Folding my not-too-old student’s mattress together with a few attires I had brought to the boarding house was my very last drudgery at the Accra Academy, an overall boys’ secondary school in North Kaneshie. The newness of the said mattress has a few implications. One, it could mean I had spent most of the days as a day student and that I got a fresh one while coming to the boarding house. Two, one may also guess that I had kept it neatly and last but not least, it could also mean I had decided to get a new one to replace the weary old one. Hmm well, my credit goes to anyone who may have hinted at any of these violent guesses but the very first suggestion stands tallest though I would say the second one too speaks truly about me.

I bet not saying my plight as a day student for two solid academic years was highly anticipated. It wasn’t stocked with arrant glee either. Unfortunately, I had to suffer that fate on grounds of my two-month delay at home as a first-year under financial constraints coupled with the upsurge in a gross indifferent attitude of my uncle and guardian, especially in crucial moments like this when one needed much support from him. I must admit that though such dilly-dallies made me feel uncomfortable, I always had confidence that something miraculous would surely unfold at the end of the tunnel albeit the hindrances that stood in to crush whatever constructive dream I had nursed and was hungry to achieve.

Finding myself in the boarding house in form three was a decision by the then brilliant Science and Maths Quiz team of the school of which I was part. This landed me in good fortune and I never paid even a dime for any fees. This also saved me from the hurdles of gridlock, thus helping me report very early for school. The daily charges of transport fares had also been cut down to the bone thus freeing Mum from such financial worries. I ruminated on all these memories while my misty eyes were sternly glued to my medium-sized “chop box”, chiefly containing textbooks and stationeries.

It had struck exactly 4 PM and more than half of my roommates and juniors had come in to prepare themselves for dinner and evening prep. Most such knew I was leaving. “Senior! Aw! I wish I were you!”, “Calculus! Are you leaving your school son here? Travel well Bleoobii!”, “Senior, please can I have some of your textbooks?”, “Senior Agbesi, leave this worm and don’t ever give him anything; I know him very well and he has a very poor maintenance culture.”, “Agbesi, can I please have your white prep shirt? Once I don it, I will be motivated to learn.”, a number of them parroted seemingly in that order and blah, blah, blah and I ultimately felt for them. At school, I was called by my surname, Agbesi. A few, however, especially my colleagues and quiz teammates preferred calling me “Calculus”. I had not chosen that pseudonym myself; I had earned that name when I had won the overall second best Maths student in my badge and that was in SHS 3. The name “Bleoobii” was not for one man; it was a general name given to a graduate from the Accra Academy. You could drop out from the Accra Academy or be transferred from there to another school but would never be honoured with that name, it was simply for someone who had fully finished his programme there as a student. Let me continue. At home, I was called by my Ewe name “Eddo”, which connotatively means ‘After the twins”. Truly, did I not come after male twins? But alas, Mum said these two came into the world as stillborn and hence, never lived to see at least the very next day. Christ! Eight or so months of protracted birth pains culminating in dead seeds? I felt I was the one who carried the pregnancy but Mum told me when she had been hit by the news, she couldn’t believe her ears, and the tears that came hung on her chins like an unripped mango dangling on its branch.

But then I had to say goodbye to all and sundry, a few teachers, the stressful preps, the sleepless studious nights, the continual and monotonous hall and campus dressings, the acid quizzes and tests, the May-June 2019 West Africa Examinations Council

WAEC

paper sittings and so on. Inside the students’ hall was warm and I opted to take some fresh air outside. There in the environs of the lawns, I ran into my classmate, Lawrence Addy, one of the best biology students of our time and a teammate too of the then quiz team. “Agbesi, I could not make it to Legon.”, Lawrence said looking very depressed and disappointed. I understood his mood since I had for once undergone such an acerbity when I had lost my place in the said team a week before he suffered a similar fate. In those days when a quiz boy made mention of Legon, he meant the place where the national quiz contests were launched and held, and that was the University of Ghana. Mine was a painful exit and whatever solid plans I had in making a difference in that team were instantly thwarted by a serious feud and lack of support from home coupled with the very little access to learning materials when I spent most of my days as a day student. It is said that real men do not watch their dreams die and I am right in saying that I had for a change lost that legacy and that was one of the greatest defeats of my life. Nevertheless, I had rendered an apology to the general coordinator of the then team knowing the latter was utterly disappointed in my flunk. From there, I encouraged the extant quiz boys to weed out any form of complacency, venerate their coordinators, stay resolute and above all put in the deep work and make the school proud.

Back to Lawrence, I summoned a little courage, put up a fleeting smile, and dropped a few motivational words to boost his spirit. “Lawrence, I understand your feelings right now but be proud of your achievement because I had seen you perform tremendously in that team. This shortcoming shouldn’t end your dreams. Hold onto your faith; you’ll become one of the best WASSCE students in West Africa and one of the greatest doctors as well.”, I said to him with a bold face. He thanked me later and I could see those words buttered him up. We exchanged contacts thereafter and discussed when we would leave.

As usual, Mr Avoke came up with a soaked big cane to check one or two protocols in his hall, the Awuletey. Sometimes, he headed to the other halls too but that was usually on weekends. I was affiliated with Halm Addo hall and there was one other hall that separated the former from the Awuletey. The Awuletey hall was the most notorious and was stocked with rowdy boys, the prototypes of hardened criminals. If you were a female teacher and you provoked one of its students, they didn’t mind scaling the school’s fence at night, tracing your house or perhaps bungalow, and finally, if you were ever found, you were stripped naked and raped! They simply didn’t bother much about the gravity of the repercussions. Once they had sought revenge or avenged their colleague, they were good to go and they would hunt high and low to accomplish any of such grievous acts. There were chronicles of similar or even greater heinous crimes committed by most of its students, and the authorities had identified and rusticated such students in order not to sully the hard-earned reputation of the school.

Mr Avoke was a retired giant soldier who also taught elective maths in the same school. He was a strict disciplinarian and he was feared most by the students’ and teachers’ bodies. You heard me, right? The teachers’ body inclusive, I say. It was a fact, believe it or not. “Hey! Stop there! Do you want to disgrace the school? Lie down!”, then the heavy cane or the military belt followed, “Wham! Wham!” -- an epitome of the whole story. He could sue a naughty teacher or a non-teaching staff until the latter lost their place and position in the school.

I never for once saw Mr Avoke smile, and his thick dark face was the very type everyone would think that could never entertain tears. Of course, men do cry but did this one ever do? Heh! You were a bad boy or found yourself doing something bad and you spotted him from a distance, you ran! But mind you, if you ever had the chance to win his rapport, you realised he was a treasure just that he had not been a happy man because he had had a very tough life. The school authorities, therefore, saw these traits in him and had decided he would be the right housemaster of the Awuletey hall.      

While all these events loomed in, I was on the tenterhooks to see my dearest school “son”, Seth. Of all, he was the most brilliant but devastatingly reserved and respectful. Bagging the elementary presidential award in his year group was one mean achievement that catapulted him from a nobody to an instant hero. Of course, such news spread like wildfire, showed up on evening news, and were equally left in limelight virtually in all of the country’s magazines. As I flipped through the leaves of the Ghanaian Times on one Saturday morning in that very year, I could see pictures of him with the president and other dignitaries, together with his mum, amidst beams of smiles, applauses, and standing ovations. The Ghanaian Times was one of the foremost magazines in the country in those days. The greenish carpeted dais had really been served well and this had somewhat stirred up my taste for green leafy soups since the heroic event was embellished with anything that had to do with green, one without blemish. In fact, one of the MCs was in a green pair of socks but I could not tell whether it was dirty green or neat green. You know what some of these magazine editors are up to and how they can artistically adorn reality with colours until your eyes see the true definition of beauty. They could virtually turn monkeys into Miss Planets and I had sworn not once, not twice either but severally, that If I really wanted beauty to marry, I would rather choose to be fully awake and see her physically with those two funny round “torchlights” that lie in between my forehead and nose.

Goose pimple has taken hold of me; someone should kindly hold me tightly for I have one or two experiences to share.  One of those “page marriages” I had seen? How could you pick a lady from a social media platform, a lady you have not seen or met before, do an “online proposal”, she accepts and you consequently arrange marrying her? She appears physically and you realise she isn’t the replica of what you saw on the page, an uncultured monstrous figure!  Don’t ever be surprised. I had seen marriages like that and the man involved would call off the marriage or if he tried very hard not to retract the proposal he made, which was often rare, he reluctantly married the miserable figure, and that was if his family gave him the green light. Get me right; I don’t prioritize outer beauty but my principle is that if you’re black, let’s know you’re one and don’t ever paint yourself to look like another. Inner beauty will put a crown on your head, runs the verdict!  

Well, though I didn’t know Seth by then, I was quite proud of him for honouring his mum with such a grand success. In conversations, he always discussed his mum but anytime I took pains to ask of his father, he would put on a graved look and wouldn’t say anything, and that most often ended the conversation. Sometimes, I understood why he wouldn’t tell me anything about his dad, at least whether he lived or not. Other times too, I couldn’t phantom a thing but Seth would continue to lick my mind that he would tell me at the opportune time but I had finally concluded that that “opportune time” was Christ’s coming.

I must continue with my tales and I would say Seth’s subsequent admission into the Accra Academy had served its purpose and had tasked him to prove his worth since he was going to meet equally brilliant guys. I was therefore not knocked sideways when he continuously swept the whole block of his badge and came up first on every academic league table. Seth hardly slept and you know what that means and his deep approach to studies had influenced quite a few of his indolent colleagues. A diminutive character who played the most salient roles in a drama, I set him forth. The future looks promising to the man who slumbers not, I always told him. I said my prayers when he was finally in and I could virtually see pains in his eyes. We hugged each other for about a minute after which he helped me carry my belongings to the roadside. I asked for his contact but he gave me his mum’s and I understood he wasn’t having a phone at all, especially one he could use at home. In those days, apart from electric iron, no student whether a boarder or a day student dared to be seen with any electrical device or gadget. When any student was caught with one by the school authorities, the victim was given a good spanking coupled with a two-month suspension and the device, confiscated for life. When a student fell victim twice or more to the same prohibition, he was expelled forever from the school. A phone case was the most serious. You wanted to make a call, you simply used one of the school’s telephone booths. Despite these dreads, some brazen students still secretly used such banned devices on campus. Oh well, I finally bid goodbye to Seth and he waved back with an affectionate frown. Afterward, a cart pusher corked me and carried my belongings to the main station.