Hacking is a new game in the vote

  One of the remarkable things about growing old in this society is the recognition accorded old age.  At my age and disposition, queuing to vote is never a pleasant experience. Young men and women are ready to sacrifice their positions in the queue for the pediatrics, which is why exercising the franchise on Wednesday […]

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One of the remarkable things about growing old in this society is the recognition accorded old age.  At my age and disposition, queuing to vote is never a pleasant experience. Young men and women are ready to sacrifice their positions in the queue for the pediatrics, which is why exercising the franchise on Wednesday was not that problematic.

With one foot already in the grave, motivating the body to respond to the requirement of movement has became a different ball game from the natural instinct of rising up and getting the legs to work, which is why reporting at the polling station was an uphill task for both man and wife.

Since the bearded old man’s romance with the classroom ended some three decades ago, the old sofa has provided a comfortable nestling place for the old academic. The once-vibrant nurse, on the other hand, has virtually become a household furniture since the first pension was paid a quarter of a century ago, which adds up to a house of pediatrics.

Kojo, the third of the four kids, now grown up and long left the house to begin his own family tree, and fond of irritating the mother with references to Beijing and Rio, has taken little away from the notion that the man is always head of the house.

It is one topic that brings all the vim in the long retired nurse. Her response has always been repeating the cliché: whatever a man can do, a woman can do better.  She would echo and re-echo. Walking to the polling station offered an opportunity for the old woman to put the cliché to test.

Needless to state that on the day it mattered most, the old lady’s wobbling legs gave way, and had to enjoy a cab ride to the Methodist School grounds, barely 200 metres away.

The bald old man cast his vote long before the cab deposited its passenger, who was allowed to be in the front row. It was at that juncture that the tired old voice of a pediatric echoed in the air. At first hearing, the notion was of an incident in the wilderness. It was the issue over which the pronouncement was made that enabled fellow voters to trace the voice to the other polling station nearby.

Apparently, the old lady was being short-changed by the very person who was assigned as an electoral officer, paid from state resources, to guide the old and infirm.

“Mede Mepe Son oo Nanso Wodze Me Nsa Risi Kyim Do.”  (I say I like the elephant, but they are putting my thumb on the umbrella). The yelling and the enthusiasm, with which she launched her one-woman protest, drew the attention of electoral officers and all men and women queuing to vote.

It was after the dust had settled, with the woman properly assisted to cast her vote, that she told her own story. It emerged that the son in Accra had issued a fatwa on her to vote the elephant, and only the elephant, or risk forgoing her monthly stipend. On her way from home to the polling centre, she had spent all the time rehearsing her preference.

Apparently, in Ghana, the Umbrella family has a way of influencing the vote. This accusation has not been subjected to any analysis, but it is believed that one of the means of influencing the vote in their favour, is for activist of the Umbrella family to misdirect the old and infirm, which reminds me of the conundrum over equipment failure at the headquarters for the vote, at the plush neighbourhood in Accra where the Church, born in songs, has one of its most renowned worship centres named after the Calvary.

It is the sign of the times that the result of the vote is still being celebrated countrywide.  At long last, the waiting game is over, and the great Elephant is back home from the wilderness. From ‘Mahama Money,’ ‘Onaapo,’ to various re-mix versions of ‘Nana is the winner,’ the winning party has been spoiled for choice.

Revelers have had a field day, especially, after fumbling Chocolate Lady and her officials had their electronic equipment failing to respond to treatment. The blessing in the mal-functioning of the electronic gadgets is that it led to the early release of the certified results of the vote.

There are some out there who swear that had the equipment responded to treatment, we would not have had the elephant at the gate of Golden Jubilee House.

It was Chocolate Lady herself who gave the first indication that the electronic machine for mechanical collation had been compromised. Experts say it is a euphemism for suggesting that the equipment had been hacked into.

That, in itself, is not problematic. But the official declaration by the Co-ordinator for rallying the troops of followers of the Umbrella family, that the IT had failed to function at the same time as the breakdown of Chocolate Lady’s equipment, let out the cat. How the organisation for the vote, and the governing party seeking the vote to remain at Government House, both had their equipment failing to function has set tongues wagging.

In the words of Adamu, the failure of IT at the Umbrella’s US$20 million head office was responsible for the defeat of the party at the polls.  How an IT failure affected the vote is one conundrum the good people of this country would have to unravel.

In the interim, the theory doing the rounds is that there was a parallel IT system linked to the head office for the vote, and the office controlled by Mosquito, in name and structure.

So far, no one has claimed ownership of several sacks full of hard cash retrieved in a vehicle bound for the region where gold deposit is its main asset. The bald old man with one foot already in the grave needs no motivation to conclude that our officers in the black uniform would find good use for the contents of these sacks.

The other day, cocaine in the custody of our peace officers turned into cassava flour. This cash would illuminate the pockets of the officers and men. As officers and men prepare for WASA in the Yuletide, there is every motivation for them to cheer themselves and their dependants.

 

 

When the General and Massa get missing…

Not many people have set their eyes on the General, nor heard of him since Chocolate Lady’s official pronouncement. His office, normally a bee-hive of activities, is a desolate enclave.

Some say the General has caught the cold.  The re-emergence of the Elephant is bad news enough. But the final declaration, proclaiming the Nima Residence as a security zone, in the run-up to the official hand-over, is a calamity that the General is causing the most serious headache.

The General had declared before the vote that Nima would feature in the political equation of this country on his dead body. Nima is, apparently, now a political shrine, which means that the General has a lot to account for.

In military terms, the General commands his troops. It is no wonder that the troops are in disarray with the General’s whereabouts unknown. In his absence, the Co-ordinator is struggling to keep law and order, which is why accusations and counter-accusations are greeting the official pronouncement.

The list of Prisoners of War appears to be getting longer. Most of the babies with sharp teeth are not uncounted for, which is why the noise level on the airwaves has come down.

By the way, where is ‘Massa in all this?’ In the run-up to the vote, he was on all airwaves pontificating the Gospel According to John, with all its Tuaso verses. Some say, the sight of the Tetteh Quarshie Cocoa Farm, and its environs at Akwampim Mampong, has everything to do with the sudden disappearance, which is a conundrum by itself.

Baywatch has been combing all over the country to catch sight of “Massa’ to no avail. Some say, he is in closed door sessions with the General, the Educated Fishermen and many others, trying to understand what goes through the minds of men and women along the coastal belt especially.

At the last count, over 60,000 outboard motors with the Tuaso effigy were distributed to fishermen. Officials who supervised the distribution have still not come to terms with the shock, which is why Mampong is threatening to become a permanent enclave.

Even then, how ‘Massa’ himself has disappeared on the radar, when theories are being propounded without manuals on the resounding defeat, is a mystery. From Half Assini, all the way to Chokor, the Umbrella has been uprooted. The only two sightings of the Umbrella all over the coastline, from the border with Cote d’Ivoire to Accra, is in Komenda-Edina-Eguafo-Ebrem (KEEA), where Edwumawura himself has always set his stall, and Elembelle, where the minister smuggled the gas project, originally cleared to be sited in the nearby constituency. It is all panning out to be a new experience.

 

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