The Power of Hope

Three years ago, I was speaking to some miners in the Ghanaian town of Prestea.

How to describe Prestea? A dilapidated village-turned-town with two paved roads, countless run-down houses, deteriorating infrastructure, and a collection of taxis servicing, well, no one. One miner - we'll call him 'Kofi' - explained that he owed some gold buyers some money. 'I borrowed money to buy a water pump,' he explained, 'to drain the pit so I can get the gold. But the pump broke and now I am not getting the gold. The water has to be hauled up by buckets and that is time. But i owe so much for this pump still.'

Shortly after hearing this depressing story, I got up to catch a shared taxi to Tarkwa, where I would connect to Accra. But before I left, Kofi asked me for my card. 'Please,' he explained. 'I beg. In case I need some investment.'

I explained that I was not an investor, but it did not seem to diminish his enthusiasm. He walked away cheerfully.

'That is Kofi's meal-ticket,' my colleague, Quarm, also a Prestean, explained.

'But I can't give him any money,' I responded. 'Nor will I ever be able to help him with equipment.'

'It does not matter. In fact, he will always carry that around, with the hope that by calling you, he can get some good fortune - whether it is money, guidance, or confidence...In fact, it is the power of hope. It does wonders for us Ghanaians. You know if he calls you, then it is problems he has. Because it is his last trump card. He stumbles into his pocket to get your card, hoping that he convinces the buyer he owes money to that you are his investor - that you are sending him money at the end of the week. If the buyer is not convinced, he will sometimes take the card and look you up on the internet. And if he is still not convinced, he will get him - Kofi - to call you on the spot and listen to the conversation. This could be the difference between eating this week and starving tomorrow: it is a fine line. If he convinces, he and his family get one more week maybe one more month to get the buyer his monies. So they eat. If not, the buyer takes his house and he and the family are homeless.'

Two days ago, at 2:30 in the morning - more than three years after having that conversation - I received a call from a man named Kofi. He insisted that we were 'good friends' and asked when I was coming to Ghana next to 'discuss business plans'. He spent about five minutes trying to refresh my memory on how we met and about our 'agreement'. I must have sounded convincing: he sounded very pleased by the end of the conversation, which, judging by the reception, was on speaker-phone the whole time.

In all likelihood, Kofi and his family will be able to eat this week.