The ‘Rotary’ book

 

Stamped inscription in donated books

The drums had been beaten for the lesson to be changed that late morning. My school used drums instead of a bell for announcements, and prompts to change lessons every forty, or forty-five minutes (I think). Next on the timetable was ‘Library time’. This was a period set aside every week for students to read a book from the school’s library. 

My school, Oninku Drive ‘2’ Basic school, located in Tema, has the motto Knowledge is Service. Readers are leaders, after all, and leaders are to serve, with the knowledge they acquire. For me, this library time was one of moments I looked forward to with happiness and impatience, as I got to read more books just like my friends who were patrons of the Community Library. I had accompanied a couple of them to the community library before but never got registered as a patron. 

My class prefect went for the box containing books for my class from the headmistress’ office. All the classes in my school had designated boxes based on content, book size, subject matter, et cetera. The boxes were silver in colour and had the names of the classes embossed on them for easy identification. I was one of the people to rush to the box when it was brought into the classroom, with excitement. I reached into the box and took a book to read and saw a stamped inscription, “Donated by Rotary Club of Tema”, on the first page, beneath the title of the book. I noticed other books also had the same stamped inscription on them. I do not remember the title of the book, but it was about some kid investigators who started their own private eye agency to investigate strange happenings in their neighbourhood. This was the first time I had heard of Rotary, without knowing who they were, or what it meant. I enjoyed reading the book – for the next three weeks – and went on to read other books donated by Rotary. 

Most of the books found in the libraries of government schools, at that time, were donated by individuals and organizations. I believe the case is still the same. I will always remember Gideons International and the little Bibles they distributed and donated to schools and other organizations. I never forgot the name Rotary though; and would see it again in the not too distant future. 

A couple of months later, I remember the first time some friends and I went to play around the Rotary Center in Tema, hunting grasshoppers and some rats (popularly known as ‘beela’). My friend Elvis has fond memories of such expeditions, and often teases me with it. The center was a huge place and my little mind mapped it to the book. I thought they were a book publishing firm. It will take me some years to know what Rotary is and what they are about. I will come to appreciate Rotary’s interest in Education and Literacy and the support they have given to the sector for over 100 years.

Crossing the river

 This is a recount of how death snatched my mother from me. It was part of a memoir writing project in 2004.

The woman who gave me life

It was after I had entered Junior High School that my mother started experiencing sharp pains in her joints. She therefore had to visit the hospital frequently. Within some weeks, she had a swelling on her forehead. She became weak to the extent that, she had to lean on the walls of the house to enable her walk steadily. her condition deteriorated and finally, she was bedridden. Seeing my mother in such a state upset me greatly but I had a strong conviction that she would pull through.

Due to this new development, my mother had to be moved to my grandmother's house at Community 7 in Tema. I visited my mother in the afternoons after classes. During vacations, I stayed with my grandmother to enable me attend to my mother. I washed her clothes, served her food and even bathed her. There were days I would lock myself in my room and cry. there were times also when I would get fed up with her constant calls for attention; this made me sad as she was a woman who hated to be a burden on others. I was the only 'family' she had as I am her only child.

This routine continued for the next two years. I got to my final year in Junior High School and school reopened for the first term on the 5th of January, 1998. I was then staying at my grandmother's. In that fateful Monday, I said goodbye to my mother and promised to come back on Wednesday. "Oh Kafui, why don't you come tomorrow?", she asked. I told her not to worry and that she would see me on Wednesday. she persisted for some time and finally gave in. 'Hmm' was the last sound I heard from her before I left for my father's place.

The 7th of January, a Wednesday, is a day that will always remain in my memory. It had started as a normal school day and I was getting acquainted with my new class and my new role as the Assistant School Prefect. At about 2pm, during extra classes. I felt as if a hammer had been used to hit my head. I felt feverish and started shivering vigorously. I was taken home by some of my classmates. My stepmother was rather surprised to see me home early and questioned my friends, inquiring from them what the problem was. She gave me some pain killers and I slept till evening. When I got up, I remembered I had to visit my mother, but decided to go the following day as it was rather late. My dad had returned from work and had a look on his face I had never seen before. There was a distant look in his eyes and he had that 'I pity you' stare. I didn't care much about it as I thought it had to do with my sudden sickness in the afternoon. He told me he was going to my grandmother's place and I asked him to apologize to my mother on my behalf and to tell her I would see her the following day (Thursday). All I got for an answer was a nod.

My father returned late in the night and went straight to his room. I could hear him talking in an undertone to my stepmother. That night I dreamed of my mother. In the dream, she was all smiles and advised me to be respectful, hardworking and to have faith in God.

The next morning, my stepmother called me and my step-siblings and told us that my mother was no more among the living. I sat in the sofa for almost an hour before the message sank in. I decided not to go to school. I therefore went with my stepmother to my grandmother's house. On reaching the house, my grandmother started crying loudly calling my name amid sobs, "Kofi! Oh Kofi!" I entered the room where my mother used to sleep while my stepmother exchanged greetings with the elders of the family. The room was empty. My mother's things had been packed into a trunk and the bed was neatly laid. the room smelled of Detol (a disinfectant). I quietly came out of the room and realized that everybody was looking at me. Most of the had tear-stained eyes due to the copious amounts of tears they had shed. I took a seat beside my grandmother who had finally stopped shedding tears. She pulled me closer to her and calling my mother's name, Mamavi, she told me the last word my mother uttered before her demise was my nae, Kafui. She then narrated the circumstances in which my mother died. I was struck most by the time of her death, which was at 2pm. This was the exact time I had fallen sick in school the previous day. The saying, "Blood is thicker than water", became evident to me.

I came to the realization that I had become mother-less (even though, my stepmother was around). It was then that I realized that I never really appreciated my mother as I should have when she was alive and I missed her greatly. I still do.

The date for her burial was three days after her death, 10th January, 1998. She was laid to rest at the Kpone Cemetery near Tema. It's unfortunate that I couldn't go to the cemetery to see where she was buried. I never got to visit it. May her soul rest in perfect peace. Amen.

Time is fleeting

My cousin @tillie_aryeetey shared a tweet from @Elorm_Alek inviting poets to express themselves with the picture in the tweet.

Where are the poets on the tl? Kindly express 📝 pic.twitter.com/lXcNzo9oKS

— Ɛし'0rm (@Elorm_Alek) July 29, 2020

I tried my hands at poetry (inspired by my cousin) and below is what I came up with on the spur of the moment:

He was in his prime

Yet he thought all he had was time

He toiled and toiled without a dime

Snap! His time was cut short

And the clock of his life gave up without a chime