Ever since I found out that Kwabena Frimpong-Boateng, a German-trained Cardiothoracic surgeon had returned to Ghana and founded a cardiothoracic center at Korle-Bu in the 90′s, I have been intrigued. You see, I am what some people describe as a Cardiothoracic Anesthesiologist – I put patients who need heart surgery to sleep so people like Dr Frimpong-Boateng can operate on them.

Intrigued because it takes a lot to set up such a center and the upkeep is rather expensive. My dear Ghana is not exactly wealthy and the country has other pressing problems. Even though sub-Saharan Africa has it’s share of heart diseases, especially congenital, I didn’t see the leadership in Ghana backing him.

Intrigued because knowing how Korle-Bu Teaching Hospital is, I doubted if anyone could set up something of that caliber and keep it going.

Intrigued because if I ever decided to go back to Ghana, I may actually have somewhere to practice my craft.

Myself and most Ghanaians looked on unbelievably as Prof Frimpong-Boateng was removed as head of the Center last year by the government, in what most see as retaliation for him showing support for the opposition NPP party. The reason the government gave was his age. The retirement age for public servants in Ghana is 60. He was 61. I would understand if Ghana was crawling with heart surgeons and the dear professor was incapable of operating. Like we all know, there are less than 10 active heart surgeons in Ghana and the professor is NOT senile, demented or has the shakes. He is neither on drugs nor is he an alcoholic. In other words, HE CAN STILL OPERATE!

Anyway, I had always wanted to visit the center and meet the man. Imagine my excitement when a good friend put me in touch me with one of the surgeons who works at the center, Dr Frank Edwin. We talked on the phone and planned to meet when I next visited Ghana.

I was in Ghana these last two weeks and  took Dr Frank Edwin on his offer. I walked into the center one morning not knowing what to expect. I trained in Germany and the US and now work in the US. My active practice involves working with cardiothoracic surgeons more than half the time since 2000. I think I am in the position to say that what Prof Frimpong-Boateng built, without any help from the Ghanaian government is nothing short of amazing.

My plan was to spend only about an hour with Dr Edwin.
We were going to look at possible collaborations.
I ended up staying close to 4 hours.
I spoke with the the other surgeons, cardiologists and anesthesiologists.
There is a dedication that is palpable, contagious and refreshing.
I didn’t get to meet Prof Frimpong-Boateng but I witnessed his work and I was impressed.

The center is no gleaming edifice of glass and steel.
It is rather a bland-looking concrete structure with the bare necessities, run efficiently by men and women with dedication and vision.
There are two operating rooms with all one needs for cardiac, thoracic and vascular procedures.
There is a 6-bed intensive care unit where an anesthesiologist or surgeon is available round the clock.
It is a 17-man team of surgeons, cardiologists and anesthesiologist who care for the patient first and everything else later.
They use old, I mean old, echocardiography machines to capture images.
They take the little they get and MAXIMIZE it – note: MAXIMIZE!
These are highly trained men and women who could earn six-figure salaries in the US making about $2000 a month.

If one man with a vision could get this done without any help for the government in Ghana, what excuse do we have as a nation?
The rooms are clean and organized.
There is not a feeling of apathy and despondence that is pervasive in Korle-Bu.
The doctors order their own supplies, cutting out the bureaucracy and middlemen that is the hallmark of business in Ghana.
The therefore get their supplies when they need them and at much lower prices than the rest of Korle-Bu.
They take care of their equipment and keep them working.
They have a budget they stick to.
They plan for the future.
They are proactive.

To help out patients financially, Prof Frimpong-Boateng started a foundation.
Some patients are brought in, fed for 2 weeks to get them strong enough for surgery, operated on, taken care of postoperatively and even given money for the trip home!
Kidney failure needing dialysis is a possible complication after some heart operations.
When he realized the Renal Unit at Korle-Bu couldn’t help him out, he got his own dialysis unit!

Tetralogy of Fallot, lung cancer, coronary artery disease,  carotid disease, valve diseases? No problem! Bring them over. Chest trauma? One patient in the intensive care unit had survived gun shot wounds to the chest thanks to the center!

All this is due to the vision of one man – Kwabena Frimpong-Boateng.
Did he overreach by wading into politics? – maybe.
However, can you blame him if in his heart he thought he could do more for the nation than the clowns otherwise known as leaders who are riding around in SUVs? – NO!
Was the way he was treated fair?
To answer that, I’ll let every Ghanaian spend a day at the Cardio Center, hear it’s history and let them answer that.
I have my answer.

As I left, I was filled with mixed emotions.
Happy that it is possible.
That as a nation, we can do it.
Sad that when we see someone do it, we don’t even recognize it, appreciate it, emulate it.
Sad that a man could sacrifice so much for his nation and still be cast aside like an old shoe without a word of thanks.

May God bless Ghana with visionaries like him and the ability to appreciate them.

We live in the time of bludgeoning deficits and immense spending. Some say taxes are too high, too complex, too low.

In the political discourse, even as one side is yelling to reduce the deficit, the other side wants to tax the wealthy.

It is into the fray that Herman Cain dropped his 9-9-9 tax plan.

The plan called for a 9% sales tax, 9% income tax and 9% corporate tax.

He surged in the polls.

Alas, it wasn’t meant to be. The skeletons in his closet came to life and derailed a campaign that was already struggling.

In my opinion, he made an impact on the political scene that is not all negative or even embarrassing, as a friend noted.

He birthed his 9-9-9 idea at a time when new ideas were as tough to come by as snow in Ghana.

All the Tea Partiers and Republicans could talk of was the deficit and size of government.

That the masses were hungry for new ideas was evident in the surge he got in the polls.

It forced Gov. Perry to outline a flat tax plan and Newt Gingrich to talk economic growth.

Americans are hungry for ideas and plans that make sense – go figure!

His acceptance also showed why America is exceptional.

Those who think the Obama phenomenon is a flash in the pan err greatly.

Americans are prepared to vote for someone with ideas and plans that are pragmatic, be he or she white, black, red, pink or blue.

Racism is not dead but it is sure losing it’s sting.

Cain’s campaign also brought to national attention the issue of sexual harassment, again.

Not since Anita Hall and Clarence Thomas has the nation been forced to examine it’s stand on the issue like during these past months.

It harkened back to the days when women ( and some men) had to suffer unwanted sexual advances in silence.

The issue of Dominic Strauss-Kahn shed light on how sexual harassment goes  pretty much unpunished in France, but not in the US.

I guess we can all say a lot has been done in the US. Do we need to do more? I am sure but we are rather far ahead on the issue.

Then was the issue of other issues.

Even before the last accusation of infidelity by Ms White against Mr Cain, his poll number were dwindling.

His performance when asked about foreign policy issues was not pristine.

I guess Newt Gingrich was right when he said presidential candidates needed to know a bit about everything.

Lastly, maybe future candidates will learn to clean their closets of skeletons before venturing into public service and eye.

There is an Akan proverb which says “The bug that will bite you is hiding in your clothing.”

Your downfall as a person is often enabled by those close to you who know your Achilles heel. He should have known that.

Americans are a forgiving people. They forgave Clinton. Newt Gingrich is on his third marriage and has had a few affairs. He is surging in the polls.

He should have come clean at the start of his campaign.

So, even as we write the obituary of his short-lived campaign, lets appreciate his ideas and vision, keep in mind those things that he reminded us of and learn from his mistakes.

Whispers of her Feet

I sing of days gone by
When in love’s good terms I was
She showered me with graces
Adored me with her gaze.
My tunes are of a time
Of gentle kisses and tender touch
Of melting hearts
And lovers gasps.
Now through the sheen of my sorrow
I stretch my arm to reach
The hem of love’s long gown
Alas all I get
Are whispers of her feet
As they recede into the night.

It is the day before Thanksgiving. Manuel, a painter is finishing some work in our home. He told me a story that made this holiday and what it stands for more poignant.

I’ve known him for about 2 years and I know he came into the US illegally about almost 20 years ago. He is here legally now. On the few occassons he’s done some work in our home, he has hinted at how he got into the US. Today, he talks to me about his family, about his kids. He is worried he is making life too easy for them. He worries they’ll grow up “soft”. Then he opens up.

“I ran away from home when I was 12 years old” Manuel said.

I was blown away when Manuel told me that. At 12, I was trying to convince my mum to send me to the best and coolest boarding school in Ghana. Running away from home was the last thing on my mind.

“My dad worked as a farm hand for a wealthy farmer in the small town of Yorito in Honduras. I helped my dad after school and on weekends”, Manuel went on.

Manuel’s dad had 19 children so life was hard at home. Manuel made a few bucks doing the chores of the kids of the wealthy farmer. He also got paid by them to carry their bags to school and to fight for them if they got into trouble. According to him, “those kids never lifted a finger!”

Money was always tight and when it was time for high school, his dad could not afford it. Manuel had heard all these stories about the USA, where one could become someone. He asked his dad if he could move to the US. His dad said “NO!” So he ran away.

Before he did that though, he did his homework. He asked around about how to get to the US. Flying wasn’t an option. He had to hitchhike. He came up with a plan. He would hitchhike to an uncle who lived at the El Salvador border, go through El Salvador to Guatemala to Mexico. Once in Mexico, he’ll find a way to get into the US.

One Friday, while supposedly playing with friends, he took of on his journey. For 2 weeks he walked and begged for rides on trucks. He ate what he could find or steal. He slept in old sheds, under bridges in trees. Finally he got to Mexico, which wasn’t as welcoming as he had thought. He was arrested at the border, strip-searched and dumped back on the Guatemalan side.

“Those Mexican border officials are mean”, recounts Manuel. “They are nothing compared to their American counterparts.”

Not to be deterred, he tried again and made it into Mexico one night. He stayed in Mexico for nine months working and saving $300 in that time. With that money, he was able to pay someone to smuggle him across the border into the US. On the night that was supposed to happen, this smuggler never showed up so Manuel stayed another year working and saving. He decided to do it himself the next time. He found out that if he swam across the Rio Grande river, Texas was at the other side. As long as he stayed away from large groups of other illegals and border posts, he would be fine. So one night, that’s what he did. He swam across the river and crawled out onto land in Texas. Back in Mexico, he found out that he had to walk across the Texas desert to reach the nearest town. He was advised to “follow the towers” to get into a town.

About an hour after getting on land, he was sighted by a border patrol agent who asked him to stop and then gave chase. “I’ve never ran so fast my whole life! When I looked back after a while, he (the agent) was just a speck!” For two weeks, he walked across the Texas desert. He had two water jugs that he filled whenever he found a windmill. He had to drop one as both got heavy to carry as he got more tired. He fed on rabbits and rats he caught.  He had a box of matches with him and cooked them over fire he made with twigs he could collect. “Most times, they were half-cooked!” When he ran out of water, he drank his urine.

A week into his hike on US soil, he came across the dead bodies of a man and a little girl.

“She lay beside him in his arms. She had long brown hair. The birds had eaten their eyes. I wasn’t scared. I just thought about how mean the birds were.”

About 2 weeks after getting into the US, he came into a small town, whose name he cannot remember. He stumbled into a gas station for some water. The owner was really kind. Days later he hitched a ride on a truck to Corpus Christi, Texas.

Four  years after he ran away, he sent his dad $200 with a message that he was alive and well. A month later, he got a letter from his dad. It talked about how worried they had been and feared the worst. It talked about how grandma still cries every night. At the end, the letter read: “I’m glad you are fine now but if I get my hands on you, I’ll kill you!”

Then came Hurricane Mitch in 1998. It devastated Honduras and most of Central America.The US government granted amnesty to Hondurans in the US as a way of helping the country. The thought was the Hondurans here would works and support he rebuilding of their country. Manuel was finally not an illegal immigrant.

Manuel has made a lot of his time here. I got to know him through a builder friend when I needed our deck painted. You see, he is self-employed now as a painter and is doing rather well for himself. He met and married a woman from Mexico who decided a few years ago to move back to Mexico with their 2 children. In 2004, he went back home to Honduras and bought the farm that he and his dad used to work on. “Those kids of the rich farmer never learned the value of work and could not manage the farm!”, Manuel explained. It is for that reason he is worried about his kids.He wants them to learn the value of work. He wishes he could teach them that everyday. He misses them.

“I am really grateful for all I have now looking at what I went through”, he added.

Those words stuck with me. I guess the season made him reflective. Whatever the reason, I thought of my life, what I had gone through to be where I am now and the sacrifices I made and they pale compared to what Manuel and thousands of other illegal immigrants go through to make it to the promised land.The trip from Honduras to Mexico is about 1500 miles and that from the Rio Grande River at the US-Mexico border to Corpus Christi Texas is about 150 miles.

I think of the old Persian saying: “I wept because I had no shoes, until I saw a man who had no feet.”

I think of millions who live in areas torn by war, famine, disease, I think of the sick, of orphans, of those jailed for crimes they never committed, of the oppressed, the abused and I truly count my blessings.

Happy Thanksgiving! Count your blessings!