A small battle won cheers me up
Since it appears I am often engaged in so many losing battles, I ought to acknowledge when I win one, no matter how minor. I narrate the story of a recent tangle with the Accra Metropolitan Assembly in the hope it will encourage others.
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A favourite subject of mine and on which I have written elsewhere and in this column is the lack of addresses in our country. I recently wrote about the street-naming exercise that was going on in Accra and other parts of the country. It is this street-naming exercise that brought me into contact with the city authorities and led to a bureaucratic battle.
The house in which I live was built in 1985 and the street on which it was built had a name. Let us say the street is called Abutia Street. I have lived in this house with my family for the past 10 years.
From street to road
One fine Saturday, a few months ago, the street-naming crew arrived and with one stroke, what used to be known and called Abutia Street was changed to Abutia Road. I could not understand and I did not relish the prospect of my address changing without my moving house.
I approached the gang putting up the signs to protest and pointed out that they had got the name wrong. No, they said, they hadn’t got the name wrong; if I had any problems I should go to the city authorities with my complaints.
I decided I would indeed go to the authorities. I made enquiries and discovered where to take my complaints and I wrote a firm but polite letter to the Director of the Town and Country Planning Department of the Accra Metropolitan Assembly.
I pointed out in my letter that the street on which I live has always had a name and sign posted and wasn’t one of those that was in need of a name. I pointed out that we were facing the unpleasant prospect of all our legal documents suddenly having a different address from where we lived. I said I hoped it was a mistake that would be corrected.
Since I have no confidence in the postal delivery system and I wanted the matter to be dealt with as quickly as possible, I personally took the letter to the office.
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The street-naming project had a special room full of interesting young people who received me with a lot of courtesy. I was dismayed to hear that the change in the name of my street was deliberate; according to the new definition of street that they had contrived, the street on which I live did not qualify to be called a street; it was a road.
To qualify to be named a street, a road had to be a certain length, a certain width and a certain amount of traffic must ply it, and they reckoned mine had fallen short of these three qualifications.
I was unimpressed with this definition of roads and streets and I said so as volubly as I could without losing my temper.
I said further that even by their new definition and criteria, I thought my street qualified to be called a street because of its length and the sheer volume of traffic on it. Since it was not clear what the required width was that qualified a road to be a street, I couldn’t use that argument.
I didn’t think I made much impression on them and I wondered what my next step should be. I was advised to leave my letter and telephone numbers and that a special committee set up to deal with complaints would get in touch with me.
On my way back home I started looking at the street names with extra keen interest. Castle Road was still Castle Road even though it was a long road with heavy traffic and it was as wide and probably wider than most roads in Ghana.
It had not been renamed Castle Street. Liberation Road was still Liberation Road even though it is a six-lane dual carriage road and would qualify to be an avenue, since it is a very long road with heavy traffic all hours of the day and night and had trees along most parts. I saw little pathways and lanes that had been named streets and avenues.
After I saw the third footpath that had been named a street, I drove back to the street-naming project office and confronted them with my findings. I told them they would have to find more credible reasons to change the name of my street.
I have since then been looking to see if I could find any rhyme or reason to how a street earns the sobriquet of Road, Street, Avenue or whatever. I wish I hadn’t been told about the criteria that had been drawn up because it is obvious no heed has been paid to them as little pathways have been named avenues and streets and what looks to me like busy thoroughfares have been named lanes.
Spelling mistakes
Then there are unforgiveable mistakes that shame us all. Why are there spelling mistakes on the signs that have gone up? Why is there a road called J A Kuffour Street? Will that refer to the man who was president of this country for eight years and his name can’t be spelt properly on a street sign? And which African capital is Bathurst, I wonder.
Is it likely the street in East Legon of that name refers to the old name of Banjul, the Gambian capital? I suspect President Yahya Jammeh does not even know that his capital used to be called Bathurst.
I decided I would photograph every one of those spelling mistakes and other strange names that I see to take back to the project office to bolster my argument.
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Then I got some good news in the form of a letter from the Town Planning office saying the department had initiated the process/action to restore the name of “that significant street to what it has always been, that is XXXXXX STREET”.
Last week the name of my street was finally restored when the street-naming crew appeared again and replaced road with the original street.
It is not a big battle but I must confess I feel very pleased with myself that I did not just moan to myself and to my friends and accepted yet another addition to the many petty annoyances that make up everyday existence in this country.
I will now take up the idea of photographing whatever absurd name or spelling mistake I see on a street sign and take it to the street-naming project office. Maybe we just need to win more of these little battles and we will change this country.
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