Old age, an insult or an honour
Old age is a favourite subject of mine and my apologies to those who have heard me expatiate on it a few, or many times already.
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Often, it is difficult to tell, in this society, exactly how we consider old age.
Is it something to be revered or something to disdain and avoid or is it something to be proud of or a sad and shameful state?
I am, of course, unquestionably, an old woman.
Very few people in the world live to my age, and that is how I measure old age.
It is not a stage that many people achieve before they leave this world.
Even though I have to add that “old” varies from day to day.
You discover, as you grow older, that your definition of old age changes.
At a certain age, you consider everyone who is twenty years old and above as old, then as you reach 25, you find that you have pushed the “old” definition to about 50, and if you make it to 50, you might find that you no longer consider 50-year-olds as “old”.
I was 14 years old when my grandmother died at age 62 and at the time, I thought she was very old; these days, I am calling people 62, young.
I have been wondering and had even convinced myself that 62-year-olds of today look much younger than 62-year-olds looked fifty years ago.
But I fear that is most unlikely; the reality is that today’s 15-year-olds see those who are 60 today as old as I saw my grandmother.
It does not matter if the likes of me delude ourselves and the 60-year-olds themselves imagine them as young.
Attempts
I abandoned all attempts to mask my old age and gave up on the black hair dye some time back and now wear a mop of white hair, even though it is obvious I haven’t worked out what the appropriate hairstyle for an old woman should be.
A few kind people continue to say I am looking very well; (old people are not supposed to look well, I assume), the language that is often employed is, I don’t look my age, and those who want to be really generous suggest I look twenty years younger than I am.
But I know better than to be taken in by such unsolicited flattery, and anyway, there is no running away from my body, which is brutally truthful with aches and pains.
It is interesting how much trouble teenagers and even younger children get into because they are in a hurry to be seen as old and be able to act as grownups.
Then, as soon as they get to that magical grownup age, all energies are turned to trying very hard not to look old or be regarded as old.
The fashion houses and designers are as confused as we who patronise them.
Once upon a time, there was a clear distinction between the style of clothes that young people wore and what old people wore.
Today, young people wear pretend-old clothes and we the old people wear pretend-young clothes.
Thought
So, do I wince at the very thought of being old?
Well, I don't, and I think this is because I have always been “old”.
As all first-born children know, a first-born child is never allowed to be “young”; you are old from the moment somebody is born after you.
And it seems you don't really mind being old because the language and customs all seem to suggest that there are advantages to being old in Ghanaian society.
It is claimed we respect our elders, and you, therefore, think that being an elder is something you must look forward to.
Then you discover that part of the reason people have such a cavalier attitude towards their real ages is that in many African cultures, being an “elder” has nothing to do with how old you are.
For example, the title of a chief/king in all the languages in Ghana is the same as what we call a grandparent.
Nana, the title all Akan chiefs bear, means a grandparent, and Togbe, the title an Ewe chief carries, means a grandfather.
Thus, even if an 18-year-old is made a chief, he/she becomes a Togbe, a Naa, a Nii, a Nana or a Mama.
The unstated point seems to be it is not the position that demands our respect but the respect will come with people identifying you as their grandparent.
It seems the respect comes when people can link your status to some blood relationship with you and total strangers, therefore calling you “Mommie”, and you are supposed to take that as a sign of respect.
Transposing this rather delicate linguistic arrangement to the modern political setup leads invariably to a lot of unintended difficulties.
President
A Ghanaian President, of whatever age, would be called “the Old Man” by his staff.
We once had a thirty-something-year-old Head of State, and he was called “Old Man” by his staff.
Our current president is 79 years old and his staff call him “the Old Man”.
A Chief Executive of a company in this country, no matter his age, is “the Old Man” to his staff.
It is supposed to be a term of endearment that people use for their fathers.
It is as though you have to be somebody's father to be regarded as deserving of respect.
We haven't had a female President yet, but I suspect she will most likely be called “Mommie”, which is the term used to address every forty-something-plus woman in this country.
Currently, we do have a female Chief of Staff in the Office of the President and I hear her being called “Mommie” by the most unlikely people.
Part of the problem, I suppose, is that it is not the done thing to just call someone by their name, especially if the person happens to be older or in a more senior position than you are.
It can become complicated when you call someone by a title that makes the person feel you are labelling him older than he would like to be regarded.
Luckily for me, long before I became a mother and now a proud grandmother, I acquired a nom de plume of Grandma at age 23 and it became a name I have carried with pride all these years. It can’t be an insult.