NII COMMEY HANDWRITING

  I went to Mali expecting heat and dust, but what I found instead was rhythm. In Bamako, the very air seemed to hum with the stories of the kora, that ancient harp-lute whose strings carry the memory of empires and the laughter of griots. I was so absorbed in the swirl of music, tea, and tales that when the chance came to chase another story, to board the boat to Timbuktu, I missed it. Perhaps that is Mali’s gift: the stories are so alive where you stand, they root you to the spot. I had come as a communications specialist, charged with organising the Malian media to tell impact stories on climate change and agriculture. I expected a challenge, but found a nation whose rhythm beats through its people and their stories. My work began not in conference halls but over cups of sweet, strong tea: kinkeliba, ataya, and others. With journalists, bloggers, and editors, our discussions moved easily from our project to the Mali Empire, the hypnotic music of the kora, and the symbolism of ...

FRUIT SELLERS- THE MOTHER SERPENTS In Accra, fruits are never in season. Bananas? Perpetually out of season. From January to December, the chant is the same: “Banana is not in season.” Mangoes? “Season coming.” Or worse, “Season just passed.” Even when they rot by the roadside, collapsing into themselves, begging for vultures to audition, the story holds. Prices? That’s not about fruit. That’s about you. Your glasses thick? The price is thicker. A lace behind those lenses? Double. Your shoes too shiny? Triple. Arrive in a car? The price will sprint to the moon. Speak English and you’ll buy oranges in Euros, bananas in US dollars. Buy in bulk and you get a “dash.” The dash is never a blessing. It is the one fruit condemned by God Himself, the one that smells like a bat’s armpit, neatly tucked in your basket as a token of their affection. They smile as though they are grateful. Inside, they mutter: “Let me flatter him into bankruptcy.” These are the granddaughters of Kalabule. Per...

I was in Lomé to moderate and provide communication guidance to the West Africa Hub of the Independent Global Stocktake regional workshop in Togo, where climate leaders gathered with one goal in mind: to ignite climate action. The energy in the room was electric as government representatives, climate experts, and civil society actors joined forces to review and enhance regional climate plans. Together, we witnessed a collective commitment to a more sustainable future. This workshop took place against the backdrop of an important milestone. A technical Report on West African countries' commitment towards fighting climate change has been disseminated with UNFCCC focal points from 15 West African countries. Well, the outcome of the report can be discussed another day. But what struck me most was the power of effective climate communication in the midst of dissenting views on the report(which is normal, when it doesn't favour you). Meaningful dialogue and inclusive engagement were...

  As I reflect on leading the organisation of WASCAL's Climate Change Action Now launch, I'm reminded of the power of intentional event design in driving real change. From brainstorming to evaluation, every detail mattered. I knew this event had to break the mould and create momentum for climate action. Through meticulous planning, we crafted a programme that brought together diverse stakeholders, fostering genuine collaboration and concrete commitments. The launch day exceeded expectations, with connections formed and energy palpable. What I'm most proud of, however, is the lasting impact: commitments made, partnerships formed, and youth ambassadors empowered. This experience taught me invaluable lessons about transformative leadership and the importance of robust advocacy. I learned to hold firm to a vision while remaining flexible on details and to create spaces where different types of knowledge and experience intersect productively.  I am particularly energised by the ...

  Today, on the occasion of African Day, we applaud the grand assemblies, the polished speeches, and the diplomatic handshakes. Yet beneath the ceremonial fanfare, we must ask ourselves whether our finest achievement is the art of lamenting old injustices of colonialism or imperialism. Are we still masters of our own story, or have we become poets of pain, singing the old songs of sorrows like a worn-out drum? We can let bygones be bygones and get focused. We can tell the stories of one of the beautiful mornings in Accra,   where young inventors bring dreams to life; stories of Ugandan farmers planting trees whose cool branches will shelter children not yet born.   We can tell the stories of the grandeur African Free Trade Area, stories that don’t paint us as beggarly, but a rising continent that is ready to manage and handle its own affairs. These are the stories we should tell. Stories of hope, not tales of endless hurting past. We cannot continue to lick old coloni...

Last Sunday, I had the wonderful opportunity to engage with a dynamic group of communication enthusiasts on the fascinating topic of intercultural communication. The discussion was both enlightening and thought-provoking, allowing us to explore the nuances of effective communication across cultures and the impact of cultural awareness on professional and personal interactions. During this engaging conversation, I reflected on my journey as a communicator,  through diverse cultural landscapes. Having spent the majority of my career in the development sector, most recently within the West African and European space, I have had the privilege of working with colleagues, stakeholders, partners, and beneficiaries from vastly different backgrounds. Over the past decade, I have come to appreciate the richness of cultural diversity and the importance of fostering mutual understanding in all interactions. One of the key lessons I have learned is that intercultural communication is more than ...