In Loving Memory Of The Storm ....

In Loving Memory Of The Storm, The Swing, Her Love And Touch.

The merciless storm-“our ‘zingili’ has fly”

“The wind whistles by

Whilst trees bend to let us pass

Clothes were like tattered flags

Flying off

To expose dangling breast...”

(Excerpt from David Rubadiri’s “African thunderstorm”)

David Rubadiri’s “African Thunderstorm” was my favourite poem as a student in Wesley Grammar School for two funny reasons: First, its simple but energetic rhythm reminds me of a simple but energetic friend of mine at Tefle in the Volta region. At the river side, my friend, Agbesi was simply merciless to a tilapia that shook briskly in the young fisherman’s net as no gains were made as far as the little creature’s freedom was concerned. The wagging and jiggling of the fish even placed more smiles on the face of Agbesi as he wrapped his tiny but energetic limbs around the net. Beaming with smiles, both of us set off for the house as we grilled our catch and matched it perfectly with “Akple” and hot pepper.Poor fish!

The second reason is that the poem which recounts the ferocity of a storm on innocent victims reminds me of how another friend of mine, Oswald, turned a classroom scene within a twinkle of an eye into that of a theatre where Efo Kojo Mawugbe’s “Aluta Continua” is being staged, or if you like, into a scene almost like that of a market day at Mallam Atta in Accra Newtown. In 1998 while I was about to enter class three, our school (Abeka “4” Primary) was rocked by a storm which ripped off the roofing sheets. As efforts were underway to secure for us a temporal place, we (Oswald and I) visited Eugene (my big brother) in his school. Upon arrival, we met a teacher in Eugene's class who asked why we were not in school at that time of the day. Quickly, Oswald managed to respond rather loudly, which in my candid opinion deserves an arrest for messing up the Queen's language. Hear him: 'Please madam our “zingili” (to wit roofing sheet in Ga language) has fly’. The class which was once quiet suddenly begun to laugh out their heads off amidst cheers and jeers at Oswald, who ignorant of the atrocity he had committed against the English language, beamed with smile and confident- loving eyes. Although the teacher also had his share of hilarity, he was quick to put Oswald on the right path. And ever since then, any time Eugene's friends met him; 'our “zingili” has fly’ never escaped their lips.

A swing-life could not afford to trot on the spot

After the “Zebra and Cobra” rains that sent the roofing sheets of my school jump from its place of abode like a caged bird that had been released, the school authorities decided that we join the various schools on the cluster (I speak of the Fadama cluster of schools) as the safest net to pitch in order to save us from trailing behind our colleagues. And the only way such an arrangement was going to succeed was for us to join our sister schools in small sizes. It was here that the union which was formed since class one peeled off like a corroded metal. The ties of friendship had no say in the court of my Class Teacher. I was posted to Abeka “2” primary school and my response was a sad gripped “Yes Madam”.To borrow the popular Legon jargon,I went to perch. But it was in my new school that I discovered a gem who transformed my life, the one who changed the average boy to become an excellent student with county miles ahead of his colleagues whom he once trailed behind in class.

Her love and touch

I speak of a woman who changed my life around. I speak of Ms Owusu Ansah the class three teacher whose class my self and a handful of colleagues were asked to perch as we waited the home-coming of the roof in exile. Her love towards the us (‘ the refugee pupils’) was simply peerless. She treated us like one of her own and in my own tinted lenses, loved us even the more. She treated us like orphans who needed more love than the kids whose parents were around. Her correction of our wrongs was clothed in love. Her word of encouragement was that we could make it no matter the odds that stirred us in the face. My relationship with her went beyond the four corners of the classroom as she got to know more about my family and forged a very strong relationship with my mother. She told her of what I needed and even helped my parents out when they lacked the financial backbone. I will ever remain forever grateful of the pioneer of my academic excellence. It was in her class that I began to put up sterling performance and found myself among the ivory tower of young scholars who represented their school in quiz competitions and debate. I am not in the position to decipher how magical and charming her treatment came about. But simply put, her contribution to my academic, moral and social life, is too voluminous for this paper or my tongue to impregnate.

So…

I believe that there are countless Ms.Owusu Ansah’s who have created impact in the life of many people worldwide. As we celebrate our teachers, I employ every person under the sun whose life has being impacted by a teacher to say a prayer for these unique assets of humanity and if possible, present a gift to a dear teacher. I also appeal humbly to the government, to strenghten their efforts to better the lives of our teachers. For as this year’s theme for the world teachers day goes: “Recovery begins with teachers”.I say ‘Ayekoo’ to all teachers and a zillion thank you for their love and touch.