Ghanaians have this terrible habit of acting poor and helpless even when surrounded with resources. Not long ago, I traveled with 15 EU Ambassadors to a coastal village not far from the western edge of Accra to inspect some projects in Ayokor Botchwey's constituency. We sat with the community leaders on pews inside a church, an impressive structure and, as is often the case, the largest building in the village. When the linguist stood up to welcome us, his speech was a list of needs which they were pleading with the white people to please provide. They didn't have anywhere to tip their rubbish, he said. And as if to prove the point, they had turned a clearing in the majestic and holy shadow of the church into a rubbish dump. I turned to Man On My Left and hoping he wouldn't be terribly offended, whispered: "I thought cleanliness was supposed to be next to…” “Err... Jesus God,” he stuttered .... and nodded slowly. Next, they didn't have an SSS building; so when the children finished JSS they were unable to continue their education. I leaned towards Man On My Left again, and asked him how they had managed to finance such a huge church-building. "From our collections," he said. I looked at him dead in the iris. "Well. ....?" He nodded slowly. Next they didn't have regular potable water. The pipelines had been laid but the flow was erratic. I looked out of the window and saw that all of the houses had aluminium roofing. They could easily ring the roofs with rain gutters and harvest rain-water. Besides, there's a spring in a forested part of the village where they fetched clean water. It was a 10-minute walk from the farthest corner of the village. "You have to protect that spring and this forest." I told Man On My Left. "Ghana Water Company will never produce enough water for everyone until the government invests almost two billion dollars." He nodded slowly. But the linguist wasn't done yet with his shopping list. "We don't have anywhere to ‘sebe taflatse’ go to toilet," he said, bowing his head slightly in embarrassment. "So we do it on the beach." "Do you have kitchens in your houses? I asked Man On My Left. "Of course," he replied. "But you know what goes in comes out. If you build for the mouth, you must build for the other end," I said. He laughed. And nodded slowly. "Is there land available for sale here?" I asked Man On My Left. ''Yes, but it's expensive." "How expensive?" "Around 50 million cedis for a plot. But most of the lands have been sold." In other words, this isn't a poor community. "In the abundance of water ......" I said to Man On My Left. He smiled. And nodded. Slowly Author: Kwaku Sakyi Addo (www.sakyi-addo.com) Source: The Spectator