Dim Dim, Tim Tim

Abstract

GHANA STUDIES / Volumes 12–13 ISSN 1536-5514 / E-ISSN 2333-7168© 2011 by the Board of Regents of the University of Wisconsin System 293 DIM DIM, TIM TIM BENJAMIN KENT “Dim dim, tim tim” was a too familiar sound down at house number C18, where the thumping of the pestle on wooden mortar had replaced the ancient cock crow, jolting the day rather than breaking it. There was no mistaking who the pestle was pounding for, who it was pounding from, and the hearts and nerves that pounded with it. Four households crammed in four rooms down at the compound house of C18, each divided by a thin sheet of white washed concrete wall just big enough to absolve a tiny living room and a kitchen. It was from one of these tiny living rooms that the “dim dim” and the “tim, tim” of the pestle and mortar reverberated through hollow walls, vibrating cemented floors and all that they carried. Starting from right, for Akapko the motorbike repairer, the “dim dim” and “tim tim” was the dependable alarm clock blasting the peaceful sleeper into punctuality. Then came the young couple Max and Cecilia, who heard the “dim dim” and “tim tim” as a nagging reminder urging them to acquire a place of their own, not forgetting the feisty newly ordained pastor of the Jesus Christ Refugee Camp Church, Prophet Teacher Paul Peter. He was probably the most stimulated by a phenomenon he had come to accept as a specially designed weapon of the enemy to block the fiery prayers of faithfuls ascending into the throne of the most high in the sanctuary of early morning. As he sha-beed and raba-beed, speaking in spirit filled tongues, he remembered the divine saying of his savior Jesus Christ, “as I was tempted, so shall you be tempted,” and was glad at the opportunity to suffer the afflictions of only the true disciples. He invented a routine to deal with the distraction, praying to the pace and rhythm of the sound. “Lord, I bind all satanic forces in high places (dim dim), I raise a standard against my enemies (tim, tim), a thousand may fall at my right side (dim), two thousand at my left side (tim), but I shall live to declare your mighty works (dim, tim).” 294 Ghana Studies • volumes 12–13 • 2011 It all lasted for an hour, beginning in the wee hours of 5:30 and ending exactly at 6:30 with brief pauses. Then everything was silent until Mr. Attah emerged out of his room, greeting everybody on his way out. As if nothing had happened, he would start his “trotro” car and rev off, whistling and bobbing his head knowing very well the spiteful eyes still kept on him. On one dewy morning just after he had found his way out, his neighbours stomped the landlord’s house, praying him to put his foot down in the apparent madness. Why should we give up our sleep for one man’s stomach they cried, but the frail old man could not put his foot down on anything, especially when it needed Attah’s occasional favours to keep it stable. “Lincoln ” as he was unanimously called, scratched his goatee beard and in his hoarse fragile voice coerced, “leave it to me.” It became his automated response and soon the neighbours gave up; it was obvious they either had to get by or get out. Asabea was not new to the pestle and mortar; it was one of the rubrics of womanhood she had to endure, but she just never imagined it would continue into the perfunctory wee hours of her marriage. At first she did it for the love, then for the marriage, then for the peace in the marriage, and then because she had to. It was not all that excruciating when her daughter Gifty came in from time to time to help, but she quickly bowed out when a friend at school commented her arms were turning masculine. Hence she opted to stay at school even during vacations, under the disguise of the hardworking ardent student determined to pass her exams. In fact she was...