Truly, I Say unto You: Biiibiiibesi
I never replied to that goddamn Kambuu message.
Nansis!
And so far, so worrying. Still, no phone call, no SMS, no WhatsApping, no letter, and no fax – basically, no nothing. Naturally, I lost vim to check on her again. I never went there again until school resumed in mid-September, 2018.
Welcome to KNUST.
The best of beauties have converged at Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology (KNUST), the best university in Ghana and West Africa.
[If you are from Legon and you don’t agree with this, please go burn the sea]
To quote the words of Okomfo Kwadee: “girls girls a landi.” That is just how it is when the academic year begins. Fresh ladies everywhere—tuntum a tuntum, kɛkɛ a kɛkɛ—coming from every corner of the world. KNUST, most likely, will have students from about 20 different nationalities.
Oh sure! If your certificate has any other logo and not the eagle on the previous page, please re-apply. Without this eagle, what you attended is just a tertiary institution; it’s not a university.
No wonder every student in Ghana wants to attend KNUST. Thanks to KNUST Trump, Prof. Obiri-Danso—small body but big brains. The transformation on campus is superb!
I remember our first meeting with him when he assumed office. I looked at his stature, looked at the outgoing Pro-VC, and I quietly said in my mind:
“This is a natural mistake.”
Who am I to say this aloud?
Anyway, lemme shut my udiot mouth before it gets me into trouble. “Abotan so atoro,” as my late sister, Lubabatu, would say.
Fast forward—Trump has done a great job!
Aside from the massive infrastructural developments to accommodate Nana Addo’s adopted children in 2020, the entire campus has been artistically designed, and the freshers love it. Everywhere, ladies are taking selfies and admiring the natural beauty that can only be found in 3D printing or Jet Li movies.
You could see the guys too—the dons from across the country. The Akatakyies and the Amanfos, the Mmbrantɛɛ and the Abrempons, the Bleoooo and the Santa Crucians, the Blue Magicians, the Holicos, the Ahotefos, the Motowns, the Pojoss, the Nobles, the Saints, and many others—not forgetting Mansec and Wamsetech, and finally Almighty TISSSEC, my alma mater.
Note: Currently, TISSEC (Tamale Islamic Senior High School) is the best SHS in the country.
[Once again, feel free to burn the sea if you don’t agree]
To continue, all the best schools in the country are “repping”, and they are behaving as if they are in their final year—guy guy nkoaa.
What they failed to realise was that they were alone on campus. The continuing students were not yet in.
Beyond that, it’s still easy to fish freshers out just by the type of questions they ask. No matter how “guy” you are, on your first day on KNUST campus, wo bɔ da, wo bɛyɛ John.
You can know this guy is an udiot from Achimota College. He will be standing in front of Kingdom Books and still be asking for directions to Commercial Area. That is like standing at Kejetia and still asking for directions to Kejetia. Or to use a better example, that is like standing at Otu Park Roundabout, Wamfie, and still asking for directions to Otu Park.
“It’s too far unless you take Uber,” I once told a guy-guy student who was in Conti uniform, walking with shoulders high and chest out.
Akoa yɛ John.
Aboagyewaa hasn’t fortified you—how can you pretend you’re highly inflammable?
These were the scenes that delighted my soul right when school resumed, up to when continuing students reported a few weeks later.
Everything was normal until the D-Day—22nd October 2018—when the dream I had in the previous chapter manifested.
The D-Day
On that fateful morning of 22nd October 2018, I planned to visit the Waakye seller once more. Man must never give up until the bones rot.
I will have to find out why she hasn’t called still.
The 22nd of every month, as usual, is a busy day at the Finance Office. The month is ending and, as indicated earlier, it comes with a lot of payroll activities. A limited staff working to make sure over 3,500 staff get paid is no easy job. And this includes lecturers, senior lecturers, associate professors, full professors, chartered accountants, and many other professionals.
If one person sef no get pay koraa, wahala don come.
So there is no excuse not to do diligent work. We must always make sure we dot all our Ts and cross our Is. Failure to do that will land us in trouble.
Anyway, let’s get back to the D-Day.
My boss gave me a task to complete in Paymaster. This time around, it was tax relief, not off-campus allowance.
“Lemme clear this work quickly before 11 a.m., then go for Waakye right after. I must meet Zainab today, dɔɔlɛdɔɔlɛ,”
I said to myself.
As I sat in the Data Room, working on the tax relief, something big was happening outside. I had no clue—not at all. And it was massive.
In order not to reinvent the wheel, I will reproduce a post I shared in the Finance Staff WhatsApp Group a week after 22nd October 2018.
Enjoy!
Begin Flashback!
Today is exactly one week after the infamous incident—the Katanga-featuring-Conti demonstration to get their hall reversed to an all-male hall. We pray it never happens again. And we thank God we are still alive.
“It could have been anything,” as their slogan goes.
Even today, a week after, I still have that mental picture, and my heart occasionally does “kum kum”, as if I’ve seen the Waakye seller from a distance. For the first time in life, something frightened me to the core.
Whilst at the Data Room, struggling to figure out which Is to dot and Ts to cross, I heard voices at the reception.
Like the tortoise in the old Primary 6 English textbook—“Kaunda can’t be bothered”—I never minded. The voices intensified, but still Kaunda never bothered. I was glued to my first-born (laptop).
“Eii, eii, they are spoiling the cars,” someone said.
Well, looks like something exciting is happening outside. Lemme have a sneak peek.
I stepped out and saw the unusual feeling. Everyone had already assembled at the reception, including our main boss, the Finance Officer, whom I will talk about in a minute. So don’t sleep, please.
“This is not good for my heart,” I said. I got closer to the gate and mahn, things were falling apart at the administration side.
“They’ve spoiled my car,” Mr. Evans, the Head of Payroll, lamented.
“Barima nsu,” but you could see that Mr. Evans’ eyes were not barima eyes. They changed colour—red. Tears didn’t drop, but it was clear that all was not well with his soul. Some people were already crying; Sister Bridget is an example. I saw Sister Gifty comforting her.
“Eii, they are coming here ooo, let’s lock the gate,” someone shouted, and as quickly as possible, the gate was locked.
Unfortunately, Mr. Suglo, the Head of the Student Section, was locked out. He couldn’t make it in. We will try and get him on the phone to narrate his own story, but for now, let’s focus on what happened inside.
I looked through the window and saw the battalions. I saw unused energy in real youth. I pulled one curtain to close the louvers so they wouldn’t have a view of the inside. I tried pulling the other curtain and mahn… “Kummmmmm!” I felt the sound of a big object hit the main gate.
Kai! Homm! Okwaduo me ko!
I hopped straight into the washroom.
There I met a few other people, but I can’t remember them. I didn’t feel secure enough in the washroom, so I hopped out and straight into the payroll room—an empty room. I came out, stood on the veranda, thinking of which direction to go next.
Next, I entered the Data Room again to see if I could break the window and exit through the back door.
Never!! All the windows were iron-rodded.
I came out again, stood in front of the payroll room, and then I felt the sound of another big stone crashing the payroll louvers.
Instantly, three people came out of that room.
“Ah, was it not the same room I entered and found it empty?” I asked myself, but it was too late to think about answers.
I galloped straight into the opposite room—the Student Section.
“No one in this room too; I can’t die alone,” I said to myself.
I came out and saw Mr. Evans in total confusion.
“Why are they coming here too?” he asked me with a sorrowful voice. His voice clearly showed all hope was lost.
“Yoo, wo deɛ gyina hɔ,” I said to him.
I left him and rushed back to the washroom. At this time, stones were flying from every direction, and one could feel heavy objects hitting the main gate. We were surrounded and under siege.
“If they enter, they will kill those on the ground floor first,” I said to myself.
With the speed of Usain Bolt, I rushed to the first floor.
The whole thing was—I didn’t feel any room was safe enough. So on the first floor too, I went straight to the washroom, and once again, it was empty.
“After killing all those on the ground floor, these udiots will come to the first floor, and here I am alone in the washroom. They will finish me easily,” I udiotly thought.
With no decrease in speed, I rushed to the last floor, and at the far end of that floor was Gifty.
“Get to the washroom, udiot,” she told me.
She held my hand and pulled me into the female washroom. There I found Gideon and one other guy.
“Lock the gate and be silent. They will not enter the washroom,” Gifty said, and we did exactly that.
We locked the washroom, and no one coughed, waiting for our death sentence.
In 20 minutes, we realised the woyo-waya had shifted to the finance car park, and we were still alive—our heads intact on our necks!
Alhamdulillah!
I shook my head twice to see if I was dreaming. “It’s real, man—we are hiding in the female washroom,” I realised.
Gradually, we got our senses back.
“Lemme try to see what they are doing.” I came out and giraffed through the conference room and watched how innocent cars were being damaged like a hobby. One of them threw a stone twice—it never hit the targeted car. It was the third one that did, and he was just about three metres away from the car. I think that was the Registrar’s car.
“Wow, they are so drunk that they can’t even stone something as big as a car,” I said to myself as I watched them.
When there was no sign of incoming stones, I came down to the ground floor, entered the Data Room, picked my laptop and charger.
“To hell with tax relief,” I said.
At the entrance, I saw Hope, our security guard.
“Jack, where you go dey, and where is your uniform?” I asked him.
“Hwɛ, I comot my uniform, run go hide koraa.”
“Danniɛma!” I said.
On my way home, my heart was still doing “kum kum kum.” At Tech Junction, I met Mr. George (Adwumawura).
Adwumawura: Eii Kaunda, ɛnnyɛ deɛ, yɛn ma yɛn ho tiri nkwa.
Kaunda: Yɛyɛm oo! How was your experience?
Adwumawura: Eii, hmmm!! I was hiding under a table ooo at the cash office. We were all under tables.
OK!!! It seems “under the table” was the trick that worked for everyone.
Then I realised why I didn’t see anyone when I entered the payroll room and Student Section. They were all hiding under tables.
From Tech Junction, I went home, and that ended the day.
Not just the closure, a curfew was imposed, and the area was declared a security zone:
“The Regional Minister, Simon Osei-Mensah, addressing the press after the meeting, announced that a curfew had been put in place, effective 6:00 p.m. Monday.
He added that from 6:00 a.m. to 12:00 noon Tuesday, all students, including student leaders, should vacate the campus premises. Only foreign students are spared. According to the Minister, a single hostel, which will be protected by security, will be provided for them.”
— Source: myjoyonline.com
And the effect?
Very terrible!
The shutdown shattered my dream.
The Katanga boys messed up the whole plan. What that means is that I have to wait until only God knows when to meet my Waakye seller again.
Abufuw sɛm!!