STORMING VOLTA PARADISE TURNED HELL

STORMING VOLTA PARADISE TURNED INTO HELL

         Comrades!! I bring you greetings from the “Volta paradise”, specifically the “angelic” guest house, "cocoloko" beach resort. For those of us whose attention and interest were arrested by the glamorous appearance of the ticket and banner that advertised the trip, we had to simply part with 25gh cedis as that was the fare to the “paradise”. Painful though it was to Part Company with such an amount, I personally thought it was worth the expedition, since it could be a life time experience. The package, as indicated on the tickets and banner actually matched the “subsidized” price. “Thanks to SRC for their ideas and their sense of generosity” were my last words before I let go the 25 red notes. In return I took my ticket to “paradise”. Comrades, whatever followed, it is with a heavy heart I recount it.I wish I could stop but no matter how piercing it may be it must be told once it ever happened. In that light, I still muster courage to recall the gruesome story with confidence and with the intention to mince no word so kindly bear with me if you fall prey to my submission. 

                                     Hopes, expectations and excitements were very high, so all that which later transpired in the trip came as an utter shock. Perhaps we could have read in between the sensational caption to realize that it was indeed a paradise in the reverse order. A paradise of congestion and suffocation, a paradise of starvation, a paradise of inequity and iniquity, a paradise of disappointment and the list continues. In fact it was real hell. Something that was slated to set off at exactly 6:30 eventually began at about 9:30, communicators indeed! That act of lateness in itself was a fateful sign and a prelude to a total mess up. We overlooked that probably because it is the second image of blacks. Going aboard the buses was an issue of physical fitness. It took strength to make ones way in to the bus and endurance to remain in it for the one hour used in “parking” everybody aboard. I stood in the bus sweating as though I had just been rescued from a cooking pot. Under such a condition the transmission of some communicable diseases was endorsed. As I stood there carrying my small bag of two balls and my thing, I prayed to God to spare the males from low sperm count as the heat was enough to induced it.I even prayed harder for my dear ladies who carried masses of flesh strapped to their chests in brassieres, it was weird to imagine how they coped with that particular disgusting environment. The bus was literally filled beyond capacity causing some of us to either hang like bats on trees or perch like birds. Questions began to run through my mind; didn’t SRC know the capacities of the buses? Could it be that the buses descended from heaven on that day for us to use? Why then were the tickets numbered? Or was it just a calculated attempt to molest and torture students. We sometimes need to stop playing the fool and face reality, these are buses that have been with us for as long as the organizers have been in GIJ and here were they pretending as if they were shocked by the congested outcome of the buses. Maybe they thought the buses were elastic or the students were elves. For about two hours, we had been in these stuffy and congested buses, a group of self-appointed students in one of the buses, called the “Jama” group, found a way of making the ugly situation look handsome by singing out their hearts. They could not arouse me anyway because it was at that very moment I had the sensation that everything had gone out of hand and we needed to either brace ourselves for the consequences or go to hell. Surely others did too but there was no need crying over spilt milk. We had gone far, too far to resign.

                        Two hours after noon, we were at the “cocoloko” beach resort; our host home, after we had made a stopover at the Ada district police station to report our presence and for a word of caution. Another mystery was just about to unravel as one would wonder how the over 250 students were able to go into less than 30 rooms; some of which were air-conditioned. Don’t ask me if the rooms were that spacious to accommodate as many as ten. Whether spacious or cramped, some rooms actually accommodated as many as 15 students. Hard to imagine right? Well, it happened in our Volta “paradise” They were actually a bit bigger than cubicles. You may choose to call them shacks. By the package of the trip, some indeed had air-conditioned accommodation and some of us too had much more than that; we actually had air-conditioned cum mosquito-conditioned accommodation. Had it not being the timely intervention of a roommate, mosquitoes would have literally devoured some of us or perhaps lifted us to sea.

                         As if that was not enough a maltreatment, one could not be certain when to get a meal, where to get it and what to get for a meal. One had to starve patiently and politely for long hours only to be given “fante kenkey” and stew for lunch, soaked rice and stew for supper or boiled yam drenched in water with wicked pepper for brunch .For the fish and eggs that were served with these meals, it was a matter of fortune that one got either. The mode of distribution was so poor and porous that some people did not get either food or drink or both from SRC.

                   The painful and disappointing thing about the whole trip is how students as rational consumers in market gave their money hoping to get its equivalent value in terms of delivery from the SRC which woefully  delivered far below the belt. Each student who gave his or her money expected a comfortable transportation, air condition accommodation, night party at “cocoloco” beach, in-studio discussion at radio Ada, food, drinks, a ride on lower volta,yazz products and any other thing that could sum up to an unforgettable trip. What became of the studio discussion, the ferry ride and the yazz products is yet to be officially known. More painful was how callous these SRC executives were to these situations. At least courtesy demands that as a leader you explain to your followers whenever you fail to meet a target and try to soothe them with some words. This is not academic, it’s purely lore. SRC why? Most painfully is how blatant these executives tried to shriek blame and try to present the whole show as if it were uncalled for. Some prospective SRC executives also tried to exonerate them. God have mercy!!! If prospective SRC executives also try to cover up and justify these actions then I can guarantee a bleak immediate future SRC.That notwithstanding, some of them also condemned the act completely.

               Of course every cloud they say has a silver lining, our trip bears no exception to this. Beyond all the odds and setbacks there was still fun. We created it, we forged it on our own, and we caved it out of the odds. We went beaching on Saturday afternoon and played beach soccer, went for supper and continue with a night party which featured the musician klala.You can imagine boys and girls under one roof over a night, it was real fun. The climax was a stopover at the Volta estuary where a few students swam. The period of fun was basically characterized by swimming, seashore games, photography, socialization and drinking but was short-lived as Sunday afternoon suddenly approach for departure. Following the sequence of events, an article that could possibly be written to suite the theme of the trip: “unlock your creative writing skills as we project tourism in Ada”, would be more tragic than comic. In effect the designers of this trip simply want to explore our sense of tragic creativity; how well we can write tragedies.one thing I now pray for is that the final bit of the trip package be fulfilled, the mobile phone.

                  Before I take leave of you, let me say that I do not intend to give a narrative of what transpired, I leave that to those writing for the mobile phone but I only bring you pieces and slides of the entire tragic trip so that you can tailor them together to make a complete whole. In this regard, may I veer off the normal to express my candid opinion that SRC has disappointed us, it has deceived us, it has “messed up” and I’ll dare to say SRC is a failure. Once again, pardon me if I sound derogatory but this is how far I can go to sound polite. My name is P.D Wedam and this is my mind.