By Everett Cento
Going into my internship, I never expected to visit the Ghanaian court system, let alone the Supreme Court. However, during my second week, I had the opportunity to be on court duty. It sounded cool in theory, but I had no idea what I was really getting into.
The courts were a lot to take in. On my first day, our Uber pulled up to the gates of the court complex, flanked by armed guards. I could already tell this wasn’t going to be just another assignment. I was under the guidance of EIB Network’s Murtala Inusah, who had been named the nation’s premier court reporter the year prior, although I had no knowledge of this at the time. He could tell I was excited to see the Supreme Court, but he said we were starting our day in the Circuit Court and could come back later to get some pictures.
As we made our way across the complex, I could tell Murtala was a prominent figure in the community. During our short walk through the grounds, he probably stopped to talk with friends more than ten times, exchanging pleasantries and gathering information about the day’s most relevant cases. Unsure of my role, I mostly hovered quietly while he socialized. Sometimes, I briefly introduced myself before fading back. As the days went on, I got more comfortable meeting his friends and even made some valuable connections.
I quickly learned that life moves fast in the courts. There’s always somewhere to go or someone to talk to. The fast-paced environment, combined with the pressure of finishing a story in time for the afternoon news, left me very little downtime for figuring out how the court system actually works. Luckily, experience is the best teacher, and, through the combination of sitting through a few cases and receiving explanations from Murtala, I was able to gather a functional understanding.
One of the first things I noticed was that etiquette in the courts is no joke. Professional dress and quiet observation are required at all times. In our first visit to the Supreme Court, one of Murtala’s friends was denied access to the case for wearing a sleeveless shirt. Murtala also warned me to put my phone on silent and emphasized that if my phone rang during the proceedings, one of the guards would come to confiscate it. All these stipulations made the courtroom feel intense and intimidating, especially in my first few days.
This pressure only expanded once I realized how quiet all the lawyers and judges were. Back home in America, I have this image of the courts as loud and, at times, dramatic. Here, everyone was calm, and oftentimes I could barely even make out the arguments. I was eager to prove myself to Murtala, but the quiet delivery made it difficult to follow the cases. Thankfully, I still managed to capture the essential details.
Despite the quick movement between the courts, the actual cases themselves moved rather slowly. Lawyers often took long pauses between statements and repeated themselves to allow the note takers time to accurately transcribe the proceedings. While I was often trying to catch up or figure out whether the case we were covering had started yet, Murtala used this time to research and write his stories.
One of the most interesting cases we attended was the sentencing of a man who had shot his wife in front of his four-year-old son. While most of the other cases were appeals or pleas, this one gave me a chance to really see the justice system at work. The accused had pled guilty to manslaughter, and Murtala explained to me that he had opted for a guilty manslaughter plea in hopes of negotiating his charge down from murder. It was an intense feeling to be able to look to my left and see a man who I knew had killed someone.
I was experiencing something real. This man was about to face a serious sentence for a horrible crime. The prosecution argued for a sentencing of no less than 30 years given that he had done significant mental harm to his child and, had the case gone to full trial, he would be facing life in prison. The defense argued that he had saved the court time with his guilty plea, expressed remorse, and had children to take care of. He ended up facing 20 years of imprisonment with hard labor, a punishment that is hard for my brain to even comprehend.
The whole case was hard for me to comprehend. How could someone even do something like that? Was the punishment fair? What punishment is even fit for such a horrible crime? How much damage did he do to his son? I’ve heard the prison system here is horrible, is it possible that the sentence is too much? What does 20 years of imprisonment with hard labor do to someone? All of these questions loomed large on my mind.
After the case, we rushed downstairs to interview the family of the victim. I was surprised at how good their spirits seemed despite the intense proceedings, but maybe they were just happy to see the accused brought to justice. We secured a short clip and the promise of a live interview for the evening news. Interestingly, after the interview, the family had asked if I was married and wanted to set me up with one of the daughters. I was shocked that something like that was on their mind given the circumstances.
Over the course of the week, I got to see some of the country’s most relevant cases, learn about the Ghanaian court system, and expand my reporting toolkit. Despite all of that, the thing I appreciated most about my time in the courts was the window it gave me into a side of Ghana I would have never seen otherwise. In fact, I’ve never even seen this side of my home country. Getting to hear everything from petty disputes to manslaughter convictions, and see what factors are used to argue for increased or decreased sentencing taught me a lot about Ghanaian values.