Monday June 22, 2015. It was four days after the start of the Ramadan fast. Being a holy month for Muslims, I was certain I’d enjoy the blessings of the day. But my enthusiasm was not to last long.

Shortly after I got off the bus I’d boarded to work, a little girl run up to me. Apparently she was on the bus with me. She asked for five Ghana cedis to buy some stationary which was compulsory for all primary four pupils of her school.

I hesitated a bit but later gave in to her request after I was convinced it was genuine. She went on to board another bus to school - Flagstaff House Basic School. Even then, I still felt good, you know the kind of feeling you get when you do a good deed?

I finally made it to the office and through the morning editorial meeting. Just when the meeting ended, we picked up information about a demonstration by some youth of Old Fadama, popularly known as Sodom and Gomorrah. The youth were protesting a demolition exercise by the Accra Metropolitan Assembly which had started during the weekend. According to them, the exercise was illegal.

I was assigned to cover the demonstration and although that wasn’t the exact direction I’d have loved to see my day take, I had to respond to duty call.

My first port of call was the National Theatre from where I followed the demonstration to the Forecourt of the statehouse, then to the high street where the drama unfolded.

I must say the level of Police visibility right from the National Theatre through to the Accra Sports Stadium was commendable and to a large extent kept the demonstrating youth in check. But when the demonstrators left the Stadium and made their way towards the High street, the Police to a large extent left them to their fate.

Sensing danger, I asked the officer in charge of the visibility unit at the State house, COP Akuffo if he had any idea what the next line of action was for the angry youth. “We have dispersed them and told them what they are doing is illegal” he said. “We asked them to go and do their homework well and come back. We did not reach any consensus with them but we have dispersed them.”

Not convinced by his response, I decided to follow the protestors especially because I suspected there might be an interesting twist to their demonstration.

Although seemingly composed at the State House, the youth assumed a totally different character once they got to the High Street. They cut and uprooted the plants along the street, and brought traffic to a halt as they chanted war songs.

Captivated by this turn of events, I started taking pictures and recording their chants. Little did I know that I had crossed the red line. And it was easy not to have realized it because I had been taking pictures of these demonstrators and interviewing them right from the State House. Some had even gone further to feign hunger and asked that I take pictures of them but I declined.

With all these having happened minutes earlier, I was beyond surprised when four of the protestors attacked me. They initially asked “what are you recording?” but would not wait for my reply.

My next line of defence was to speak Hausa hoping they’d identify with the language and spare me. But that trick failed woefully as the punches from the four guys continued to land heavily on me.

The impact of the initial punch was so huge that I decided to block the subsequent ones with my arm. In my left hand then was my week-old HTC DESIRE 820 phone. As the assault continued, it fell from my hand and before I could make a move for it, one of the guys from the pack quickly picked it up and bolted. I tried to trail the thief but the attackers held me back.

Sadly, none of the drivers and passengers caught up in the morning traffic made any attempt to come to my rescue. And I cannot begrudge them for looking on helplessly because these guys were armed with cutlasses, stones and clubs – one of the main reasons I couldn’t fight back. I don’t know what tune I’d be singing by now if I had made the attempt. Besides, all this happened on the blind side of the Police.

Having managed to break free from the assault and robbery, I helplessly run through the crowd to see if I could spot the thief, a light skinned guy with short dreadlocks. My effort was in vain. The group continued their march towards the Bank of Ghana where the Police had set up a barricade manned by heavily armed officers. But that would not deter the mob so the Police had to fire not less than two warning shots and that did the trick.

Some of the demonstrators were arrested and beaten by the Police. Without any material to record or write, I cut short my mission and returned to the office on a motorbike.

This ugly experience will however not stop me from doing my work as a journalist. As the saying goes, “What doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger”. So far as this incident didn’t kill me, I’m certain it has strengthened me. God have mercy on the thieves and help them change their ways.

 God bless our homeland Ghana.