An influence of One

Blue light brigades are a scourge of power hungry leaders, and remain the bane of most traffic users. A Moto GP starting grid of arrogant and over equipped motorcyclists screech up to busy intersections and shut them down while the backups build up as fast as the tempers rise. One is never sure which of their hands may be quicker to move? The flick of the wrist on the accelerator, or the hand over the arsenal of arms and glut of gadgets on the belt which must surely be the envy even of Bob the Builder. Either way you must know who is in charge.

A showroom of black SUV’s usually surrounds a sleek sedan of German origin. They all have windows as dark as the paint finish of the bodywork, and the ‘domestiques’ close ranks around the chosen ones while they set their speed controls to cruise mode as they sail through the open intersections. As tempting as it is to wave them through with an angry arm or an avian salute, one is warned against this, as a second wave of overburdened Moto GP riders overtake the first on their way to the chequered flag of the next set of traffic lights. It is a relay race of brutal efficiency, and when the blue lights flicker away, and the sound of the sirens starts to fade, be warned again – it is still not safe to proceed.

A groupie of packed commuter taxis fly into the slipstream of opportunity like fanatics after their favourite rock star. Nature apparently abhors a vacuum, and this space after the last rider in this political peloton of power, is filled with the savvy scavengers who feed on the scraps of finite time to maximise the days takings. I have always thought that the delegations of dignitaries should follow the taxis – they would get to their destination a lot quicker. Or better still, take taxis themselves – it would save the taxpayer much needed millions.

Working from home has its benefits.

With this picture in my mind of the dreaded blue light brigades, I felt somewhat embarrassed and a little uneasy to hear that on arrival in Accra, Ghana we would be receiving a police escourt. As a facilitator with a group of Executive leaders from a well known African company, this was the accepted protocol, and so I too slipstreamed into the comfort of one of the minibuses and enjoyed the late night trip into the Labardi Beach hotel. There was only one motorbike leading the way, and at this quiet hour on the roads, I wondered if this was at all necessary. Perhaps tomorrow and in the rush hour of an exciting and developing West African city, we would see more of a police presence?

After a world class cup of hot cocoa, a beverage we’d all fall in love with in the country of its growth, we waited dutifully and thankfully inside the air conditioned lobby of the comfortable hotel with its colonial feel. When summonsed into the heat and humidity of the early morning, I was fully expecting to see a posse of police, yet to my amazement, their stood one. The same one who had led us from the airport a few short hours before.

Alone.

Michael Obeng Marfo is from Nsuta-mampong in the inland Sothern Ashanti region. He grew up with three sisters, one of whom, his eldest passed away. His Mother looked after them all until she died in a lorry accident on the way home from a vigil on New Years Eve 2004.

Times were tough until his Uncle Eric and Aunt Nelly Marfo stepped up and in his own words:

“They did what my Mother could not do, and if I am a better person today, I owe it to them both.”

He owes them. For he is quite simply a magnificent human being.

For our immersive groups to Ghana, he was not the blue leading light, as he hardly switched it on, but became the leading light of Leadership through his example and his influence. A humble and quiet man, he adopted a confidence and a joy in his work with the metal stallion of a 900 cc Honda motorcycle beautifully under his control. With not one weapon or a Bob the Builder belt of torches or tasers, leathermans or lasers, batons, walkie talkie’s, handcuffs, restraints, pepper sprays or any other paraphernalia, he is free to move.

And move he does.

He dances through the traffic where his work and his play become one. He can change a fierce stare into a Hollywood smile in an instant and only occasionally is a finger waved in reprimand. There is a politeness in his presence and he seems to almost greet each motorist with awareness and acknowledgement. Sometimes a heel is flicked out to tell the traffic to hold their line, and every now and then both hands come off the handle bars as he waves his arms and directs the traffic on the move. This can be done facing backwards whilst keeping his steed steady, and the traffic opens up like a newborn’s lungs at birth. The passages are cleared.

I look behind to see what might fill the gap after Moses has taken his troops through the Red sea of Accra’s chaos. No one takes a car lengths advantage. The order of disorder returns and the following army is not drowned in our wake.

The road to Tema Harbour is much like life. It has good sections and bad. It has people who help and those who hinder. There are countless distractions along the way, and sometimes there is no visible way, and a new way must be found.

On such a road one is blessed to find a guide like Michael Marfo. A man who balances the polarities of his world through both his sports and his spirituality, and above all else in the inspiration he finds in service.

The great orchestra conduct Leonard Bernstein could lead a full orchestra with just his facial expressions. Michael could lead a city’s traffic with all its uncertain complexity as an Influence of one.

No power or pepper spray. Just a wink and a wave.

And it helps to have a Hollywood smile!

Steve Hall