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.

Sperosa

If you had the privilege (some may call it a misfortune) of spending your senior high school (SHS) years in a Ghanaian classroom (especially a single sex school), you would be familiar with the school alliance concept. I do not know the history about how such unions began, but I know, ever since I started schooling in a boys’ SHS, that every boys’ school in Ghana is linked to its female counterpart; vice versa is also true.

 Being a senior high school student taught me that Mfantsipim School is associated with Wesley Girls High School, that St Augustine’s College and Holy Child School have a bond, that Opoku Ware SHS and St Louis Girls’ SHS are joined by strong strings and that there is a chemistry that works like magic between St Peter’s Boys SHS (Persco) and St Rose’s Girls’SHS ! Being a student in SHS also taught me that these alliances have names : MOBAGEYHEY, APSUHOPSA, AKATASLOPSA and the famous SPEROSA. Many other alliances exist.

While some of us may look back at our senior high school years and laugh at these unions we once were very proud of, it could be quite shocking to know how real some others were about it. Some BECE candidates actually consider the kind of alliances they would love to join before making their choices in school selection!

St Peter's SHS boulevard

I completed St Peter’s Boys’ SHS in the Eastern Region of the country. My school was affiliated to St Rose’s Girls SHS, and we were proud to refer to them as our ‘girls’ school’. It was same with them. I am sure our alliance was the most popular (and still is) especially because many girls I had known from other schools during my SHS days confessed that our union name ‘Sperosa’ was one of the sweetest names they had ever heard. Now I am sure someone reading this now would want to disagree, but those would be those who never heard the ‘true stories’ as I was told.

St Peter’s rests on the Kwahu plateau, Nkwatia precisely. St Rose’s is also situated at Akwatia. The similarity between the names of the two towns misleads strangers into thinking that the two schools are pretty close. The distance from Nkwatia to Akwatia is not as close as the names are. The kind of roads our girls school plied in order to visit us was one that extended the duration of journeys. Despite this, Sperosa remained as real as air and the sight of the two schools meeting together never ceased to be beheld. Sperosa trips produced sights that were delightful to behold.

I didn’t know much about Sperosa before I got admitted to Persco, but before I left, I was sure whoever established that union must have been a very good planner. There was something exclusive about this alliance that I am sure happens nowhere else. Upon admission, freshers from both schools are given friends in the other, what is known as a ‘Sperosa link’. Some get to meet their Sperosa links during Sperosa or other inter-school programmes. Some get to meet theirs at home. Others only get to meet theirs during the annual final trip for final year catholic students in the Eastern Region—the
Grotto pilgrimage. It is during such events that Sperosa flames burn so bright that boys from Pope John’s start to wish Krobo Girls’ SHS were a catholic school (because that’s the girls’ school they are affiliated with). 

Memories of Sperosa invade my thoughts almost anytime I leave my mind to wander into days spent on the Kwahu plateau— days in St Peter’s. It reverberates memories and creates a mental gallery of nostalgic photos of St Rose’s Choir’s annual visits, the Drama Fest programmes our boys graced, the annual trips to Japan together and the Ghana-Japan Yosakoi  Festivals at East Legon. The Sperosa days during vacations cannot be left out. How could I forget the St Thomas Aquinas day trips made together and how beautiful it was when it fell on Valentine’s Day (as it did this year).

I believe a wireless bond links the Nkwatia Plateau to the Akwatia valley, because almost everything that was of St Peter’s was of St Rose’s, too and no matter how many times that link has been threatened, it is strengthened the more when the two schools meet.

And…lest I forget, I have witnessed Sperosa weddings, too—several of them. You’ll know you’ve attended one when you hear someone respond “In a class of our own” to the shout of “Sperosa!”

AFTER PERSCO’S EVICTION FROM THE NSMQ, 2014

 

“Tell them when you get to school… tell Abuni… tell the SP’s… tell the teachers. Let them start learning the ‘nonfa’. It’s serious…” Those were the words of Jeffery, the ASP 2 (Assistant School Prefect 2) of St Peter’s SHS (PERSCO) for the 2014/2015 academic year. I had met him a few hours after arriving on the campus of the University of Ghana, Legon, a day after PERSCO’s eviction from the National Science and Maths Quiz (NSMQ). He, alongside some of the ‘quiz boys, were returning from the ‘N’ block, where the contest was being held.

 He complained bitterly about PERSCO’s inability to win the contest the previous day, letting Opoku Ware SHS make mincemeat of us, ditto Keta SHS. “The quiz boys are not trained right from the start,” he lamented, attributing our eviction to this.

 Also, following, as part of the long procession from the ‘N’ block to the Night Market area, were some students of Mfantsiman Girls SHS, to whose school PERSCO had suffered defeat the previous year in the semi-finals.  Jeffery beckoned me to have a shufti at them, then, said, “These are form two students like you”. He resented the fact that PERSCO boys always started training when the competition was a few weeks away and not right from form one. Other schools bring junior students whom they hope would contest in the nearby future to observe proceedings in order to be conversant with what actually happens in the quiz room.

 As we walked, I was not fully buried in the chat we were having, but one eye of mine always strayed to check whether any vehicle would pass by, with the conductor shouting “Achimota”, so that I’d leave to board it. I caught a glimpse of my Elective Maths teacher, who had sacrificed his time to be with the quiz boys; who by so doing, had cost us our lessons on Trigonometry, but who, would have to return in vain. 

 I mused on PERSCO’s inability to claim the title for the third time, being runners up four times! The last time the boys had been at the finals was in 2006, when they were beaten by PRESEC, Legon, by five points.

 The passers-by continued their seemingly orderly procession, and I spotted one of PERSCO’s representatives, who had suffered defeat the previous day, from afar. I recalled one university student asking me, that afternoon, about the reason for our abysmal performance, after seeing the badge on my breast pocket. I resent the disgrace, though I did not show it. But I still believe the quiz boys did their best. It is up to the school to do the same. PERSCO must win!