WHO HAS THE ‘PRAYERTOMETER’?

 

“That was a very powerful prayer!”, Apostle Rev. Dr. ABC exclaimed after a 20-minute-long opening prayer. As ‘Prayer-Papa’ XYZ displayed a well-calculated ‘spiritual’ gait towards his seat, the congregation exploded with a resounding round of applause. Two aspiring Prayer-Papas met him across the aisle with warm handshakes with the belief of tapping into his anointing. I noticed a subtle exhibition of swollen-headedness and spiritual superiority complex. My perplexed-self was undecided on whether to join in the applause or not; I was simply not sure whether the applause was meant for God or for the Prayer-Papa. But I cannot forget the disapproving looks I received from the ushers for my failure to clap.

Following a brief hiatus, there was a call to mass-prayer. Some aspiring Prayer-Papas saw an opportunity to dethrone Prayer-Papa XYZ by out-shouting him during the prayer session; “after all, what!? Has he not ruled the prayer department for too long? –  Mtchweew! Mugabe of Prayer”, they said in their hearts. Some graduates also saw a chance to unleashed ‘heavy’ grammatical expressions on unsuspecting congregants. I, as well, saw it as a great window to disabuse the minds of those judgmental ushers.

As the prayer topics were raised one after the other, I realised I could not keep up with the typically loud and unnecessarily long prayers, riddled with repetitive phrases; so in a low tone, I would do mine in about a minute or two and would wait patiently for a new prayer topic. Once a while, a Prayer-Papa from nowhere would draw closer to urge me on to pray louder, “My brother! pray! - pray! - pray! – pray! - pray! pray! - pray! I cannot hear your voice! Your prayer cannot even kill a mosquito”. I was genuinely flabbergasted as I knew my aim was not to kill a mosquito; all I wanted to do was to communicate with my heavenly father, worship & praise Him, ask for forgiveness of my sins and seek His continuous blessing and protection over my life. That’s all! In fact, there was absolutely no tolerance for the weak and the voiceless. The only time I noticed a bit of tolerance for the ‘weaker brethren’ was when the prayer topic on confession of sins was raised. Hmm, at that moment, whisper reigned supreme!

After the last prayer topic was dealt with, the Pastor said he felt within his spirit that the prayer session was not powerful enough and therefore instructed the Papas to raise more prayer topics. Despite the obvious disappointment on my face, I could not protest lest I get labelled as man of little faith. I then decided to seize the opportunity to put all my critics to ‘shame’. I prayed for Kumasi Asante Kotoko, ASEC Mimosas, Al Ahly, Zamalek, Accra Hearts of Oak, Berekum Chelsea, Karela United FC, Abusua Dwarfs, Kpando Heart of Lions, Sekondi Eleven Wise, Arsenal and FC Barcelona. My prayers became longer and louder. When most of the Papas were rounding up on the new prayer topic, I was transitioning from Berekum Chelsea to Karela United FC. I immediately found favour in the eyes of both the young and the old.  The Prayer-Papa who used to bother me earlier became very pleased; a proud mentor for that matter. I believe If I had continued in my newly adopted style, I could have become the ‘Papamost-Papa’ in no time.

Now, amidst the euphoria and sanctimony, the question that kept ringing in my mind is, who has the ‘Prayertometer’? (A ‘Prayertometer’, I presume, would be a sacred equipment used for measuring the power exuded by one’s prayer). I struggle to comprehend how people are able to determine whether a prayer is powerful or not. Is it measured by how forcefully the person spoke or how verbose and fluent he was among the brethren?

Thankfully, the Bible has taught us that prayer may be made in various ways (including loud cries and silent meditations) and the Father will listen.  An outward display of zeal, though may do some good, may not necessarily be accompanied with knowledge and understanding or be indicative of a person's spiritual standing with God. 

I pray for God’s abundant wisdom and understanding for all of us in order NOT to unintentionally push others onto the path of hypocrisy. In the name of Jesus, I pray with thanksgiving. Amen.

 

For further study:

Lk 18:9-14, Heb. 5:7, 1 Sam 1:9-18, Matt 6:5-13, Prov. 19:2a, 2 Tim 3:1-5

 

Gameli K. Agboada

24^th April 2021

Image Source:

https://www.google.com/search?q=prayer&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwiv2-SU_YD5AhVOyRoKHd_2AC4Q2-cCegQIABAA&oq=prayer&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQA1AAWABgAGgAcAB4AIABAIgBAJIBAJgBAKoBC2d3cy13aXotaW1n&sclient=img&ei=7I3UYq-1K86Sa9_tg_AC&bih=880&biw=1920&rlz=1C1GCEU_enGH1007GH1007#imgrc=UJ7RodXmtGLhuM

THE CHRONICLES OF CEMETERY L.A. JSS – RECLAIMING WHAT THE FORE-BEARS LOST TO THE COLONIAL MASTERS

Lead Author: Gameli Agboada

Guest Authors: Efo Kofi Gavor & Kwasi Adu

Chief Editor: Stephen Baidu

 

Who said Internet Fraud (sakawa) came all of sudden?!!

Look!! Let me tell you something! A miniature of ‘sakawa’ prevailed as far back as AD 1996 in the Cemetery; the only disparity was the medium of correspondence and also, the absence of black magic (juju) in the dealings. Unlike ‘sakawa’, which is considered a social menace, the kind that happened in the Cemetery was based purely on the science and act of persuading the Whiteman to reason with you concerning your petty wants. Lest I forget, boys and girls who went to international schools ‘dadabiciously’ referred to it as ‘Pen Pal’.

 

One cannot exhaust this topic to its entirety without giving the due recognition to great men like Shabo, Dzandu Harry, Prempeh Paul, Kpoh Richard etc.

 

Massa!! The act had its own strategies. To be a master of the game, you could not do without the golden rules…………

 

1. Win the sympathy of your pen pal through some concocted miserable stories; your suffering should even surpass that of Oshin (A character in the 80/90s Japanese television drama series). 
2. Always remember to garnish your letters with some new vocabularies; it demonstrates how brilliant but needy you are.
3. Slide in one or two idiomatic expressions for ‘sheygey’ reasons.
4. Let your pen pal know that you are a devout Christian; for that matter, an aspiring pastor.

 

Here comes a typical example of the power-packed letters that were written in the Cemetery…………. 

                                                                                                Cemetery L.A.

                                                                                               P.o. Box X,

                                                                                              Ho, V/R,

                                                                                             Ghana, West Africa,

                                                                                             Africa, World.

                                                                                21^TH Otober 1996

 

 

The Cabala’s

p.o. box, America

 

Dear Whiteman,

           How are you? I hope you are swimming in the pool of mr. and Mrs. good hef. Whiteman, do you know sometin?, my father is ded. my mother is ded. I am an orphanage. My grandmother is very wikiiid. She assassinated a hen on Christmas but she didn’t give me some. I have not eat for 3 days. Please, i want you to send me shingad, hose, football boot and maontin bike. My jinior brother also is wanted BMX bisekel. If you send me this tins, I will tank you forevermon. God bles you in advans.

        I am also a small pastor in my chech. Please send me plenty bibles so that I can share to everybody so that they will become very good boys and girls in the chech and Sunday school too.

      I will like to stop here because my wikiid grandmother is calling me to borrow fire-chako from the nes house to cook even food (super) and she will not give me mpo.

 

Your’s faithfuly,

  dfadsfad

                                                                                                Churchlife K. Gbagbladza

                                                                                                (Senior on duty, Class 6A)

 

The day was bright and most shirts were looking spruce; it was a Monday morning in the Cemetery. Boys and girls were getting impatient with the headmaster. A unanimous sigh of relief filled the assembly ground as he finally brought his long and unappetizing speech to a conclusion.

 

Shortly afterwards, the post boy climbed the stage with his letter box. ‘Charley, tension be what?’ Expectations were above ground level. I could say with much confidence that, those were the only moments in the Cemetery where boys gave their undivided attention to the stage.

 

Even though I was never called to receive any of those mails, I mysteriously developed a talent; a special talent it was. I could accurately tell the content of an envelope by looking at its shape and colour.  

 

• Abakeh Mesiwotso (Shabo) -----------A catalogue from Cabala’s (A marketer and retailer of hunting, fishing and related outdoor recreation merchandize)

 

• Kpoh Richard----------------A magic handkerchief from India. (This guy was gradually creating an aura of fear and panic around himself)

 

• Agamah Marvelous---------Return to Sender (I guess Shabo mischievously furnished him with a fake Fountain Pen address)

 

• Dzandu Harry----------------A catalogue from Victoria’s Secret (I really found it difficult to understand why boys, at an average age of 12, were requesting catalogues from a retailer of women’s wear, lingerie and beauty products.)

 

• Prempeh Paul----------------Another course from the World Bible School (WBS), Accra, Ghana.

 

• Abakeh Mesiwotso -----------A correspondence on matchbox

 

• Abakeh Mesiwotso-----------A correspondence on a bag of rice from Thailand. (In fact, Shabo’s exploits were becoming too frightening to everybody; it kept us wondering whether or not Ghana was at the verge of war or famine)
• Abakeh Mesiwotso-----------Return to sender (He ordered a loaf of bread from Victoria’s Secret)
• Avenyo Eli-------------------Teamwork Bible course

 

• Gavor Ernest-----------------Teamwork Bible course

 

• Akakpo Nicholas------------A never-ending correspondence on a Walkman (I guess that particular Whiteman was a very stingy one).

 

• Kpoh Richard----------------Another round of correspondence on Bruce Lee’s VHS cassettes (Snake in the monkey shadow, Enter the dragon etc)

 

In the midst of these entire pen pal craze, when the ‘Return to Sender’ phenomena became commonplace, a lucrative business sprang up and Kwasi Adu was at the centre of it. He wrote more refined letters for the Address Owners and charged them for the service rendered.

Hmm! Charley, to be an Address Owner came with its own swagger. The Address books were treated with awesome reverence. You could count yourself blessed if you ever chanced upon a genuine one because it was only their look-alikes that were kept in public in order to confuse snoopy boys. Not even the chief scribe (Kwasi Adu), who provided consultancy services, knew where the mails were going afterwards; he writes the body of the letter and the address owners to the ‘most important’ part.

Address Hunting was another thing that cannot be left unmentioned. To become a renowned hunter in those days, one required highly specialized tutelage under Shabo (The Address Baron). In spite of the fact that Eli and Ernest were seasoned hunters (Tohazie and Sundiata) since class 3, the field of Address Hunting was a novelty to them. (If you have never heard of the exploits of Eli and Ernest, please read a piece entitled, “The Rise and Fall of The Pen Syndicate”)

The most annoying aspect of the business was the emergence of the shameless thievery by some postmen at Ghana Post. They took great delight in stealing Bibles, audio cassettes, VHS cassettes and anything that looked bulky. I had no doubt that this appalling behaviour was the core reason why Akakpo’s walkman never came. ‘Jah fire burn them all!’ We always looked upon the sons and daughters of postmen with great suspicion. Who knows? Even the flashy wristwatch he/she was showing off at school may be the fruit of the labour of a fellow pupil. Eiii charley! We went through turbulent times but survived.

Days went by and the Whiteman got wiser. Business was going down and ‘Return to Sender’ became some people’s middle names. Even simple Bible courses that use to take only a month became life-long courses. I guess you now understand why some deviants in the society had to move a step further into ‘sakawa’ in order to keep the business going.

But beware!!! “For what shall it profit a man, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?” Mark 8:36

Have a lovely day.

 

April 2010

THE CHRONICLES OF CEMETERY L.A. JSS - THE FREEDOM FIGHT

Lead Author: Gameli Agboada

Guest Author: Efo Kofi Gavor

Chief Editor: Stephen Baidu

 

Friends, Romans, countrymen, lend me your ears;

I come to request for my share of the beans money,

Not to unjustifiably attack any teacher of Cemetery L.A. J.S.S

The beans that men clandestinely sell lives after them,

The dough is oft deeply interred in their polyester pockets

So let it be with S.K.P. and his accomplices

The noble men Kwasi and Gavor hath told you S.K.P. was ambitious

If it were so, it was a grievous fault, 

And grievously hath S.K.P. answered it

 

-          Ark Korkutsey Manthony

Have you ever been asked to bring buckets of cracked stones to school? Look! I am not talking about any form of punishment here; I am only referring to something that was more or less part of the syllabus for some basic schools in those days. I still wonder why our parents were made to pay all those development levies. Was there no child right activist those days? Hmm!! Anyway!! God dey we dey!

In spite of the demeanour of some “adifudi” teachers, who took advantage of the prevailing situations and exploited us on their personal maize and cassava farms, I can still say, with a little pride, that my stones form part of the walls of my primary school.

I remember those events as if it had happened yesterday. I still have my all-in-one foolscap notebook that contained subjects like English Language, Mathematics, General Science, Social Studies, Cultural Studies, Religious and Morals, Music and Dance, Ghanaian Language, Stone Skills, sorry! I mean.…Life Skills and Craft.

Ahaa!!! Talking about Craft, may Jah fire burn all those slightly-rich “babylonic” boys and girls who unnecessarily raised the marking scheme by presenting fowls and young goats as craft; I woke up one day just to realize that, brooms made from palm fronds, door mats made from raffia, cane baskets and the likes were no more fetching big marks. Jah fire burn those corrupt teachers as well!

Hmm!!! I spent sleepless nights cogitating over the extent of ‘baby-corruption’ that had eaten deeply into the mental faculties of even primary pupils. In fact, I need to come out with a book entitled, “Domestic fowls and young goats created in the image and likeness of Craft.”

Now, let me talk about the imperative issue; the very reason why I borrowed your ears.

I never knew I had a hidden farming potential inside me until a new Agric Science teacher was transferred to Cemetery L.A. J.S.S. He is a man who surprisingly and annoyingly loves the practical aspect of Agric Science so much.

 “My name is Mr. ‘Lasah’ S.K.P and you will never know what the S.K.P. stands for”, the new teacher told the class confidently. I guess nobody told him that there were young cryptographers, like Willie Nyonator and Nicky Akakpo in the school. It took only two days for Willie to reveal what the “S” stands for; I think it is either ESKIMO or ESTUARY……S for Eskimo.

SKP was a very fashion-conscious teacher in his heydays. His selection of pair of trousers needed no special designs from the tailor. When SKP tightly secures his oversized trousers with a ‘frog-leather’ belt, the resulting ‘gathers’ around his waistline was a sight to behold; it was a tourist site. When it comes to shoes, he had a fine taste; they were strategically selected to aid his height. If there ever was any shortage of seats in the staff common room those days, SKP would have being the least bordered……. I will not continue since my attention has just been drawn to the fact that SKP’s clothing is patented.

During one of SKP’s lessons, he started with ‘Farm Animals’, then he shared a brief joke with the class, and then quickly changed the topic to ‘Leguminous plants’, and then to, ’how to cultivate beans’; he did all these in a 45-minute lesson. That was when I started suspecting that SKP had an ulterior motive.

Few days after that confusing lesson, SKP announced to the three form 2 classes that he had acquired a piece of farmland which is located somewhere around the cemetery. The news brought gladness to the hearts of boys and men alike. Please do not be surprised when I say ‘boys and men alike’; after all, who didn’t know that some of those form 2B boys were using ‘football-age’ in the school’s register? And who says I can’t recognize a disguised old age when I see one? Their true ages were very evident in the frightening sound of their snores during boring hot afternoon lessons. I always thanked God for the lives of the few genuine young boys who were able to coexist with these other ‘young boys’.

On our first site visit, there was a mini-civil war over the farmland. No sooner had we entered the land than an old woman, who appeared from nowhere, started pointing accusing fingers at SKP for stealing her land. To the surprise of the crowd, SKP started sweating generously, blinking his eyes faster than normal and concurrently swallowing saliva unnecessarily. Thanks to Gley, Mortey, Dzanku, Anani, Dzamefe and some other boys who, in spite of making mockery of SKP initially, took charge and succeeded in doing damage control. Hurray!! The battle is lost and won!

We became much more surprised at SKP’s behaviour after the old woman was gone. He blamed the boys for not allowing him to squarely face the woman. He then boastfully narrated how the land was single-handedly acquired through his blood and toil. Honestly….., I wished the woman had returned that very moment.

After about an hour of feverish weeding, Mortey decided to replenish his lost energy with some ripe ‘akukor’ (yellow mombin/hog plum). In the process of climbing the tree, he gave in to the force of gravity and embraced the rocky ground (hlihakpe) beneath him in a painful hug. Whiles he was busily attending to his contusions, amidst the annoying “awwwn”, “awwwn” sound from the girls, SKP angrily rushed toward the scene with the sole aim of punishing him for disobedience. When SKP was about to strike him with a cane, his arm shockingly froze midway. Ah? What happened? The crowd was curious. The feeling of pain from the fall, and the seemingly ungratefulness and betrayal from SKP caused Mortey to pass a derogatory comment which struck and demoralized SKP. Oh dear! What a bad day it was for the honourable SKP?

After some weeks of hard work and ‘child labour’, we were beautifully rewarded with a bumper harvest. Even though it was a blissful moment when Esther Asuah and Ethel Gakpe were asked to display a sample of the harvested beans at one morning assembly, I was not very comfortable with the gleeful looks on the faces of some teachers.

Now the big question that was running through everybody’s mind; “What are we going to do with the bountiful harvest?”

Men like Borbor Kruzo wished the harvest was shared among the students according to beans-eating capabilities…Na lie!!!…God is not a slack concerning His promises.

Men like Victor Biaku wished it was shared according to neatness…Torfiakwa!!!....No weapon fashioned against the “small poles”, “stay”, “alikoto” “I and you” and “four corners” boys shall prosper. Amen!

Some of the smart girls wished it was shared according to fluency in the queen’s language. Kai!!! This is beans we are talking about oo!.....What then becomes of the vernacular-infested ‘Kpako’ boys like us? The Lord is our shield and fortress!

The teachers unanimously decided to sell the beans and save the money in the school’s coffin….Sorry! I mean, coffers. Few days later, it was announced that the amount of money realized from the beans was ¢11,500.00. Whaaat?!! Boys exclaimed in their minds. According to expect market analysis made by Bernice and Beatrice (the Kporvuvu twins), that quantum of beans should have cost at least ¢35,000.00 in the Ho central market (Asigame); and a rather ambitious guesstimate of ¢70,000.00 was also quoted by one firewood dealer from kodzobi, who was on a business tour around the school. “Hmm!! But how? Only ¢11,500.00 for our hard labour? No! We have been swindled!” I could have sworn on my grandfather’s ‘green-khaki’ trousers that we had been bitterly swindled. I took a closer look at the scars of old blisters in my palms and wept within my heart. Ah ah ah ah!!! We should have taken a second look at Borbor Kruzo’s suggestion. Some of the boys were even lashed severely for openly challenging the price of the beans. Hmm! Ok! No problem!….”every dog has its day”.

Ok just pause and listen to my little confession: I, Efo Gameli, my own father’s son, was an accomplished economist in my own right in those days. I therefore converted the beans money, which I need not be told by any ‘aladura’ pastor was shared among some of the teachers, into a loan and debited their accounts. The imaginary loan plus the accumulated interest was exactly equal to the next term’s extra class fee. So, it wasn’t like I didn’t pay the fees oo, I just...eermmm, ok let’s say I balanced things up here and there. But even if you feel like accusing me of anything, you better hold your peace. After all, the idea was not mine; I was pressurized by Efo Eli and Efo Gavor. End of confession!

Now let me continue…………..

During the next term, SKP treated a topic on, ‘Vegetables’.  And just before he brought the topic to an end, he suggested another practical exercise; pepper and tomato farming. The class, to his utmost amazement, welcomed the news with a resounding round of applause. SKP could not hide his joy. He even made unrealistic promises concerning future harvests; he thought we were too naïve to fall into his ploy again.

Even though some of the outspoken boys openly doubted the success of the project, SKP was unperturbed. That very afternoon, he went to buy bamboo sticks, pepper and tomato seedlings. He coerced us to prepare beds, water them, plant the seedlings and also fence around the whole garden. Whiles Eloh, Pi-Bansah and co were in charge of fencing, Kwasi Adu and Nicky Akakpo were controlling the manure (cow dung) department.

We came to school the next day to encounter the expected and unexpected. The bamboo fence was broken into and all the seedlings were uprooted but the beds were untouched.  Upon hearing the news, SKP broke down into uncontrollable tears and cursed bitterly all day long. I felt pity for Miss. Mahama (the female Agric. teacher), who had to spend most part of the day enduring SKP’s sobbing and gnashing of teeth. Whiles SKP was lamenting over his loss, boys were secretly celebrating the disaster with ‘poki’, ‘aliha’ and ‘ewunabiledorme’ actively supplemented with ‘atsifufui’, ‘bofloat’, ‘atsormor’ and ‘polo’.

After three days of excessive mourning, some of the girls went to the staff common room to console SKP. He was even made to believe that it was Spiderman and Sankopee who were jointly responsible for the destruction but only God knows the hand that delivered us from another unrewarding venture.

FREEDOM at last!!!

“For the wages of ‘small GREED’ is……………………………”

Have a lovely day.

June, 2010

THE CHRONICLES OF CEMETERY L.A. JSS - A LOCAL GOAT WITH A FOREIGN TONGUE

Lead Author: Gameli Agboada

Guest Author: Efo Kofi Gavor

Chief Editor: Stephen Baidu

Chickens die many times before their deaths; 
The obdurate goat never tastes of death but once. 
Of all the Tongues that I yet have heard, 
It seems to me most strange that men should fear; 
Seeing that French, a foreign but an examinable tongue, 
Will come when it will come.

- Capt. Rtd. Pierre Atokui-Caesar

 

By the saving grace of God, not forgetting the little ‘mass-giraffing’, we were all promoted to class 4; two years away from becoming seniors. You dare not scorn us for not being able to express ourselves well in the queen’s language at the time; we will not take it lightly with you at all. After all, even a great percentage of our seniors could only boast of few phrases:

1. Hey, come here! Pick the rubbish!    
2. I ‘say’ pick the rubbish ‘la’!              
3. I will report you to ‘chicha’.              
4.  ‘Look at his face like a goat’

 

As for some of the teachers, the least said about them, the better:

1. Akporsue and co, where are you ‘gogring?
2. Hey! One, two, three, four, both of you, come here!
3. You this boy, why are you wearing bare-chested?
4. The boy in the blue shirted, where is your cutlass?
5. Do you think me and my wife, we are small boys? Huh?

 

If any of you meet the man who invented the dreaded snail-shell-necklace (Aborborgo chain), please shake his hand for me. For the sake of those who have intentionally or unintentionally defiled themselves with the seed of ‘dadabism’, let me describe the snail-shell-necklace: It is a complicated ugly-looking circularly arranged old and stinky snail shells along a shred of black, red or gray calico. It is only worn by pupils who are caught speaking vernacular. If you happen to be the carrier of this yoke, you can only transfer it onto another person if and only if you catch him or her red-handed speaking vernacular. In short, it was a deterrent measure that was employed by the school authority in order to promote the speaking of English.

 

It was a herculean task for the school authority, trying to ensure that boys and girls in the cemetery communicated only in the foreign tongue. This was what informed the decision to appoint prefects and compound overseers to oversee the tongues of boys. But Charley, boys be haaard!

 “Unless the Lord watches the cemetery, the compound overseer laboureth in vain”

Some boys could even decide to remain silent the whole day because of limited or unavailability of ‘lyrics’. You may even be tempted to believe that some of them were born deaf and dumb.

 

Now, a new term began and a new subject was unveiled. Shiee! From frying pan to fire! It was already rumoured that this subject has two names; French and Français.

It was also rumoured that, in this new tongue, even a common table could either be a man or a woman; if the table is made of ‘odum’ or mahogany, it is masculine but with wawa or plywood, it is feminine.

“Kai! Today be today! Everything na double double”

 

From that day onwards, boys started giving their lives to Christ because this new tongue is rough and tough. It cannot be blamed. It cannot be tamed. It cannot be maimed.

“Father look upon thy children with thine loving kindness.”

 

French became a necessary evil in our lives from class 4 to JSS 3. Sadly enough, I have forgotten most of my French phrases but I have a little reserved for great and special occasions like crossing the border:

• Nous Avon (pronounced, NuZaVor) – meaning, do you have Zavor?
• Comment ça va? – meaning, bring forth the cassava.
• Bonjour – meaning, were you born in June?
• Pourquoi? (pronounced, PurKwa) – meaning, I hail from Pokuase.

 

For those of you who do not know what ‘zavor’ is, it is a heavy and smelly sleeping-cloth which, for fear of drowning, has not seen the face of water in ages. Please note that, zavors are normally not heavy from the manufacturer but they gradually put on weight due to stressful night duties.

 

Lest I forget, let me take this opportunity to salute all the cemetery French teachers who forced the subject down our small throats.

Madame Addo – Maximum respect to you

Monsieur Zigah – I genuflect before you

Madame Kakotsey – I doff my hat to you

 

I know very well if I should tell you that Ernest Gavor and I were the best French students in the cemetery, you will not believe me. But I don’t mind - ‘jealousy go shame!’

Look! Apart from Kpadey Fafa, Akakpo Nicholas, Gemegah Sampson and a few others, who sometimes beat us with only half a mark, we were the underground French scholars.

 

I remember the day Monsieur Zigah called Shabo and Akplor to stand up and converse in French. The sentence given to Shabo was, “Tu as quel âge?” Shabo stood up confidently, turned to Akplor and said, “Akplor! Tu alalash!!!?” In fact! The thickness of the French intoxicated Akplor to the extent that, all he could say was “au revoir”.

 

Along the line, I started losing interest in the subject simply because I thought the teachers were teaching the language far beyond our comprehension. And you dare not complain openly too, otherwise, in the next minute or two, you may see yourself lying face down on the headmaster’s table, with four strong boys holding your limbs; the fear of the Lord will then be introduced into your butt.

After six long years of suffering in the cruel hands this foreign tongue, BECE came knocking……….

Hmm! And this was also the time all the teachers, except the headmaster, assistant headmaster and the Ewe madam, were transferred to other schools; there was no French teacher to take us through any revision. So boys started hunting seriously for ‘Apor’; delegations were sent to all neighbouring dadabie schools to see if they had any idea of how this foreign tongue looked like. ‘mtcheeeuw’, Massa! ‘Nothing Better’; they came back empty-handed.

Jah fire burn all those dadabie boys and girls who kept the ‘apor’ very close to their small chests!!! ‘Ah! Wetin?!!! I bore sef! Small apor wey we all for feel some, dem dey hide am like ibi some Ghana Commercial Bank ATM PIN’

‘Massa! Desperation be what?! At that very moment, even if Sankopee had offered to organize French classes for us, boys would have attended in all humility.

Kai! The paper was tough! The invigilator was strict! The atmosphere was tense!

“Whiles I looketh around, with caution, to behold from whence cometh my help, neighbours nigh me even sweateth more profusely.”

Charley, even the French ‘sharks’ no dey see top. Within 30 minutes, I have finished chewing three pen covers; I rendered my two BiC pens naked and denuded my last Kofa pen.

“Indeed, the devil finds work for the idle teeth”

Looking at the hopeless situation around me, the only thing I could think of was the quick arrival of the final bell; after all, GTV was telecasting ‘Journey to the West’ around that time. But Charley, I can’t afford to get 9 in French; old boy go roast me alive, mommy go deny me food for at least one moon. Eii!…e go hard ooo! So what I for do raidee?

It was then that I really understood the saying…….. “If you become too desperate, even the vulture will sweet-talk you and sell afro hair-pomade to you”. One self-acclaimed French don, seeing how desperate I was, officiously tilted his answer sheet towards me. ‘Chuiaaaa!!!’ Even though I didn’t understand the essay topic, what I saw on the answer sheet looked more Greek to me than French.

As I cogitated over the situation for a while, the only thing that came to my mind was a one of our cemetery morale booster jama songs; “Atsolitsooo! The boys are coming, Atsolitsoo, Heyhey heyhey Atsolitsoo, Heeeey! Atsolitsooo…… …” With a little boosted morale, I started putting something on the paper:

“Je m’akple Gameli Agboada.

Je suis 14 years old.

I am un petit garçon.

Je çome from le Anloga.

Moi food la favori est Akple versus Aborbitadi.

Moi subject la favori est French.

J’aime le football brutál (meaning, I dey love football brutal!).

Ça va très bien merci bokuu ………………..”

 

 

Please don’t laugh at my essay; it was what saved me from grade 9. Hmm! I came out of the exam hall wishing I had taken the subject more seriously.

Friends, always remember that, you will someday be held accountable for every little decision you make today. "Trust in the Lord and lean not on your own understanding. In all of your ways, acknowledge him and He will make your path straight." (Prov. 3:5-6)

Caveat: In case you come across any grammatical blunder in this note, be ye not dismayed, for I am still a local goat with a foreign tongue.

 

Have a lovely day. No no no sorry, I mean……Avoir une belle journée.

10^th September 2011

 

Image Source: 

https://www.google.com/searchq=french+is+difficult&rlz=1C1GCEU_enGH1007GH1007&source=lnms&tbm=isch&sa=X&ved=2ahUKEwjx77qzoID5AhVENRoKHfapAWoQ_AUoAXoECAEQAw&biw=1920&bih=880&dpr=1#imgrc=SbbqKkgFLEPG2M Date Accessed: 17/07/22

THE CHRONICLES OF CEMETERY L.A. JSS - THE PRICELESS TREASURES OF YORE

Lead Author:    Gameli Agboada

Guest Author:   Efo Kofi Gavor

Chief Editor:     Stephen Baidu

 

Turning and turning in the rickety ‘wawa’ desk

The student cannot hear the teacher;

Things fall apart; the stomach cannot hold;

Even the stubborn goat has lost appetite for cassava peels

Mere hunger is loosed upon the boys.

- W.B. Amorkudzogbor Yeat (PhD)

 

In AD 1997, during the reign of the great Emperor Augustus-Caesario Borky-Jarah, with Sankopee as tetrarch of the Eastern province, Dzaboe as tetrarch of the Western corridor, Adzana as tetrarch of the Northern hills and Spiderman as tetrarch of the Southern plains, a horde of boys and girls, without fear of graves, dating back to AD 1901, matched heavily upon the gates of Cemetery L.A. J.S.S. in order to pursue academic excellence.

The first thing that happened was a heart-breaking reshuffling exercise; some stream ‘B’ boys came to stream ‘A’ whiles some stream ‘A’ boys moved to stream ‘C’ and so on. But I was honestly shocked when I saw some ‘dadabie’ boys shedding tears over common reshuffling. Borky got seriously irritated by their ‘dadability’, and nearly punctured their heads with his coca-cola branded metallic key holder. As for my kpako-self, all I knew was that, I have conquered the gates of the Cemetery L.A. and it doesn’t really matter where the reshuffling exercise placed me.

”…for all moves in the cemetery work for the good of they that trust in Borky’s instincts…”

Most Rev. Kugbakuake, Grave 419, South-East Zombie Estates.

 

It wasn’t too long before one of those dadabie boys went to report some of us to his mum for teasing him at school. Ooh Massa! I thought we had liberated ourselves long ago from this ‘maadorwe na teacher’ syndrome oo.

Tso! Wetin man no see before? Even before my very own eyes, an old straw mat, reeking of adult urine, was brought to assembly grounds as key evidence for a bed-wetting allegation levelled against an innocent young boy. After all was said and done, he survived the ignominy and carried on with life.

After the reshuffling and unnecessary shedding of tears, lessons began…………….

As a young boy, I never understood why some teachers in Cemetery L.A. J.S.S. sometimes refuse to observe free period and break time rules. I later learnt that they simply do this in order to impress education officers who come on inspection visits, especially around break times. It’s only in Ghana will an officer coming for inspection inform his subjects (teachers) ahead of time, who also go on to inform students; so everything is perfect on the day of inspection. We keep each other’s back in Ghana, just in case you don’t know.

Oh Charley!! All these charades went on at the peril of our young and fragile stomachs. ”Hmm….e hard ooo!”

I vividly remember the day that a teacher forcefully ceased a free period on our timetable for his lesson. Thanks to Spiderman who saved the day by entering the classroom about 5 minutes into the lesson. Eii!!…come and see hidden Olympic talents on display; before I could say Jack, Caroline and Rejoice already jumped over the dwarf wall. A commentary from a Kumasi radio station would have gone like this; please don’t mind my Twi. Just Listen……

‘’etiefuo, cemetery FM nie… Oh … oh. … oh!!!

etiefuo, eka kitikiti..anka baku tor form,

etiefuo, aha ye de, aha ye butu butu

…… eeiii sukufuo ne tu mreka se?

Etiefuo, Ghana wor ‘tarent’ paaaa….

….eiii, eiii, etiefuo, daben na Hussein Bolt aba Ghana?

Dabi dabi,…dabi dabi…

Etiefuo, enye Hussein Bolt, eye teacher baku bi.…

Etiefuo……………… Mr. Koeke!!!………. Mr. Koeke!!!

 

I know some of you may be thinking that I never liked the classroom. NO! Wrong perception! I am just not happy about the way the system thwarted some of our efforts towards the development of lifetime careers through our individual traits outside the classroom.  Most of the teachers were only interested in our classroom performances.

Who says it is only the white kid who discovers his talent at an early age? Wait until I give you instances of early discoveries that were made at the Cemetery L.A. Primary/J.S.S;

Ernest Gavor liked hunting agama lizards with ‘aηeka’ (catapult); A POTENTIAL SNIPER IN THE U.S. ARMY

Willie developed a wild appetite for ‘agorteku’, ‘alasa’ and ‘efio’ over the years; A POTENTIAL DIETITIAN

Kwasi Adu took delight in dissecting live agama lizards with blunt tatra razor blades; A POTENTIAL SURGEON

Gameli was very much addicted to ‘ganugoeυu’ especially, ‘one konko’ (a toy car made from empty milk or Milo tins); A POTENTIAL COUNTRY REPRESENTATIVE OF TOYOTA.

Kpoh courageously wrote a love letter (in red ink) to one of the girls; A POTENTIAL ROMANTIC POET

Akplor was fond of chasing rats; A POTENTIAL 100m OLYMPIC SPRINTER

Eloh Wisdom liked catching ‘gbagblami’, ‘tatata’ and ‘tititi’ (various species of grasshopper); A POTENTIAL BIOLOGIST

Divine (Tayita) was too fond of socks-balls; A POTENTIAL MANAGING DIRECTOR OF ADIDAS

Eli loved luring ‘Kukurukuu’ (an insect that bores hole in dry sand) out of its hole; A POTENTIAL SHREWD BUSINESS MAGNATE OR MARKETING MANAGER…………….“Kukurukuuuu! Dada be na va xor morli!”

Gbeti loved playing with ‘torkortorkormi’ (Praying mantis); A POTENTIAL PUGILIST

Hanson could not do without ‘countess’ ball; A POTENTIAL COACH OF A NATIONAL SOCCER TEAM

Beethoven liked playing ‘alàsáku’ (a game whose ultimate objective is to be on your knees and be the first person to kick alàsá seed with your index finger into a hole); A POTENTIAL TOP GOLFER

Raphael was very conscious of his outlook: A POTENTIAL GROOMING SPECIALIST

Delight was good at keeping names of talkative boys: A POTENTIAL DATABASE ADMINISTRATOR

Shabo (pure yeda) started working lotto at the age of 12 and half; A POTENTIAL ACTUARIAL SCIENTIST

Frank Asare loved brick game: A POTENTIAL CIVIL ENGINEER

Tofah loved roaming in both town and bush: A POTENTIAL TOURISM CONSULTANT

Pytha was the girls’ guy – caring, romantic, understanding; A POTENTIAL MEXICAN SOAP STAR

Edem loved playing “bebelibe”/Daddy kple Mama; A POTENTIAL MARRIAGE COUNCILLOR....”bebelibee lo! Ne ekpor gborvi ade na lee”

Theresa Fafa was the queen of ‘chaskeley’; A POTENTIAL FEMALE CRICKET OR BASEBALL STAR

Karin liked ‘assway’; A POTENTIAL BALLET DANCER

Franklin, Papa Siga, Zygote and Sialo developed appetite for ‘solom’ and ‘pami’ at a tender age; POTENTIAL JOINT-OWNERS OF GUINESS GHANA LTD.

 

The list could go on and on.

Do not underestimate the extra curricula activities that went on in the cemetery.

Have a lovely day!

 

October, 2010

THE RISE AND FALL OF THE PEN SYNDICATE

 I just can’t comprehend why my mouth itches a lot…..but someone has to say it, especially when it ought to be said.

I could not contain it any longer after the recent nightmare I had about my precious BiC pen (P.E. 21) which was bitterly stolen at lower primary school.

It all started in class 3 (Mawuli Primary School) where 3 of my classmates developed a very strong desire to go into a business partnership. I know you would wonder what kind of business partnership 3 young boys at an average age of 9 were capable of forming.

Even though I don’t remember whose brainchild it was, that boy must have been a reincarnated pen-terrorist.

Taking a close look at the lifestyles of the founding babies….sorry,….I mean….founding fathers, I had a feeling that the proposed partnership was going to take the shape of a terrorist group or something of that ilk.

Oh! Lest I forget, allow me to make an affirmation before I continue.

 

I, Efo Gameli, a progeny of my progenitors

Do solemnly affirm that, all the revelations I shall make,

Shall be the truth…mixed with a little fib

And nothing but the truth

So back me Guys!

 

Now, let me proceed!

Since the group had no official name, I christened it, “The Pen Syndicate” (TPS).

Their MISSION was to steal and amass pen (especially, BiC and Kofa brands).

Their VISION was to steal the headmaster’s fountain pen. 

The formidable nature and abrupt success of TPS caused a lot of trepidation among boys and girls alike; we didn’t know where to hide our pens anymore.

There is an African proverb which Chinua Achebe captured beautifully as, “An old woman is always uneasy when dry bones are mentioned in a proverb”.

I bet if those 3 boys are not feeling guilty by now, it must be either of the following;

1. They have forgotten about their childhood exploits
2. They are still impenitent

Eii Boys!!! I lift your names on high!

Ernest Gavor (Marketing Manager of TPS), you were too crafty. I salute you!

Eli Avenyo (Field Engineer of TPS), you were too daring. I doff my hat to you!

Wisdom Eloh (Data Analyst/Engineer of TPS), you were too innovative. I prostrate before thee!

 

Let me also use this opportunity to acknowledge the following dignitaries;

Hon. Cheritta Attivor alias Obotwimlaa Ngozi Cherrie (Matriarch of the class 3 traditional area, a common enemy to the talkative boys who used to sit at the back row). I bow with respect.

Hon. Karin Keteku (Assistant Matriarch of the class 3 traditional area). I hail thee.

O.K, back to TPS,

No! Wait!

Let me first seek protection from few comrades before I continue revealing the secrets that my 3 brothers have painstakingly concealed from their girlfriends/wives over the years. If I am not well-protected, these boys will corner me somewhere and deprive me of my last Kofa pen.

Rev. Dr. Quasi Borboe (Founder and Overseer of The-5-Loaves-of-Beans-and-2-Gallons-of-Kobi International Ministries), I need your spiritual backing because I don’t feel safe on this dangerous path I am about to take.

Flt. Lt. Eng. Dela (senior watchman…. sorry…. Security man of the 66.3 artillery regiment), build a robust outpost and be on the lookout for my potential assailants.

Dr. Elorm Tsawoe and Dr. Sakyi (Chief Medical Superintendents of 'Agbenorxevimetsiafumato o' Health Center), should any of these TPS boys report to your clinic with the slightest headache or stomachache, please don’t hesitate to amputate his legs. Just explain to his family that his headache is quite complicated and have affected his umbilical cord…or…spinal cord…. or…. whatever…. I don’t know; just mention some medical jargons in order to justify the amputation. After all, they can only pursue me if they have their legs intact.

DCOP Kris & DSP Qouphy (senior supervisors of the Sokode-Etoe watchdog committee), arrest these boys even if they have not committed any crime. I will send you their photos for easy identification. Don’t worry about your gratuities; it will be ready as soon as the job is executed.

Gen. Maj. Edem Mensah & “His Royal Agbotoeness”, Emmanuel Tamakloe (Members of the Agbozume-Klikor wrestling hall of fame), I beseech you to be my bodyguards.

Barristers Retornam & Betornam (The first ever Siamese-twin court messengers of the Adaklu-Vodze Court of Appeal), twist the law in my favour in times of prosecution. I don’t mind even if you adjourn the case 100 times.

Evangelists Theodore, Godwin and Etornam B. (Founders of the Nogokpo-Must-Confess-that-Jesus Christ-is-Lord Outreach Ministries), organize a 3-week DRY fasting and prayer for my sake.

Chattered Accountants A. Kporngor, R. Doh and F. Akumia (Board of directors of the Takla-Hordzo Cosmopolitan Susu Scheme), lend me some money for a plastic surgery; I need a disguise urgently.

Transport Engineers K. Deku, E. Nutsuklo and E. Mantey (Opinion leaders of the Akatsi-Abor market truck pushers’ union), help me to travel outside the country; I need a means of transport to escape my TPS brothers after the exposé.

Now that I feel protected, let me continue…….

Gavor’s responsible was to distract people’s attention by engaging their victims in scintillating folktales (Ayiyi kple Detsorvi gli wo). He had a stockpile of interesting folktales.

Whiles the would-be victims is enthralled by the folktale, Eli will furtively move closer and “harvest” the pen. He will then quickly toss the pen over to Eloh.

Eloh will hurriedly disassemble the pen and give it nice “penicure”. The pen will then accept Jesus Christ as its lord and personal saviour; the ink level will never be same; pen number P.E. 21 could become I .E. 2¹ or P.F  1. In short, there was no way you could make out your pen after it has been “harvested” and transmogrified.

Contrary to the normal Friday’s exhibition of dirty school uniforms by the majority of primary school pupils, Eloh starts his own exhibition from Monday afternoons; his school uniform is always maculated with ink from bleeding pens.

TPS grew from strength to strength and became inexorable. It could not be tamed, maimed or blamed; any mother could even use the name “TPS” instead of Boogeyman, "Hannibal is at the gates!" or “bibi” to frighten and bring her recalcitrant child to order.

When they realized that I was becoming too nosy, the management of TPS ‘silenced’ me with some of the booty from the ‘harvest’ and I reluctantly became a fan of TPS. “If you can’t beat them, join them” (Anonymous). Most of the boys became devotees of TPS as well.

As I become a titular company lawyer, I could defend TPS to some extent…….

1. TPS was the only group that occasionally declared liberation for the talkative boys; they could choose to “harvest” the pen that belonged to the class prefect.
2. They caused postponement of class tests due to shortage of pen in the classroom.
3. Like Robin Hood of Sherwood Forest, they stole from the rich and gave to the needy; they established equity in the system.

But everything that has a beginning has an end.

TPS started moving from grace to dry grass. The main reasons for its fall were as follows;

Gavor’s database of folktales got depleted; the ‘adu madze’ sessions were becoming vapid.

Eli’s fingers were becoming fat and could no longer enter every pocket unnoticed.

Hold on! Before I talk about Eloh, I want to make it very clear to the names which I am about to mention that, I don’t tolerate opposition. And moreover, I have a lot of comrades backing me. Am I clear?!

Eloh suddenly became a gentleman because he had his eyes on one pulchritudinous girl in the class. I guess it was either Karin or Cheritta.

The fall of TPS saddened the hearts of the boys but caused a great relief among the girls.

Let us be on our feet and give the boys a standing ovation; they have exhibited a great potential of forming a successful company.

Guys, we all have the capability of causing change by pooling our individual faculties.

To my TPS brothers, even if any of you decides to take me on legally, I will just tell the judge that, “I said all these under the influence of alcohol”.

Have a lovely day, friends!

Gameli Agboada

12^th December, 2009

 

Image Source:

https://www.google.com/search?q=big+pen&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwiqr-i0oID5AhUW-BoKHdrcAT4Q2-cCegQIABAA&oq=big+pen&gs_lcp=CgNpbWcQARgAMgUIABCABDIFCAAQgAQyBQgAEIAEMgUIABCABDIFCAAQgAQyBQgAEIAEMgUIABCABDIFCAAQgAQyBQgAEIAEMgUIABCABDoGCAAQHhAIOgQIABAYOggIABCABBCxAzoLCAAQgAQQsQMQgwE6BAgAEEM6BwgAELEDEENQlwlY4hZgyiZoAHAAeACAAf4BiAHCDpIBAzItOJgBAKABAaoBC2d3cy13aXotaW1nwAEB&sclient=img&ei=qyzUYuqtF5bwa9q5h_AD&bih=880&biw=1920&rlz=1C1GCEU_enGH1007GH1007#imgrc=wKvoJJW0GPqkwM Date Accessed: 17/07/2022