The Boy From Atuabo (From My Notes On Facebook)

Yesterday I went to Ghana's 57th Independence Day durbar at the Takoradi Jubilee Park to do a radio report.

Present at the ceremony was the western regional minister, representatives from the regional house of chiefs, and other dignitaries. The programme started at exactly 9 am. as the minister inspected and observed a march past by various security forces, trade union groups as well as pupils and students of selected junior high and senior high schools.

All three main stands of the Takoradi Jubilee Park were full to capacity with members of the general public particularly school children who were present to support their colleagues in the parade.

Highlighting on the theme for the celebrations, the regional minister Enoch Teye Addo cautioned citizens to desist from corrupt practises in order for the nation to achieve economic independence.

Awards were presented to best school cadet corps as well as students who excelled in last year's basic education and senior high school examinations.

James Kwasi Mensah, a first year student of Nsein Senior High School was one of the award winners. When I saw Kwasi and the other award recipients taking photographs with the regional minister, I remembered something. "I have met him before." I met him at another award-receiving programme at Axim. Hess, an American oil company in partnership with Ghana National Petroleum Corporation (GNPC) was assisting "brilliant but needy" students in the Nzema East area. Kwasi, who finished Atuabo Methodist Junior High School received the biggest honour for getting "eight ones" in the Basic Education Certificate Examination. As he walked by the 'media men' to receive his award from the country's Minister of Energy and Petroleum, I quickly whispered "ayɛ adze," which means "well done."

On the front rows were many white people, apparently 'PR' seat-filling staff of the company who were wearing the same branded t-shirts and caps as the children. Those white people looked very modest unlike the few of our sisters who came with them and were acting as ushers. The whites were simple. They looked like they were on a religious mission.

Kwasi was the last of the children to be mentioned. My interest was revived as soon as I heard "Atuabo." I had been fiddling with my phone the entire 'roll call.'

I watched him climb the podium in his 'tinabu' trousers and over-sized Hess t-shirt, which was so large it looked like some 'long sleeves.'

Atuabo, Atuabo. Yes, Atuabo. I had been there the previous week. I went with a team of journalists for an expert briefing on the progress of work on the new gas processing plant. I had a good time at the project site. I was able to interact with some members of parliament who were also present for the same reason. It was a great trip. I remember everything about Atuabo. The canoes. The many 'foonoo.' Those many coconut trees. The small but cement plastered houses -- you might never see the typical Ghana village mud house in Atuabo. That long, dusty, untarred road. Looking through a window of the air-conditioned press van, I saw a few schools by the road. 'Atuabo Methodist' is the only one I remember. It's just on your left hand side if you're exiting the community. It's a weak structure : you can see when you stare for a few seconds. Just another village 'syto' school. Just another place to waste your youth.

Kwasi's presentation was accompanied by lots of applause and photographs. He was also re-invited to give the vote of thanks, which so far is the most memorable of such a thing I have ever witnessed. He spoke like one of those 'head boy speeches' you only hear in Mfantsipim.

When I spoke to him after the programme, I asked him why he chose Nsein Senior High School above all the bigger ones. He told me his dream was to go to Tarsco (Tarkwa Senior High School) but the scholarship package wouldn't support him if he goes out of the district. "Your grades qualify you to go to all the top schools". "Like Achimota, like Mfantsipim..." Obviously I was a bit disappointed. Then I encouraged him with a lot of kind words. I spoke like they were my last words. Deep down I felt he will be great.

Then yesterday. 6th March. Independence Day. Takoradi. It was no fun occasion. Soldiers were 'never at ease.' They wore berets and stood in the sun and shook like it was some form of punishment. As the minister delivered his speech, there was a power outage. PA system shut. I quickly pressed the pause button of my voice recorder: so fast that my machine resumed recording. I double-tapped. Fed up already. I left it to tape the 'wahala'. After all I edit everything. After a few seconds, I gave up on that one too. I pressed 'stop' on the recorder. I can't be recording 'nothing'. It will drain the batteries. I wondered what the soldiers were thinking too. About a minute later, the speakers were powered again. Regional minister clears throat. "Fellow countrymen, I will go over what I was saying once again." Immediately there was a chorus of "ebei" and "eii" and "eish" and "aarh" from the direction of the soldiers. I started laughing. The minister was talking about Mahatma Gandhi's seven cardinal rules of whatever whatever. But it seems no one wanted to hear more. Not the soldiers. Not the civilians. I was listening and recording and even though I was interested in Gandhi's philosophy, I knew it won't be part of my report.

Then the sellers. Adults and children carrying a variety of ugly things in trays and pans of anything from sachet water to peeled and 'polythened' sugarcane. I saw a girl (about nine years old) carrying something that looked like yellow gari mixed with sugar and milk powder, tied in long pellets like how groundnut is sold now at twenty pesewas. I took photos of those child traders. I took many photos.

No one should tell you where's heaven or hell. Just look around where you are. You'll see yourself in one of those places.

It was all disgusting and shameful and full of hopelessness until I saw the young brother from Atuabo again. There came hope. Light. And light. It revived my hope in the future of this nation. It reminded me of Kwame Nkrumah. It was a good day.