FOR EVERY THING THERE IS A SEASON

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven. A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; a time to kill, and a time to heal; a time to break down, and a time to build up; a time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance; a time to cast away stones, and a time to gather stones together; a time to embrace, and a time to refrain from embracing; a time to get, and a time to lose; a time to keep, and a time to cast away; a time to rend, and a time to sew; a time to keep silence, and a time to speak; a time to love, and a time to hate; a time of war, and a time of peace.” The above quotation is taken from the Book of Ecclesiastes Chapter 3 verses I to 8

Indeed for everything there is a season. For the rains there is the rainy season; as a boy growing up in a village in the forest belt of the Ashanti Region the rainy season brought joy not only to me but to others my age and I guess older ones as well. When it rained during the day I stood underneath the edge of the corrugated roofing sheet enjoying the water dripping from above. It was also fun wading through the pools of water that collected at various depressions on the street and alleys of the village. Apart from the fun of enjoying the rain water at a temperature of 25 degrees Celsius, the joy of sleeping at night with the rain drops of various sizes falling on the time tested roof at different angles resulting in more than melodious lullaby pieces from a well rehearsed orchestra which sent tired boys like me into a deep sleep, a sleep which only the crow of a stubborn cock (a CPP one) could disturb.
The joy of the rains lasted more than the night because the next morning there was no need to fetch water from the “people’s well” which was located a kilometre or so from the centre of the village, off the path the led to my grandmother’s cassava and ginger farm.
Talking about the farm, the rain-soaked earth made harvesting cassava much easier. Catching the crabs was also fun. You tease the crab out of the hole with a palm leaf and when the poor creature showed itself, all one had to do was to have a mental picture of the geography of the way down the crab’s hole and then drive a cutlass or machete from above down through the rain-soaked earth across the hole. This manoeuvre effectively blocked the crab on its retreat down to the lower recesses of his home.
The rest of the hunting expedition, for experienced crab catcher like me, was routine. Thank God for the rainy season. Again on the farm the rainy season ushered in bumper mushroom harvest. I mean the “sibre’ type. If you had a mental picture of the mounds and hills that provided the previous year’s succulent mushrooms, you conclude activities of the farm with a quick dash to those areas and on a good day, with God’s help’ you could harvest a whole month’s supply of mushrooms. Of course the mushrooms would last the month only after they had been smoked. These days I do not see smoked mushrooms. What a pity!

Times have changed. Now as a middle-aged man, well, may be an old man, I do not enjoy the rainy season one bit! Indeed I am beginning to ‘hate’ the rainy season. In my present job as Chief Executive Officer of the biggest hospital in West Africa and the third largest in Africa, I cannot help but dislike the rainy season. This is not because I do not appreciate the fact that the rains give us more food to eat in a nation that depends on rain fed agriculture. It is also not that I do not want the little boys and girls in the villages to enjoy the rain drops, the rain orchestra and the “bush allowances” that God showers on them during their ‘beloved’ season. Not at all!

Here in Accra, my adopted “home town” as in other cities in Ghana and perhaps across Africa there are a lot of unfortunate men, women children and domesticated canines and others “friends of man” who sleep on the pavements and corridors of shops and banks. May be not the banks because I guess the security men do not allow that for fear of visits by armed robbers. I have to check on that. The rainy season creates problem for these “images “and “creatures” of God. That is disturbing, but that is not exactly the reason why I hate the rainy season. The reason is also not the over flooding of the Korle Bu road through Abossey Okai, which makes life not only difficult for me but also for my friends the coffin makers, who have settled peacefully and are doing brisk business during this season, which I loved as a boy but now hate as a Chief Executive of “grave yard” turned “palace of health”.
Don’t get me wrong; I detest the rainy season not because the coffin makers are making money from their hard and honest work. The objects of my hatred are those things that send people seeking the services of the coffin makers. Don’t forget for every thing there is a season.
For several reasons the rainy season in this part of Ghana is associated with disease, destruction and death; and I hate that.
A taxi drives at top speed with blaring horn through the main gate of administration block and negotiates its way to the Children’s block. Out comes agitated and hysteric mother carrying a baby who even from a distance appears unconscious. The baby is quickly registered and is taken quickly through the diagnostic procedures. The child is pale and the nurse on duty checks the conjunctivae and estimates the haemoglobin level to be between two and three. The baby is extremely warm to touch and the nurse organizes a bucket of water to sponge the baby down. Before the water arrives the baby starts convulsing, the unconsciousness deepens and despite resuscitation the baby does not make it.
The staffs on duty shake their head almost in unison as if under command. Sighs of disappointment follow one another. This is the 15th “baby death” this week. This does not surprise any one working in the children’s emergency room because after all this is the “malaria season”. Indeed for every thing there is a season, even for malaria. That is why I hate the rainy season.
Can I really blame the rain? Lord, please forgive me for hating a season which is supposed to bless us by watering the seed we have scattered after ploughing our fields.
I guess I have to blame those who contribute to the pollution of our environment, those who litter and choke the gutters, those have made environmental by-laws but refuse to enforce them thereby contributing indirectly to the death of infants. I am tempted to say that “may the Lord repay them.”

There is another reason why I cannot love the rains in Accra. When the rains start, in May and June it is a season for yet another medical miracle, the birth of babies. Yes, it is the season for babies. This season gives you an idea about what people do in August and September of the previous year. But why should I hate the rainy season because babies are coming to the world and are going to be out-doored with pump and pageantry.

I love babies but I really dislike it when because of over crowding they and their mothers have to sleep on mattresses on the floor. Furthermore, I hate it when one of the babies comes to the world prematurely and must be sent to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit only to be abandoned by the father. When this happens the poor chap has to spend a few more days or weeks until some one, may be the father pays the bills. When this happens, the innocent Chief Executive Officer of the hospital is accused of being heartless, wicked and uncaring. But honestly he was not part of the nocturnal activities the previous September and November.

There is a third reason why I do not enjoy the rains in Accra. It is also the season for cholera. This is a terrible disease you get when you eat or drink faeces. It is as simple as that. If you want to avoid cholera don’t eat or drink anything contaminated with the cholera germ. Many people in this City fin it impossible to obey this simple instruction. They are more or less ‘forced’ to eat faeces because of the self-generated filth every where. The people responsible for keeping our environment clean appear to be impotent, sorry, incompetent, sorry again, incapable of carry out their duties. Let us not forget that a single reported case of cholera in the international media is enough to scare any discerning tourist from visiting Ghana, thus throwing all the efforts towards tourism promotion to the wind. Really if a country does not possess the basic technology and does also not have the discipline to deal with environmental sanitation, that country cannot by any stretch of imagination develop its socio-economic structures. For everything there is indeed a season.