Africa’s Renaissance (1)

Anastasia Allotey was born in the bourgeoisie Allotey family, the top tier of the economic ladder in Ghana. Her view of Ghana was different from many people struggling to make ends meet but she wasn’t anything close to being radical, politically or socially.

Her family was rich and the discussions around the dinner table often surrounded the political landscape and the state of the economy. Status quo was rarely investigated or critiqued and her family’s elders or visitors often en­dorsed the traditional misfounded wisdom that the African continent and by extension Ghana were poor because most of the people were illiterate and didn’t have the neces­sary skills to adapt to the modern economy.

Anastasia herself didn’t have enough exposure of the real Ghana since she lived in a bubble full of echo chambers but all that was about to change as she had gotten admission to one of the most prestigious law schools in the coun­try- Ghana School of Law and she was about to spread her wings and know the country and values of the society at her own terms. Her parents recommended caution in making new friends and suggested that she accompany only those who belong to her social class with attendant sensibilities. She nodded her way out of her home but she was ambitious and outgoing and was thrilled at the opportunity to live independently and find out where and how she belonged and fit into the world.

She landed in the newly built accommodation wing at the Ghana School of Law in Makola and im­mediately through her left window could see a thriving market next to the campus. She felt a strong pull towards it and wanted to explore it at the earliest. Her roommate Veronica soon joined her and they both went to the market to buy snails.

Across the road from Ghana School of Law School stands Makola market. It bustles with life every day, and not just with humans. One man was either trying to sell or had just purchased provi­sions, livestock, a snack, a chicken or a goat etc. As always, the flies hovered to take what insignificant bits they could. And on that day, it was the chickens which Anastasia Allotey noticed the most. They pecked and wandered around a chicken coop with an open top as like she had seen at the zoos with the well-behaved animals that have no reason to fly away. If only these chickens knew. But Anastasia was not shopping for chicken today.

The biggest shop in the market was run by a woman named Afua Mensah but it was the name of the shop that attracted Anastasia’s attention. A big sign with glittering letters read “Africa’s Renaissance” on a medium sized building.

“What does that mean?” Anasta­sia asked.

“What? Africa’s Renaissance? Probably an attempt to romanticize this shoddy business as something that could change the fate of Ghana but you and I both know it ain’t happening.” Veronica replied.

“I don’t know that and neither do you.” Anastasia said with a tone of stern caution.

“Chill out Anastasia, you were al­ways so sensitive even when we first met in kindergarten”. “Don’t bother. I was just saying for the sake of it.” Anastasia replied with a smile.

Anastasia wanted to go inside the shop and talk to the owner but could not do it as Veronica was being a millennial nuisance. She promised herself to come back on her own and dig further about why it was “Africa’s Renaissance” as opposed to any other indigenous Ghanaian name. It was a motto, a message, a warning that African rebirth was not only possible but unwrapping in real time and she was witnessing it.

A week later in law school, Anas­tasia got her first assignment. The Company Law instructor asked all the students to come up with orig­inal ideas about what ails the Gha­naian economy and what policies and procedural legislation should be adopted to fix the manifold issues. Most of the class unlatched their laptops and began searching for published sources to come up with solutions but Anastasia had a better option, something that had stayed in her mind ever since she visited the market. She wouldn’t do armchair research but go out and look at the real world businesses run by many illiterate women to see if the con­ventional theories of neoliberalism held any promise or remedy.

She got out of her class, crossed the road and found herself among the shouting and bargaining that usually goes on in a market. She headed straight for the shop “Afri­ca’s Renaissance” shop and asked if she could see Afua Mensah, the owner. She was told that Ms Mensah was too busy to see visitors as her schedule had been packed for weeks. Anastasia was shocked to hear that an illiterate woman running a shop in the market could be that busy. She persisted in her requests and said:

“Please go and tell Ms Mensah that I am a law student research­ing on the issues of Ghanaian economy and would not go back without meeting her.”

The assistant went inside the office and came back a minute later to announce Anastasia to come inside. The assistant closed the door behind her as Anastasia saw a middle aged woman sitting behind a desk in a spacious office.

“You are very stubborn, they tell me.” Afua Mensah said.

“Yes I am. But thank you for your time. I promise it won’t go to waste.” Anastasia retorted, sitting down.

“It better not because I don’t have a lot of it.” Afua said in a straightforward no-nonsense manner.

“What business school did you go to?” Anastasia asked.

“Haha, never did. I am a self-made woman, a product of circumstances and necessities. To do what I do, I don’t need to go to a business school.” Afua said in a confident tone.

Anastasia was taken aback by her response and replied after a moment’s pause of reflection which allowed for the assertion to sink in.

“Is this the only shop you have?” Anastasia innocently asked.

“Wow, you really are elite. I have an empire. Snail farming, poultry farming, half a dozen cars running on Uber and fitness cen­ters.” Afua replied.

“You run all that alone?” Anasta­sia asked, shocked.

“I use half my brain to do that.” Afua replied with a smirk.

“What’s your monthly revenue, like how many cedis? If you don’t mind me asking.” Anastasia asked.

“Cedis? I don’t just deal in cedis. I export my products to foreign coun­tries and my managers convert cedis into dollars. Honestly, I don’t know how much I got.” Afua replied.

Anastasia sat there frozen when the realisation hit her that Afua Mensah, an illiterate woman was probably a millionaire who export­ed her goods to foreign countries. She always thought that illiterate women didn’t have it in them to run a profitable and sustainable business but here was Afua, the very personi­fication of success and achievement. Anastasia thought that Afua was, in all likelihood, more competent and intelligent than the old politicians who ruled the country with an iron fist giving birth to a maze of order, a strict hierarchy where old men and power were the only thing that was respected but Afua Mensah was living within that very rotten system and challenging it.

“What do you think is the primary reason for the backwardness of Ghanaian economy and politics? I always thought it was the political class. What’s your take on it?” Anas­tasia asked.

“You wouldn’t be wrong in think­ing that. Half the population is be­low thirty and the politicians, some foreigners and landowners have monopoly over gold, diamonds and agriculture. Imagine if all those resources were channeled in an appropriate manner and people were given their due right ensuring inclusivity. Ghana and by extension the African conti­nent’s fate would change over the course of a decade but all of that is wasted through corruption, unbridled greed and exploitation. The rich resources are appropri­ated by a few families on the top while the rest of the population suffers in agony. Our country’s politics is like a snail. Tasty when nicely cooked but painfully static when it comes to movement.”

“And all this time, I believed illiteracy was the reason our country was not progressing.” Anastasia could only manage a sentence.

“Even if I grant you the ben­efit of the doubt and consider that illiteracy is indeed the cause of Africa going bankrupt, whose fault do you think that would be?” Afua asked, in a manner that communicated to Anastasia that she already knew the answer.

The market woman looked at Anastasia, half amused at how eager she was to learn from her. Then she did something she hadn’t done in a while, she shared the knowledge that had made her rich.

“Do you know what makes us market women different from our dear leaders?

1.We live within our means,

2.We work to generate genuine profit,

3. We do not pillage from the populace or our neighbours, and

4. We do not take out loans we cannot afford to repay.

Have you heard of the Motte-and-Bailey castles of old Eu­rope?” – I saw it on TV last night and it was very interesting.

“I have heard the term before,” Anastasia replied.

“It’s the old fortifications their castles were built into. The motte is a hill, it is broad, it is produc­tive, but it is difficult to defend. The bailey is the keep, the tower, the castle itself surrounded by water, only accessible by a bridge.

This is the mindset we need in Ghana, in most of Africa. When times are good we use the motte, but when what we have is at risk, we draw the bridge and defend the bailey.

Do you know Switzerland?”

“I am familiar.”

“I’ve been there. The manufac­

To be continued

BY BIANCA AKWELEY CLINTON