A Morning in a Ghanaian District Court (2004)[i]
The courts complex in Cape Coast , perhaps Ghana 's sixth largest city, was built in 1978 and is now showing its age. Its white reinforced concrete structure is crumbling, and in need of several coats of paint. In the District Court many of the louvred glass windows are missing. The court room cannot be secure at night and, apart from benches and desks, it is bare. There is no crest or flag, no telephone and no books. There are no functioning lights. There are loose wires, which would have served them, hanging from the ceiling, but no sockets. The four High Court and two Circuit Court rooms upstairs have fans, but there is none in the District Court. The temperature will rise to the low 30s later in the day, but as litigants wait for the district magistrate to come into court at 10 o'clock, there is a relatively cool sea breeze blowing through the partially empty window frames. It brings with it the smell of fish and the sound of Atlantic breakers, crashing onto the shore, just beyond a line of palm trees. Cape Coast Castle , originally built by the Portuguese, but captured by the British in 1665, with its horrendous slave dungeons, is out of view, just round the corner.
The eight rows of hard, unpolished wooden public benches are full. Some of the women are wearing long dresses of bright African printed cloth and matching head scarves. Two have silent babies tied to their backs. The men are mainly wearing trousers and t-shirts, although one is in shorts and a couple have more traditional clothes. One or two people are holding flimsy carbon copies of affidavits. Others are clutching small slips of paper on which the clerk has written the dates of adjourned hearings. One man is asleep, with his head resting on a window ledge. There are two police officers, wearing black uniforms, one a sergeant with three chevrons on his lapel. Another, a court prosecutor, has a white lanyard attached to his shirt. The only lawyer in court, a man in a cream linen suit, is casually reading Auntie Disa's problem page in the tabloid People and Places ("we report nothing but the truth"). Soon he abandons Auntie Disa, picks up The Ghanaian Times ("Ghana's most authoritative newspaper") and turns to news of the seizure of 674 kilos of cocaine from an American citizen's home in Tema, Ghana 's main port. He moves onto court reports of other criminal cases. By British standards, sentences are draconian - ten years hard labour for an unmarried eighteen year old nursing mother who became pregnant and arranged for a friend to administer a drug to abort the foetus; sixteen years imprisonment for theft of an Opel Vectra car and various items from a clothing shop; five years imprisonment for theft of seven sheep and three goats from pens in a village.
At five to ten, the clerk, lays down the sports pages of The Daily Graphic, puts on his jacket and walks through to the district magistrate's room. A few minutes later there are three sharp raps on the door and a shout of "Court". Everyone stands and the magistrate enters the room, smiling. He is grey haired, wearing a black jacket and tie and a grey shirt, but no robes. The clerk addresses him as "My Lord".
The magistrate asks for the case in which the lawyer appears to be called on first. It is a rent case in which a landlord let residential premises to a tenant, who, in breach of the agreement, changed them to an industrial use, burning fires to make drugs. The Environmental Agency has been called in. As the plaintiff's lawyer explains the background, the magistrate comments, "A very troublesome tenant." The defendant has applied for a stay, but is not present or represented. The judge adjourns from Thursday to the following Monday, saying that if the tenant is not in court then, he will strike out the application for a stay.
The magistrate calls "Next case" and a woman walks forward. She speaks no English, only Twi. As the court language is English, the clerk interprets, but frequently the magistrate finds it easier to slip into Twi himself. She is described as a "petty trader". Her claim is for 310,000 cedis (a little over £20) and interest, for salted fish which has been supplied but not paid for. The defendant was served with the claim three months previously, but has not come to court. The magistrate adjourns to give him the opportunity to attend the next hearing.
In fact, most cases are adjourned. One case is put off to the following Monday because one party's lawyer is involved in another case. A criminal case is adjourned to the same Monday because the defendant has not appeared. The prosecutor remains seated while he addresses the magistrate. The judge advises him to "arrest [the defendant] tomorrow [Friday] evening and keep him until Monday." A defendant, a large middle aged woman, makes an application to pay by instalments, but the plaintiff, a smart young man, has not responded to the application. "You must respond", says the judge. Even though both parties are present the judge adjourns so that the plaintiff can put in a written response to the application.
The only case that results in a final judgment is a civil case in which the plaintiff is present, but the defendant absent. Turning to the green bound court file, the magistrate informs the plaintiff that the defendant has accepted liability and paid 300,000 cedis (about £20) into court in satisfaction of the debt. He explains that he will give judgment so the plaintiff can collect the 300,000 cedis, interest dating back to May 2003 and costs. The judge meticulously writes out the order on the file.
A district magistrate may find criminal, civil, motor, family and juvenile cases in the same list. Today there is only one juvenile case. The prosecutor, a detective wearing a yellow t-shirt, places a battered Sony "sound system" - an old ghetto blaster with no lead or batteries - on the police bench. The defendant, aged twelve, was charged with stealing it. He is not at court. The police officer says that somehow the boy has managed to escape from the Juvenile Remand Home and run away to neighbouring Togo , a journey of at least 350 kilometres. In a country where, according to the US State Department Report, police corruption is an issue and ordinary motorists routinely offer police officers money at road check points to avoid questioning, this is an explanation which is bound to raise questions in the mind of any outside observer. The magistrate considers making a restitution order, restoring the "sound system" to its owner. However the police have not produced the appropriate docket in court. Another adjournment.
The clerk calls "The Republic against" three named defendants. Two well- dressed women walk forward. They have been charged with insulting behaviour, but the third defendant is not present. The magistrate gives them a long judicial lecture in Twi, suggesting that they settle the criminal case with the complainant out of court. The defendants say "no". As they have been brought to court, they are not prepared to negotiate. The case is adjourned for the defendants to instruct a lawyer.
The temperature is rising and the magistrate starts to dab his brow with a handkerchief as the last case is called on. A vulture sits on one of the palm trees outside. A young man wearing a blue football shirt is led in by two policemen. One has a sheath knife in his belt. Both wear berets which they do not remove. The defendant's hands are cuffed together. One of the officers removes the handcuffs with some difficulty. The defendant is said to be the accomplice of a man who has been fraudulently procuring money for visas to the UK and the USA which were never obtained. Five victims who have paid over money are present in court. Their thumb prints appear on statements which the police officer holds up. The defendant was named and arrested in Accra . He is remanded in custody.
It is 11.45 a.m. when the court rises for the day. There have been fourteen cases in the list, but no formal evidence has been heard. The magistrate says that it has been a short list, because the court has only just started sitting again after the New Year break. Often there a seventy cases in a list because there is a shortage of magistrates - people say the pay is not high enough to attract sufficient candidates.