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.
