The world according to me

I came upon this guy when I went to our neighborhood beach bar, a little shag a few hundred meters down the road. He seemed to be part of the place even though I hadn't seen him before. I asked him for cigarettes and he sold me a packet. He had a strong German accent, curly hair that stopped short just above his shoulders. He hadn't shaved for a day or two. His skin was clean, but it looked like he had some of these diseases you get as a child. The ones that leave you with little craters from infected wounds and pimples. Only later, when he told me about it, did I remark the little black dots that were spread over his legs and arms. They had the size of a pinhead and looked like fainting tattoos. He was a nice guy, no matter the weird story he told me. So I decided to call him the ladybug man. I had always liked them. Whenever I found one, I used to count the dots on its back. This time no counting though; I just listened. I will stick to the name anyways, the whole thing was just too unreal for anything else.

The ladybug man’s real name was Wolfgang, a plain German name without any hint of adventure. But an adventure, he had been through. He had just come back from Burkina Faso, and he was more than happy about the fact that he could still speak of it. His words came like a summer rain and I can't recall every detail anymore. It was like he hadn't spoken German for a long time. It all came pouring out of him. Not in any particular order that is, but in a very fascinating crazy prose. I will try to give you an account of what it was in general, but keep in mind that I just relate his story without knowing if the least bit of it actually happened. All in all, it is quite a story and that’s reason enough to go through the exercise.

The ladybug man had worked in Burkina Faso as some shady sort of consultant for a Burkinabe granite pit that was in fact led by a bunch of alcohol loving Libyans. About his past, I know little. He had made some money in the 90s buying NVA barracks. They weren't worth anything. They just tore them down and invested in social housing projects. For all the Non-Germans: When the wall came down, property of the GDR government was transferred to an organization called Treuhandgesellschaft. Much of it was later sold for a symbolic price to investors from Western Germany. There was quite a lot of talk about corruption and the whole affair got a bit of a shady image. Well, he was there at the time, so it did seem fit to find him now navigating in murky waters here in Western Africa. Some kind of a logical succession.

What brought him to Ghana, I don't know. He is a friend of Garrison, the owner of the bar we met in. The guy, an Indian American who speaks fluent German, will get his own chapter sooner or later. His story is definitely worth being told. Anyway, the ladybug man had been hanging around in Ghana since the mid 90s and just went to Burkina to see a friend. The friend introduced him to a bank manager and our story got started.

The bank had invested millions into a granite pit. Three years had passed and still the pit was nothing more than a hole in the ground. The ladybug man was meant to assess the granite pit and deliver a report about its current status plus a business plan for the next years. Only after some months did he realize that he had become a pawn in the feud between the Libyan businessmen and the bank manager.

The Libyans didn't want him to finish his job. They had been milking the pit for three years declaring high costs for machines and all and cashing in on the difference to the real price paid. But the money wasted was provided by a branch of some West African Development Bank. The bank in turn had based the loan on guarantees from the Libyan government, in short Gaddafi. So, the Libyans running the pit were cheating on their own government. The bank manager had come to realize that they never wanted the pit to work properly, because then it would be harder to take out money. The money was gone, he knew that right from the start, but he needed somebody from outside to prove that his hands were clean. That's where the ladybug man came in the picture.

When I met him, he was totally fed up of Ouagadougou, the Burkinabe capital. "There is nothing there but heat and dust", he told me. The only thing left to cheer you up was alcohol and women. And that's what the Libyan fraudsters were into. Once they had gotten the taste of it, there was no way they would go back to Tripoli with its no alcohol policy and strict laws. So they tried to get the ladybug man on their side. First he was treated to lunch and alcohol; maybe women too, he didn’t say. But he kept on checking the books and asking questions, so they started to put some pressure on him. "At a certain point, I just went out of the house with two boys. When the Italian was killed, I didn't go back at all. I slept at friends' places." In the end, even this seemed too dangerous and he left the country. He had handed in his report, but never received any money. "I didn't even ask for it", he said. "I just wanted to get out."

I learned after some questioning that the Italian engineer, in its livelier days, had worked for a company that provided machines to cut the granite. He was there to teach the workers how to use them and supervise their installation; but there where no workers to be taught. Sometimes, there weren’t even machines to start with. His presence must have been some kind of a nuisance to the Libyans. They started to blackmail him at his company base in Italy. He was drinking, they said, spending his times with whores and the like. At a point, his wife came over to see what was happening. The charges, it turned out, where unsubstantial. But the engineer was pissed. He would go back home and blow the whistle, he said.

A few days later he was found dead in his Jeep, just a few blocks from his hotel. The police labeled it as a case of armed robbery. But the ladybug man could never figure out why robbers would go through the somehow irritating routine of breaking their victim’s legs before killing it, while leaving money, passport and mobile phone in the car.

But that’s not the end of the story. You might wonder why the Libyan government would want to invest in a Burkinabe granite pit, while there is no granite market to speak of, at least not in Western Africa. Of course, the ladybug man had an explanation, and a fascinating one as you might image at this point of the story.

Gaddafi had renounced terrorism and all after 9/11 and, weary of an ever growing front, Americans and Europeans alike had made their peace with him. Most of the trade limitations had been lifted. Still, there where sanctions on advanced weapon systems that hampered Libya’s wish to upgrade its army. The problem for Gaddafi, and that is an interesting point, was not getting the weapons. Once you have the cash, they are out there in abundance, the ladybug man said. All you need is hard currencies like Dollars or Euros. Thanks to high oil prices, Libya was receiving a steady stream of them. But Western intelligence agencies were still suspicious of the revolutionary leader of old and kept on monitoring financial streams into the country. So oil money was off limits for secret weapon deals. Money laundering was the answer.

Most parts of the world, the ladybug man said, where not suitable for such kind of business. In fact, it seems that nowadays the world is a fairly well run place, at least when it comes to financial transactions and investments. One of the few places left for big style money laundering could be found in parts of West Africa, he said. Burkina Faso is one of the poorest countries around and bribing high ranking officials a seemingly minor problem. That is why a 100% state owned Burkinabe company could be run entirely by Libyans.

That answers the question why this story took place in Burkina Faso. But why a granite pit? Well, first of all there is not much in Burkina Faso you could invest in. So even a granite pit could seem reasonable. And secondly, I was told that if you are interested in serious money laundering, return on investment is of minor importance as long as there is at least some income. Fortunately, the granite pit turned out to be one big hole in the ground that was good for nothing besides swallowing money. Unfortunately, an Italian engineer lost his life while he was trying to make sense of the hole affair.

That’s it. I left out some details, but the big picture is there. You definitely won’t see me going to Burkina Faso to find out if there is anything to it or not. But the ladybug man is real. He is one among the many drawn to this land. They are refugees, business men, aid workers, miners, missionaries, diplomats, travelers – you name it. And I just can’t stop listening to their stories.

I don't know if anyone is interested in that, but I'll post an article I wrote for the Ghanaian Times just to make you aware of the fact that I'm not just here to check beaches and try exotic food. If it will get published like this is an altogether different question. I recently wrote something about pollution in Accra and the need to avoid, collect and recycle basic litter like plastic bags etc. The article was published, but no one had told me how long it should be. Just write it, I was told. Well, it was too long and one of the editors cut out the part about avoiding and recycling. Unfortunately, the German vice ambassador read it and she was puzzled about the article's end. It just didn't make any sense.

Don't get me wrong, I love being at the place. Everything is somehow similar to a newsroom in Germany, but then again completely different.

PS: The pictures to this post show the ship that the article is about and a guy called Samuel, who had received treatment onboard.

The everyday miracle

Among the dock workers entering the Tema port every morning, a special crowd stands out. Men and women of all ages make their way through the labyrinth of containers and cargo trucks. Some are wearing big black sunglasses; others are being led by friends or family members. They come in from all parts of the country and even from neighboring Togo or Ivory Coast. Samuel Kofi, a 71 years old mason from Tema New Town, is among them. Like his fellows he is heading for the M/V Anastasis, a hospital ship docked in Tema for the next seven months.

When Samuel first came on board six weeks ago he had nearly lost his vision. One of his eyes had been blinded by a cataract, a deficiency that is common among the elderly. A one hour operation is all it takes to restore the sight. But with treatment costing close to 1.5 million Cedis, he couldn’t have paid for the surgery. One day a friend told him about the ship. He went to one of the screening procedures conducted in Tema by doctors from the swimming hospital and got picked for an operation – for free.

For Samuel the operation was a dream come true. He is now back for a check-up and his eyesight is nearly completed restored, says Francis Bottay, an ophtemical assistant who also works as a translator between patients and foreign doctors and nurses. “Now he can even go back to work again and supervise his boys on the construction side.”

Until the ship leaves in February 2007 an estimated 2400 visually impaired are meant to receive treatment in one of the ship’s three operation rooms or in one of the mobile dental clinics that operate on the mainland. But the crew, some 325 doctors, nurses, engineers, teachers and other specialists, are not just curing ailments of the eye.

The ship focuses on specific live changing health problems such as operations of the eyes, of cleft lips, plastic surgeries of tumors or VVFs, that is problems like incontinence that occur with some women after they have given birth, explains Amanda West, the ship’s press officer. “We don’t perform too much general surgeries. We figured out over the years that if we were a more generalized hospital ship, we wouldn’t be able to treat as many people.”

One among many to profit from the Mercy Ship’s stay in Ghana is Bawa Tarfo. He was suffering from keloids, scar tissues gone wild and growing into large tumors on his head, face, neck and torso. The tumors weren’t lethal but disfigured his body and turned him into a social outcast. When he got to the Anastasis he had not just lost his wife and his self-esteem, but all hope of ever living in peace from harassments and intolerance again.

Coming in days before the actual screening of potential patients began, he was one of the first to be operated on board. All in all doctors removed 8 pounds of keloid tissue from his body. The plastic surgery had made him a man again, he said after the operation. “I am a new person and very handsome. I am ready to go find my wife; if she accepts me I want her back.”

Helping people like Bawa is the reason why Mercy Ships have been cruising around the world since 1978. It was then that an American couple, Don and Deyon Stephens, bought an outdated passenger liner called Victoria and transformed the 552-foot vessel in what became the world’s biggest non-governmental hospital ship, the Anastasis.

As of today the fleet comprises three ships. The smaller Caribbean Mercy serves Central America, while the Anastasis has focused her attention on Western Africa. The African Mercy is currently being converted into a hospital ship with six operation rooms and a 78-bed ward. When the Anastasis retires in 2007, the African Mercy is poised to take over.

While a lot of money and effort has gone into the ship, the last decades have left their traces. Wandering through the mace of narrow wooden corridors and crammed laboratories one realizes that the ship was never meant to be a hospital.

The Anastasis was built in 1953 as an Italian cruise liner. Still, wooden panels bearing renaissance pictures and etchings of ancient Milan grace the walls. While it seems picturesque to the visitor, the ship’s past is a burden for its crew. “With all the wood in here, fire is maybe our biggest problem”, comments Amanda West. “We had a few incidents, but so far nothing major happened.”

Along the main corridors small doors lead to the crew’s dorms, storerooms and laboratories. Hyojin Ahn, a South Korean Radiology Technician sits next to huge x-ray scanner that fills the entire room. There is virtually no place to walk, but the place fulfills its purpose. And so does the rest of the ship, which somehow seems like a permanent interim solution.

Sharing such a narrowly confined space with hundreds of colleagues for months and years demands a lot of discipline and patience from the crew. And their situation won’t change much on the African Mercy, which is in fact a bit smaller than the Anastasis. It’s the patients who will benefit mostly from the new vessel, which will provide twice as much space for wards and operation rooms than its predecessor.

But no matter their age, the Anastasis and the Caribbean Mercy have been success stories. So far more than 26.000 handicapped or sick people have undergone operations on board. Health and development services provided by Mercy Ships on land and see are worth some 620 million dollars.

This is a huge sum, even for an American NGO with offices in 17 other countries all over the world. That the Mercy Ships have not suffered financial shipwreck is due to donors all over the world and, maybe even more important, the commitment of the crew. Every single person on board is a volunteer. From the captain to the doctors, nurses and machine engineers – no one receives payment. Rather to the inverse, crew members have to pay for donating their time and energy.

Jamie Kiesle came on board for one and a half months. The 27 year old nurse from Texas, USA decided to spend her annual vacations on board. She not only works for free, but pays a crew fee of 500 Dollar per month. Asked what made her invest so much money and energy, she responds without hesitation: “I want to take care of people who couldn’t afford the treatment. For me, it is like serving the lord with the skills I have learned.”

Faith is at the core of the whole enterprise. The Mercy Ships’ mission statement reads that “following the example of Jesus, Mercy Ships brings hope and healing to the poor, mobilizing people and resources worldwide”. Christians from some 30 nations figure among the crew. Reading the bible is part of the treatment administered by them.

Godwin Bzogbeta, one of 13 Ghanaians on board, says he is proud to be part of this mission. “I like it here very much. On the other ships people drink and smoke. Here it is different.” When the Mercy Ship moved from Liberia to Ghana in June this year, a lot of senior crew members left. The 31 year old maritime student from the Volta Region applied as a refrigeration technician and got the job. For the next months he’ll be part of a huge family helping the ones in need and working for his country.

I met Marcus on Friday. I had been out on an assignment with Effah and after the whole thing was over he stepped up to us and asked if we could take him along to Dansoman, an area in the west of Accra. He is the one on the picture. His kids led him along. He is blind, but wasn't born like this. I told him he could join us, but we would only go to Kwame Nkrumah Circle, a huge traffic hub close to the Ghanaian Times office. He beamed and called for his twin like boys. The taxis ride from the Ghana Society for the Blind to Circle is short, but this was one of the few times that I was glad to be stuck in traffic. Sometimes blind people led by kids approach you in the streets and ask for some money.
There is virtually no social security system in the country, so once you are disabled in any way, you are left to fight for your own. They are trying to build up some sort of social security for people working in the big companies. But with less than ten per cent of all workers in the private sector being employed formally, just a lucky few enjoy these new services.
When Marcus approached me, I was about to reach for some money, but he just wanted to save some money for transportation and chat a bit with the white guy. He was working as a fire fighter in the Accra fire patrol. After some six years of service his vision faded. Doctors said it was glaucoma. An incurable eye disease that inevitably leads to blindness, Marcus told me. It took him six years to get used to being blind. He had to learn it all anew. How to walk, to find his way, to make a living. In a way, he was lucky. Working for a public service he was transferred to the office and is now responsible for light duties, office work.
Still, it is virtually impossible to imagine what it means to become blind in a bee hive like Accra. There is no public transportation, no facilities for the virtually impaired whatsoever. If you cross the street you have to make it through a chaos of cars and buses all driving along without any care for pedestrians. All the streets are lined with open gutters and sewers filled with the drains of the city. One wrong step and you are soaked in filthy stinking water.
I was listening to Marcus’ words and jokes while we were sitting in the cab. There was just chaos and hectic around us. And still this man sat there on the front seat smiling and laughing and speaking about all this as if it wasn't really a big deal to make a living here. We dropped him off at where the trotro to his area was leaving and went on to work. I felt like walking half a meter above the ground. There was this immense joy about life - mine and that of others. I felt strength and confidence, and for a moment I could understand why so many people in this country are such fervent believers.

Vivian just helped me out with this, so now I'm a blogger. Jesus, that's like showing somebody how to open the driver's door and then handing out a license. Well now this thing is up and so I better post some pictures. Better than boring you with endless stories. The zebra crossing above is in Accra, Ghana. The pictures on display ar for sale. Next to Bill is J.J.Rawling the former dictator who turned into a democrattically elected president and then, rather uncommon in Westafrica, stepped back once his two periods in office were over.
The guy on the right was one of the members of the elctoral commission. I went out with them on a float in Accra. We were all standing on a truck handing out leaflets about the upcoming local elections while a band was playing some kind of Salsa or whatever. I got pretty sun burned, but it was great fun.