Music, Galamsey and I (Part 1)

I mistook ‘crotchet’ for ‘crochet’ the first time I was introduced to music theory. I was in primary four then. I found it hard to comprehend that symbols that seemed all Greek to me were being used by my teacher, who had opted to teach me the rudiments of music, to play the keyboard. After being taught basic music theory and sight reading, I understood that the former (crotchet) was a note in music and the latter had got something to do with fabrics.

I look back at my laughable beginnings sometimes and smile at the many times my little fingers tried to reach an octave on the piano.This man I called my teacher was helping me, it was sad that I could not see that. He taught me for free— he took nothing.  It is embarrassing to say that I took that for granted, but knowing how immature I was then makes not-so-serious those discomfiting memories.

There was one thing MrObeng (that was his name) told me, and it has remained something I would do as an appreciation of his selfless volunteering work. He said, during one of the afternoon periods of rehearsal in a Presbyterian chapel somewhere in the Eastern Region of Ghana, that it was necessary to pass on what he taught me to others.

He enunciated the necessity of such an undertaking, because of how ephemeral and unpredictable the life span of every human being was. Anyone could pass away anytime, sending into the grave whatever was imbibed, experienced…learnt on earth. It was thus necessary to pass on whatever he taught me, no matter how much I knew.

Upon graduation from senior high school (SHS) in the second quarter of this year, I was set to barter-trade the little knowledge I had acquired for any meagre earning that would embrace it. I felt that I could earn as well as gain more experience in what I loved doing very much (teaching others what I knew (especially if it was music)).

I was glad to have been invited to organize a choir out of a group of junior high school students for a choral competition that was a few weeks away. This was similar to the role I had played as the president of my school choir while at SHS, except that choirmaster roles were to be played here, and those I were to work with were kids who had never joined a choir before or knew the differences between treble, alto, tenor or bass whatsoever. I was to travel to Noyem, where the school was—a village. I abandoned my routine watch of the series of National Science and Maths Quiz contests and left Legon for this village where my assignment awaited me.

A class with the prospective sight readers.

These supposed ‘kids’ were students, some of which were older than I. I had to trip to and fro the school premises every day, training a three-pupil group of sight-readers, too (which was cancelled later). There were three songs in all to teach, which was a bit difficult because of the inexperience of my supposed ‘choristers’. It became more difficult when their little interest began to dwindle to a frazzle, and much more difficult when I began to get frustrated from the aura of disinterest they exuded.

But then I girded up my loins, remembering my teacher’s words, that knowledge had to be imparted, and seeing the potential greatness written on the faces of some of these but-then stubborn ones. I did my best in preparing them. Noyem RC Basic School Choir placed third among the ten schools that participated in the competition, where only five schools had participated in the choral music category.

Although I was not impressed, I deemed the results okay for the calibre of people I had worked with. I realized they had actually been listening to me when after the competition, they now longed for a better position and would guarantee seriousness.

A section of primary school students from another village after the competition. Observe their mode of transport home after the programme.

In the end, I had managed to, at least, calm some angry hearts, experience life in a village and made impact through the many talk sessions I had had with them in the course of teaching. I had learnt patience through my enduring of the many rounds of laughter at my declining voice as a result of having had to shout so many times for silence. I left with a terrible voice, but I was happy I fulfilled a mission.