Larceny: Petty and Otherwise

Larceny, or simple thievery, is a sad fact of life here in Ghana. I am sure that it’s not particular to this part of the world, and that any and every developing county has its clear division of the Haves and Have-Nots. My husband and I, apparently to the minds of some quasi-socialist-leaning/Robin-Hood-Wannabee Ghanaians, clearly fall into the former category. In my opinion, we’re fast on our way to becoming a Have-Not.

On our very first trip to Ghana, back in the winter of 1990, I recall the first incident when we were “ripped-off,” to put it, if not politely, at least succinctly. I had with me a very nice Sony Walkman (which I had found on a park bench in New York City) to play the dozen cassette tapes I had brought along to pass the time. Remember, this is 1990 and there was only one television station which broadcast only in the evening. I left the Walkman in a drawer in my bedroom. Unfortunately, my (at that time) 13 year old step-son was playing with it and forgot to put it back where he had found it (and what he was doing inside my drawer, I will never know). He left it in plain sight on top of the dresser, or so he said. Later that day, after an electrician had come to the house to repair our ceiling fan, we noticed its disappearance. Easy come, easy go, right?

Sly had forewarned me that theft was very common, and I should always keep my stuff locked up. He told me a very entertaining story of an electrician who was fixing a light switch in his mother’s room who, with one foot wedging the door closed, was able to reach into the dresser and paw through her valuables. This was seen through her bedroom window by her daughter, by the way, so he didn’t get away with the theft. You know, in retrospect, it’s not so funny.

But, alas, that first incident of theft that touched us was not to be the last. There have been many (way too many) cases of pilfering in between then and now. I wish I could say that the thefts were all perpetrated by strangers. I want to say that. But I’m really not sure that would be the truth.

In some incidences, the theft occurred in the house we were staying at. When we moved to Ghana, we shipped all of our worldly possessions here. From the first house (my sister-in-law’s) in Mataheko then to the next house (another sister-in-law’s) to still another (my brother-in-law’s), those boxes have moved around a lot. Now, during each move, I was pretty vigilant about watching for someone rooting through my stuff, so I don’t believe a mover took anything. But I do recall that some things that were packed away – deep inside these big boxes – are the only things that are missing. Who’d have had the time to dig? Was it family, friends of my nephews or the house boy or house girl? All I know is that some things are missing. Actually, a whole lot of things.

The ones that sadden me the most with their loss are the things with sentimental value like the Hallmark Christmas decorations that I had collected when my children were babies – you know, Baby’s First Christmas 1995. Or the electric saw, drill and handmade tool box that my Dad gave me before he died; he said every home needed basic tools and these were his that he wanted to pass down to me. They may have seemed like trinkets and junk, but they were precious to me.

I really don’t know the full extent of the things that were stolen, and that’s because almost all of our stuff is still packed away in boxes. Eventually, when our Dawhenya house is finally finished, I’ll have to dig it all out and put it away and then I’ll have a clearer inventory of what we’ve got left. It doesn’t seem as much as when we first moved, though. Clearly, there’s been some attrition.

Some of the things that were stolen just had me shaking my head. Food from our pantry stock or freezer was always going missing – even food that we’d cooked and left on the stove to reheat later would mysteriously be depleted. We never could pin the theft on anyone until the one time we left the house for a few hours. We were staying in Nungua, at my sister-in-law’s house, where Sly oversaw her pure water business. The live-in “house girl” was a middle-aged woman named Mawuse, who was the sole financial support for her unemployed (and unfortunately, often drunk) husband and three daughters.

We had a large upright freezer in the kitchen, and when we got home from wherever it was we had gone to, I noticed that the freezer had started to thaw, and all of the food inside was defrosting. Then I noticed that Mawuse was sitting in her kitchen (which is a room adjacent to our kitchen), and that along side her was a large bucket of water inside which were several ice blocks – our ice blocks. When she helped herself to them, she failed to notice that our toaster’s electrical cord dropped down, and prevented the freezer door from closing fully.

Now, I know what you’re thinking, “That’s kind of petty,” so why am I nitpicking? Well, it’s the principle of the thing! If Mawuse had asked if she could have some ice blocks, I’d have handed them over. No biggie. I’m really not cheap. I and Sly would often offer her or her kids food that we’d cooked. If we sent her or the girls to the store it was always with a “Thanks, and keep the change.” I also quite often gave her dresses and sandals for her teenage girls that I didn’t wear/need/like. And these weren’t hand-me-downs, because there was nothing wrong with them, just that they weren’t me. But, that! The ice blocks… I just didn’t get that.

After that, we put a lock on the kitchen door, and she didn’t have any access. All of the kitchen cleaning, cooking and dishes were done by me anyway, so it was no great loss.

Speaking of great losses, here’s a list (not all inclusive) of what has (so far) gone missing.

Sony Walkman
Hallmark Christmas decorations
Bed sheets – Sponge Bob (2 fitted)
Craftsman circular saw
Craftsman electric drill
Hand made tool box and miter box
Fisher Price power wheels ride on kids’ car
HP Photo printer, brand new in box, ran on 110 voltage – hope the thief paid a fortune for a transformer!
Electrical outlet boxes and switches (new, never used – $600 worth – from our as of yet unfinished house)
Various car parts – stolen from inside the car and from the garage
Plants in different growth stages, which we were nursing
Clothes – right off the clothes line
Television/VCR combo
Wooden doors and door frames (from our as of yet unfinished house)
Bags of cement and loose gravel
VHS tapes
Dozens of music CDs that Sly burned from friends’ collections
Cell phone – this was taken from Sly’s car while he was driving it
Gameboy Advance plus miscellaneous GBA games – recovered, because we knew the suspect and confronted him at his school with the evidence


And last (on this particular list), but not least (yet probably the funniest): Diet Pepsi.

The Diet Pepsi Saga: We had all gone to Dawhenya for the morning so that the kids could play soccer in the dirt or ride their bikes, which we had brought along with us. We also took a cooler bag with juices, bottled water, beer and a couple of diet sodas. There wasn’t any flowing water on the property yet, but we captured rain water that sluiced off the roof in large oil drums. We allowed the (then) caretaker (see above) to have his workers collect water for their work (block making factory), which was right outside of the property wall. Well, this one worker comes in and he’s pushing a wheelbarrow with a couple of empty buckets in it. I can see him pretty well, as I’m on the upper floor watching the kids play. He’s shirtless, wearing a pair of cut-off shorts and flip flops; on his head is a home-made hat, fashioned out of a cement bag. I don’t want to discuss the health implications of this right now (or ever, for that matter). Anyway, heading toward the house, the hat stayed on his head perfectly well. But as he’s leaving the house, I happened to notice that he’s clutching the hat with one hand, as if to hold it on his head from a strong wind gust and was struggling to push the wheelbarrow with his other hand. Not an easy task, I’m afraid. I really didn’t think anything of it… until we were on our way home. I went into the cooler bag to get my Diet Pepsi from it, and its missing. I ask Sly and the kids if they drank it. Negative, all around. I know no one else was on the property with us. The light bulb blinks on – that worker with the cement hat. That’s why he was holding onto the hat! He had a can of soda hidden under there! I’m prepared to let it go and chalk it up to experience. But not Sly. Sly drops us off at home and goes back and confronts the guy. First the guy denies it. Then, the other workers come out of the woodwork to point the finger at him. Then he admits it, and begs for mercy. This should be straight out of the stupid crooks handbook.

We’ve also been the victim of monetary theft, though not in the “gimme all your money at gun point” sense. Sly is as generous a man as you could ever meet. If he has the money and you need it, he will give it to you. There are several examples of this, where he’s been asked for a loan – 500 Ghana cedis here, a few hundred cedis there and 50 cedi loans more times than I care to remember. The vast majority of the people he’s loaned money to come up with excuses or evasions, but no money. I doubt we’ll see it.

Just some more examples of the Ghanaian socialistic realignment of assets, I guess. I wish it weren’t so. I want to say that you get used to the stealing, but I never do. Should I? Should I have to?

If it ain’t one thing, then it’s another

This past week has been hell here in Tema. On Sunday, near about lunch time, the electricity went out. We have a name for it here in Ghana; it’s called “Lights Off.” During the daytime, it’s annoying, but you can live/deal with it. You can leave the house if it gets too hot, or have a shower to cool you down. At night time, it’s infinitely worse. There’s no ceiling fan or air conditioning, and there’s little or no breeze blowing in. You can only be “comfortable” if you sleep in the absolute barest minimum of clothes, i.e. your tighty whities. Even a lightweight sheet is too hot, and will soon be sweated through. As you’re lying in bed, awake because it’s too hot to sleep, you hear the droning and buzzing of mosquitoes near your head. All thoughts of possible sleep are dismissed. You’re not only hot, but you’re going to wind up with malaria.

We have a portable generator, so we had no intention of suffering with night time Lights Off. Well, that’s what we thought, anyway. Once a few hours had passed, we expected that this problem might be of longer duration than originally anticipated, so we went out and bought gasoline to power up the generator. Except that the battery wouldn’t turn over. No biggie. We jump started it and got it going. Except that the toggle switch wouldn’t work. Yeah, our generator could roar, but only with impotent rage.

So, Monday comes, and the kids trot off to school in wrinkled school uniforms, and Sly and I throw on whatever is not too wrinkled and race out the door soon afterward. No sense staying indoors when there’s no electricity. We head over to Prampram Beach and enjoy the cool ocean breezes (not to mention a couple of bottles of Star beer).

When we get home, we find that the situation has not improved. In fact, it’s worsened; now, not only no electricity, but no water. What that means is that we simply have to bucket bathe and for that we’ve got a barrel of water outside the house. Except that someone forgot to fill it the last time and it’s only half full. That means, absolutely only essential flushing, and no dish washing or clothes washing or non-essential (i.e. cooling off shower as opposed to a get rid of this stench shower) bathing.

Monday afternoon, finally around 3:30 pm, the lights come back on. Thank God for small favors. We can at least watch television and iron our clothes, and I can stop panicking about Alex’s insulin. Water is still off, but I’ve got a ton of clean dishes and we can just all have a quick single bucket bath before bedtime.

Tuesday morning and the water is finally turned back on. Yippee!! I’m up at 5:00 and doing dishes that have piled up in every nook and cranny (it’s amazing how much mess 5 people can make!) and even inside the oven. Meanwhile, I’ve got Sly standing outside in the dark refilling the barrel and a load of laundry running in the machine (school uniforms, natch). I really don’t trust the water company.

Later on, I learn that my distrust in Ghana Water Company is not misplaced. Sure enough, by noon, the water is turned back off. I have got a pile of dirty laundry that is taller than Mike. Around 3:00 pm, the electricity goes off. Again.

One thing that I really hate is not knowing why. I’d still be annoyed, but at least my anger would have a direction and not be so generalized. Sly tells me that he heard that a transformer blew out somewhere in Tema, and that all of Tema on this side of the main road has a problem. I’m not exactly comforted by that knowledge.

Tuesday evening as dusk falls, I figure we’re in for another night of lights off. We tried to reach an electrician to come and fix our generator except that his phone is shut off. We sit outside for a breeze, and watch as a storm comes in from the west which never reaches us. Just before we go to sleep, the lights come back on. Still no water, though, but at least our barrel is mostly full.

And that’s how it’s been all week long. Bouts of lights off, then water off, sometimes both off together – it’s scary if we can have a few hours where both are actually on. Even as I sit here now, Friday afternoon waiting for the kids to come home, the water has been turned off yet again.

As Rosanna Rosannadanna used to say on Saturday Night Live, “If it ain’t one thing it’s another.”

The SOS School Sponsored Walk

This past Saturday morning, the kids’ school held a sponsored walk/fund raiser in celebration of the school’s 30th anniversary. Over the past month of so, we’ve been systematically hounded in turn by each child to have the sponsor card filled out. The promise and lure of great big prizes to the kid who brought in the most sponsors was no doubt the reason behind it. Either that, or their fear (truly, more like scared-to-death abject terror) of “Heady” as the kids “fondly” call the headmaster, Mr. Yemoah (behind his back, of course).

But their protestations and begging fell on very deaf (and somewhat poor) ears, so we ignored them until almost the very last minute. Then we quickly added a couple of names to the card just to look like we tried. Of course, we added ourselves in first position for a donation of GHC 10 each. My friend Leslie agreed to sponsor GHC 5 for each, and our other friends, Herbie and Eric, and Sly’s brother Julius agreed (though they didn’t know it yet) to sponsor the kids for GHC 2 each.

Well, that was the original plan. Unfortunately, besides our “donation” we were required to purchase specially made tee shirts and hats for each of the kids, for an additional GHC 9.50 each. Grand total for all 3 kids GHC 57.50. Money being a bit on the tight side, we told the kids to forget the new 30th anniversary tee shirts, and wear their other SOS tee shirts. “No,” they all cried, “it’s compulsory.” Headyphobia.

New plan: Scratch out donation of GHC 10 and bring that down to GHC 2, then we can afford the tee shirts and hats. Hmmm. Now we look like schlemiels, because here these are our kids and someone else is donating more money. I don’t think so. Scratch Leslie and change her to GHC 2 each. She’ll thank me for it, I’m sure.

There. That’s better. Now every kid has the nice round figure of a GHC 10 donation and they can buy the tee shirt and hat. Believe it or not, all of the kids are happy about this plan. Go figure.

So 6:30 a.m. comes for the morning of the walk, and I hustle the kids out the door. Sly opts to stay home, despite all of my pleading. Sean is dressed in his “cool” attire meaning new SOS tee shirt and big black canvas pants worn as Otto Pfisterish as I’ll allow (i.e. below his butt, gangsta style), Mike wears his tee shirt with khaki shorts and Alex wears her tee with a pair of jeans – high water jeans, I’d like to point out (this kid is growing like a weed) that she refused to change – even though I told her it would be hot. Another example of Headyphobia – he (or should it be He?) told them all to wear the tees and jeans.

I don’t have a sponsored walk tee shirt and Mike and Alex both warn me that I’m not going to be allowed to walk. Puhleeeze. I’m not afraid of Heady. Okay, I’m not that afraid of Heady. But there is no way I’m not going, because someone has to be with Alex for entire walk.

Now, our “paper” said the walk was going to be between the school and the Evergreen Supermarket in Community 4. That’s not too bad. That’s really just a hop, skip and a jump, probably only about a mile. I’ve walked that before. And I’ve got my Keds on, so it won’t be too bad. I notice a lot of the other mommy have the same sneakers I’ve got, too. Good, I don’t look like too much of a doofus, then.

At 7:00 a.m. we’re all off on the walk. I’m not really good at guessing numbers, but I’m thinking there are at least 300 kids, teachers and parents. At the front of the “parade” is a flatbed truck from a local radio station which is very loudly playing music. Unfortunately, they’re moving at a snail’s pace and it’s not long before my long legs have carried us from the back of the line to the front of the line. I’m a Jersey girl; we walk fast in Jersey – there’s purpose, not meandering. I’ve got to shorten my stride and even shuffle along, just to stay within the pack.

Then something happens; the hop, skip and a jump walk I was expecting doesn’t materialize. This becomes evident when we all turn off the main road. I want to yell, “That way to Evergreen” and point straight ahead. But, okay, I’m game. As I said, I’ve got my Keds. Ahead of us is Heady, and he’s taking pictures of the walkers. He sees me and Alex and comes to shake my hand, then he bends down and asks Alex, “Where’s your daddy? Is he home sleeping?” Heady and Daddy went to high school together. "Something like that," I tell him and he laughs out loud. That is a first, by the way. Maybe even ever.

Staying at the rear of the pack becomes the norm after only a few minutes. Alex has not only got shorter legs than I do, but she’s incapacitated by a crazily fluctuating blood sugar. About ¾ of a mile into the walk, she’s thirsty. That’s diabetes-speak for my blood sugar is going low. So I hand her a small pineapple juice and a glucose tab. She’s back to normal now. Except she’s got a major league wedgy that needs to be fixed. So, we jump over the gutter and she goes a few steps into the brush to try to ease it out. She’s not hiding the fact that she’s picking her butt crack, but a girl’s got to do what a girl’s got to do.

That holds her for about another ½ mile, and then she starts pooping out again so I give her another glucose tab. There’s a lady up ahead selling ice cream cones, and I hand Alex 20 pesawas so she buys two little ones and gobbles them down. That doesn’t seem to do anything at all, so I hand over the glucose gel that Alex has been craving now for a couple of months and she takes a hit.

She’s still kind of on the shaky side, so I check her sugar. She’s 3.6; she’s supposed to be at least 4.0. Oy, I don’t want to think what it was before the glucose gel and the tab she just ate. I’m pretty sure that the other stuff I just loaded her up with is going to boost her sugar level pretty soon, but just in case, I buy her another ice cream cone for 50 pesawas. Alex is loving this.

Ahead of us is the SOS bus, and its picking up kids that are too pooped to continue. Alex is dying (figuratively, I think at this point) to get on it, but we’re sooo far back, there’s no way we can catch up to it (even if it is crawling at something like 3 miles per hour). So we keep trudging on (so much for my thinking this was a mile long walk) and we buy some crackers and bottled water for me.

We’re passing by a small shop that’s got a table in front of it, and the table is surrounded by about half a dozen of the SOS mothers who are pawing over something. I’m curious to see what’s being sold. Is it wax print cloth? Purses? Costume jewelry? Nope, none of the above. They’re selling chaliwotay, a.k.a. flip flops. I’m quietly chuckling to myself as I pass, but inwardly thinking, crap, I wish I’d worn mine ‘cause my beloved Keds are giving me a pair of twin blisters on the backs of my ankles.

Now, at this point, I think we’ve walked about 3 miles. I’m not that good a judge of distance, but I know we’re walking for well over an hour, even with all of our stops and starts. Alex now informs me she’s got to wee wee. Well, it’s not like there’s a McDonald’s or a Starbucks on every street corner so we’re out of luck in terms of finding a toilet. But there are trees and gutters and kiosks that we can duck behind, and that’s what we do. I knew the jeans ideas was a crappy one; a skirt would have been so much more practical. Anyway, she does what she’s got to do and I do my best to clean her hands that got dirty from steadying herself in the dirt (I know, EWWWW!) and we’re off again.

We’re getting close to Evergreen Supermarket. We’re at least in the same neighborhood. The bus is still in sight, but definitely not catchable (by us, anyway). I’m tempted to flag down a taxi especially since every single taxi driver in Tema has honked at me as it passed by… they just can’t resist an obroni, even one who is obviously walking in a sponsored walk.

We’re now only a few hundred yards from the supermarket and the bus is close enough that with a little effort we could get on it. Here’s the dilemma: Alex needs to change her pants, she’s very cranky from being tired and I’ve got to wee wee myself. Trees and gutters hold no appeal for me, and trust me on this -- no one wants to see my big fat white butt for any reason. I really don’t want to get on the bus.

That’s when Alex spots Michael riding on the bus. He’s halfway back in, sitting in a window seat, waving to us. Alex starts to cry. Mike, who was wearing a great big shit-eating nah-nah-nah-nah-nah-nah grin only seconds before, is clearly dismayed by the sight of Alex all teary. But certainly not enough for him to give up that cushy seat, and off he goes.

The allure of Evergreen is that they’ve got good soda choices, so we go in and buy a Fanta cream soda. When we get back out, we’re the last of the SOS people in the bunch, so we just hop in a taxi and head home. I alert Sly to expect us and ask the driver to wait. Within 5 minutes we’ve changed, washed up, emptied bladders, done what we need to do and off we go back to the school.

We beat the school bus. Michael will forever be chastised for riding that bus. Obolobo (Ghana-ese for chubby) Michael, who could probably stand to lose a couple of pounds, tells us that his legs were cramping up. Meanwhile, his younger diabetic sister and his old fart mom managed to walk all the way to Evergreen.

The next time there’s a sponsored walk, I’m gonna pull a Sly. He was the smart one.