Sad Stories in the Paper

Aseye Banini
Aug 31, 2018 · 3 min read

When I heard that I will be sent on my third assignment during my short newspaper internship, a wave of elation really did overpower the nervousness I felt. My first two assignments didn’t end well, so I was just hoping this was the one where I would get to write something good for the paper.

The event I was told to cover was a four-day tourist conference focused on bringing together tourism professionals from West Africa and beyond. I was asked to cover the formal start of the conference, but in reality the conference was already underway with sightseeing romps across Ghana’s notable tourist destinations. My instructions were clear: stick around until midday, write from wherever I was, and don’t embarrass the paper. Simple!

When I arrived at the plush hotel that was to host the conference, I genuinely thought that I could taste the wanderlust. Vendors from hotels and airlines had begun their siren songs to attract potential customers to their stalls, participants from all over the African continent leisurely settled into their respective seats, refreshments were on display just begging to be savoured. It was clear that there would be a conference taking place, and an article waiting to be written. Let’s just say I was excited.

The opening ceremony came and went, uneventfully. Afterwards, we went straight into the panel on aviation. The whole purpose of this panel was to try to bridge the gap between the aviation sector and the tourism industry, as well learning more about the problems that the West African aviation industry faced at the moment. The discussion was insightful to say the least. You couldn’t say that you didn’t learn something new from the five-man panel; insight was shared, lessons were learnt, understanding was gained. The hope to get a glimpse of aviation was achieved, to say the least but I wasn’t prepared for what I was about to hear next.

Towards the end of the discussion, a woman got up to address the panel and told us a story. She explained that a number of Middle Eastern ministers had expressed their desire for collaborating with an African flagship airline. She had to tell them that they would only have four prospective options to choose from. Long story short, she told these esteemed panelists that they had missed on the opportunity of a lifetime. I was shocked, and so were my fellow attendants. The panel was trying their best to hide their shame at this revelation and gave explanations for why West African aviation was where it was. In all fairness the explanations were very reasonable. From a lack of government support and heavily inflated taxes, to lackluster airports and misplaced priorities in running an airline; all of these problems play a role in the not-so-tragic death of death of a West African airline. That being said the message, and reprimand that came with it, for these panelists was clear; when it comes to something like this, you only have yourself to blame.

Sitting in the lobby of the same plush hotel where the conference was held, I couldn’t shake the feeling of sadness. For me, this was the epitome of missed opportunities. To my mom this was a warning to always work hard to have your shit together, and to always be ready for the opportunities you hope will come your way. To my experienced colleagues, it came with the territory. Writing stories like this for publication was polarizing and heartbreaking at the same time, but one that they would get used to over time. Talking about the demise of an once-prosperous industry, chronicling a history of poor performance, shedding light on a neglected gender issue; it was all the same. Writing sad stories in the paper was all a part of living my own dream, and something my colleagues had already come to terms with. The question is, should I?

Aseye Banini

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