Ofori and Gwen Taylor, were going to make it home since they lived in another region – Kasoa, Central Region.  After about an hour, the downpour ended and we all departed to our various homes without an idea whatsoever of what lay in wait in the dark bellies of the night.

I was fortunate to have a colleague, Steve, who owns a small car I often referred to as matches box offer me a lift to the Tetteh Quarshie Roundabout, the bus stop just opposite the Accra Mall.

It was a blessing since I did not know how I was going to go through the hustle of catching a trotro to Shiashie or worse still catching a "dropping" straight to the house - the latter would have cost me some hard Ghana Cedis considering that it was a rainy evening or night.

I got to the stop in one piece, but as fate had it, my blessings were soon to run out as I waited anxiously for a taxi. Any hope of getting a trotro was ruled out since news of floods on the N1 Highway had started streaming in.

I did not have enough money on me but I toyed with the idea of picking a "dropping" after all I could get the driver to stop at an ATM point for me to cash some "nokofio".

The anxiety increased with the wait; getting a taxi became a nightmare, but I eventually struggled my way into one just about the same time the second downpour commenced. As I sat in the rear seat of the taxi, I observed a classic case of nature unleashing unparalleled venom on anything man made; the entire stretch of the N1 between the Airport junction and the Dzorluwu junction traffic light (Fiesta Royal) was flooded.

The taxi I was in, almost got washed away by the marauding waters, but the angels guided the wheels. At this point, I was only thinking about how I was going to make it home with my new TV intact - the potential destruction that could accompany the rainstorm was the least of my worries.

After paying the driver, I galloped to a nearby Stanbic Bank ATM point to get the "nokofio" I mentioned earlier on since I had to take the long awaited "dropping" if I intended to get home from that point with my body and TV intact.

My guardian angel smiled at me and I got the money without difficulty, but that moment also marked the beginning of a long, cold, tragic night - it was a moment when that foreboding feeling was soon to turn into a reality.

The third phase of the rain - what I call the icy, tragic touch - was about to engulf the capital of Osagyefo's Ghana. I could not make it away from the money dispenser because the final plot of the tragedy was unfolding albeit in a distant vicinity. I pressed my body against the glass and steel walls of the bank just as others had done, and I was to remain in that posture for the next three terrifying hours.

 As I waited, anxiety set in but was soon replaced by fear. The impending disaster was too present in my mind to be ignored. At this point, my thoughts swam slowly from my TV to family and friends. I called home to be sure that my family was safe. My earlier call to my wife to ascertain the safety of the family is an interesting story for another day, suffice it to say, they were safe!

After a long wait, I had to decide on my next move. Since by now the whole place was flooded and there was no visible land and taxis were not moving; I had only one alternative left - walk! I pulled my trousers up and stepped into the rain, the water was almost knee high but I was determined to get home. I brazed myself for the worse and pushed on, stopping intermittently to shift the weight of the TV from one arm to the other.

As I pushed on, the magnitude of the storm and its potentially destructive nature soon registered. In a reckless display of bravado, I soldiered on until I got home albeit completely soaked by the flood water. With the exception of the paper box, my TV was intact, thanks to the folks at Samsung who are responsible for packaging.

I beamed in a brief moment of exquisite delight because I felt I had defied the destructive force of nature. I could not charge my phone since there was a power outage. Not fully aware of the level of the tragedy, we all went to sleep.

As I prepared for work in the morning, I heard bits and pieces of news about the tragedy. I left for work all the same. On my way, the destruction caused by the storm was visible on both sides of the N1. Even as I prayed and wished that the disaster at circle was not as tragic as was been reported, the crashed cars and fallen trees on both sides of the highway painted a rather gloomy picture.

I got to work only to be told that school had been closed for the next two days because the Meteorological Service Agency had warned of worst conditions - I cynically retorted "where were they yesterday?" By now I had given my phone some life so I turned it on only to be greeted by gory images of the previous night on social media.

As the flood water receded, the images also came in. After watching a few, I stopped downloading the rest. I will later learn that over a 150 lives perished and property worth millions destroyed. I was visibly angry. I allowed my soul to dance with the rage for a while before rationality was restored.
By noon, the Ghanaian madness and hypocrisy had taken over the media landscape; experts and non-experts alike were running commentary regarding the possible cause of the disaster yet one crucial thing was missing - the responsibility factor. Those in officialdom joined the masses in one chorus to express tokens of sympathy to the bereaved families, but none of the so called honourables was honourable enough to admit responsibility - in silence they prayed for the clock to tick fast so that June 3rd may soon fade into oblivion.

As the long arm of the clock ticked to indicate the passage of time, it was soon clear that the city lacked Emergency Support Functions ranging from transportation to energy. In the absence of such critical support functions, the city had become a dead zone. Government and City Authorities were incompetently helpless - some carried on with their usual showmanship and bigmanism in order to cover up their cluelessness.

The more I regained my rationality; the more I got convinced that the tragedy we were witnessing was not a disaster - it was a crime. The tragedy was a clear man-made disaster caused by the failure of both City Authorities and the governments regulatory authorities to take preventive measures due to negligence on their part, which led to the shelving of problems and decision making that conveniently fit their own interest.

Angry at what was turning out to be a circus of institutional and leadership irresponsibility, I demanded to know via my Facebook wall whether some officials were still at post - the Accra Mayor; the Minister for Local Government and Rural Development; the Minister for Water Resources, Works, and Housing; the Minister for Environment, Science, and Technology; the NADMO boss, and the heads of the Planning Departments of the various ministries mentioned - I concluded rather strongly that if those individuals were still at post then we were sick as a nation. These criminals in suits and smocks arrogantly defied all efforts to get them to resign.

A year on, some if not all of them are still shamelessly holding on to their portfolios without any show of remorse - they simply got away with murder! The president, whose prerogative at which these JUNE CRIMINALS serve, was loudly silent. He silently acquiesced to the crime.

As we commemorate the one year anniversary of that CRIME on innocent lives, my heart and mind remains with those who perished and their families. It could have been me, a member of my family, a love one, a friend, or a distant acquaintance. But for those JUNE CRIMINALS, they may have escaped earthly punishment, however, the darkest place in Dantes Inferno shall be reserved for them - eternal damnation shall be their reward!