Dead people.
That’s why we were suffering; dead people.
Founders’ Day is a day set aside to honour the people who made Motown what it is, especially the big three, the men who built the school out of nothing, thereby earning their positions on the school cloth; a boulevard each in their honour; a house named after each of them, oh, and a place in the hearts of many colonial-era Ghanaians.
I am talking about Kwegyir Aggrey, Gordon Guggisberg, and Alex Fraser, the founding fathers of Motown.
Every year, on Founders’ Day, during the first weekend in March, Motown goes into a celebratory mood. The year groups from twenty-five and fifty years earlier (1985 and 1960 respectively back in 2010) come and handle the celebrations.
Old students come around and we have a torchlight procession that ends in a big ol’ bonfire night.
By torchlight, I don’t mean flashlight; we don’t roll like that. I mean actual fire. We can’t use flashlights to light a bonfire, now can we?
Then there’s a big cadet parade and traditional durbar, which, for whatever reason, Ghanaian presidents and ministers love to attend.
The senior boys are made to run around bare-chested, smeared in baby oil, while singing some weird songs nobody remembers a week later.
You should have seen the workouts Gbewee and the rest did in anticipation.
If you had man-boobs, your dignity was at stake, but if you showed up with a solid chest and a six-pack, it was the best day of your life! The girls would line up to take pictures with you, and rub their hands against your rock-solid abs. Good times, chale, good times.
The celebration ends with a beautiful Thanksgiving service at the Aggrey chapel on Sunday. It’s generally a fun weekend, but the work that has to be put in beforehand is pretty much “hellish”, to say the least.
This, my dear friends, plus my mildly broken heart, is why I joined Motown’s cadet corps.
General Bombo
I’d tried the cadet thing in basic school: marching wasn’t that hard, plus I became assistant band major, which was kind of cool.
However, I never wanted to become a soldier, except for a few brief moments of childish excitement while I was watching G.I. Joe. That lasted what, like thirty minutes?
The point is, I had no interest whatsoever in military matters, not to talk of the cadet, which I pretty much considered playing “military pretend”.
So how exactly did I end up in the Motown Cadet Corps?
Meet General Bombo.
Bombo was a “senior-senior”. Get it? He’d had to retake his senior year.
Bombo was the cadet commander, hence the title ‘General’. ‘Bombo’ was his favourite alternative cuss word. So if he ever said “Bombo you”, he was probably cussing you out.
Also, remember that I was in a weird emotional state: Akua was not talking to me, she had been avoiding me for weeks, so I was gullible and in need of some companionship. Now, back to what Bombo said…
“Cadets no dey work on Saturdays oo.”
He wasn’t even talking to me. He was trying to convince someone else to join the cadets. I didn’t care.
“Ah, Bombo”, I asked, “you make serious? Cadets no dey job Saturdays?”
“Yeah”, he replied, “we dey jog, so you’ll be exempted from work.”
Where you see laziness, I saw an opportunity. No work? I didn’t even hear the jogging bit.
“Oh saa, I’ll be there next week”, I said, and just like that, I became a member of the cadet corps.
Tribal War
My joining the cadet meant that I wouldn’t be part of the Founders’ Day tribal procession, or tribal war, as we called it, during the durbar that year.
This was a good thing because of how tribal war worked: all students would be pseudo-randomly divided into five ethnic groups; Akan, Ewe, Fante, Ga and Northern. Then for like a month, we would spend our time, almost every day after class, learning songs in languages we did not understand and their accompanying dances.
It was stress.
Also, ‘shaku-shaku’ had not been invented so I could not dance. At all.
As if that wasn’t enough, they put me, Ewe boy, in the Northern tribe.
I was so annoyed: first of all, the north is not a tribe, duh, it is a geographical direction.
Secondly, and still related to the first point, the north had so many tribes, and so many languages, that I felt I was learning to sing in tongues.
The third reason was really the simplest, their dances were just too hard. So much jumping and twisting and turning, there was even one dance where you had to jump and use your knees to touch your shoulders. You read that right. My lanky frame could not keep up.
I chose marching over dancing right away. Of course, this meant that on Saturdays, I was up at 5AM jogging around the second largest senior high school campus in Ghana.
We didn’t only jog; we would ‘shii jama’: the art of musical noise-making with loud clapping and shouting of what was often carefully disguised profanity. When I finally understood some of the words I’d been singing I bought mouthwash.
The comradery was solid though, and every Saturday morning as we jogged past the headmistress’ house we would sing about how the dining hall food sucked.
It’s funny, Motown is actually known to have the best D-hall food in Ghana… but students can’t be pleased.
Our favourite song had the lines “Koko
However, contrary to Bombo’s advertisement, Eben, the Aggrey house prefect, didn’t give two hoots about the cadets. I always came back tired from jogging and still had to scrub. I knew in my heart of hearts that I was in the middle of my first and last term in the cadet corps.
In fact, the only thing that kept me there was my phobia for northern dances. The next year I would just swerve the northerners and work my way into the Fante tribe, but there was no way I was going to stay a cadet after that year’s parade was over.
Founders’ Day Arrives
And so the day arrived, we put on our uniforms and marched in the morning, then we stood under the hot sun for close to two hours, because apparently if you can do that, you can go to war.
Now I should let you know that my foot size is 45.5 (EUR). The biggest boots the cadets had were size 44. I almost died standing in those tight boots. Everyone was watching too; all these nice girls. I couldn’t be the boy who toppled over and disgraced himself. Abi you guys know me…
I lie! Come and see me praying, “Father, your Word says, ‘Let he who thinks he stands be careful, lest he fall.’ Daddy, give me grace to stand.”
Nobody can tell me God doesn’t answer prayer, because, my people, I stood. Hallelujah!
I felt like those dadaba kids who sing the “Ring a Ring o’ Roses” nursery rhyme and then end it with an enthusiatic “I didn’t fall down! I didn’t fall down!” I was pumped!
And just as we ended, as I was about to kick off my one-and-half-size-too-small boots and blow air on my cramped toes, she showed up…
Yup!
Akua showed up. And she was smiling! I mean, it wasn’t a full grin, she looked sort of amused, but I could see dimples 😍. After almost a month of icy coldness, dimples at last!!!
But I had to be careful. I’d made too many mistakes already; I contained my excitement.
“A man in a uniform. Nice”, she remarked, “You were looking good out there. How come you didn’t tell me you were a cadet?”
REALLY?! REEEEAAALLYYYYY???!!! After weeks of pretending I didn’t exist, how come I didn’t what?! This girl paahn.
But I kept my cool. “Thanks, it’s not a big deal.”
I treid to be modest, and I intentionally avoided her question. I wasn’t going to be extra today. Plus I could feel my toes going into the foot version of a cardiac arrest. I began to lightly shift my weight from foot to foot, doing everything possible so I wouldn’t fall over right there and then. I’d already dropped my rifle, so I had nothing to lean on. We used real guns by the way.
“So, ermm, I got your ‘poem'”, she laughed as she did actual air-quotes. Then the funniest thing happened: she quoted my limerick word for word:
“I’ve been silly, my speech was improper,
When I see you I get nervous and stutter,
But the last time I tried,
I made Ama cry,
I’m sorry. What is life without Aqua”
“You memorized it?” I asked in shock.
“Well, it did have a nice ring to it, plus I’ve had two weeks of practice.”
This girl had me confused. Two weeks without a reply, and all of a sudden, poetry recital? I just couldn’t understand.
“Oh, cool”, I said, a little uncertain. “I should let you know though, these boots are killing my feet right now, and there’s a hole in my socks that I don’t want you to see, so I have to get out of here right now.”
She thought I was being funny. You should have seen my socks.
“I’ll see you around?” I asked.
She nodded in affirmation. It looked like I’d been forgiven, but I was starting to get weird vibes about this girl’s emotional balance. I’d have to be careful.
Fortunately for me, Aggrey house is right next to the cadet square, so I was able to walk to the house and pull off those demonic boots before my feet became worthy of amputation.
I was so done with the cadets.
Akua of the Akan Tribe
I thought I’d had enough Akua drama for the day. Boy, was I wrong.
By 3 PM the durbar had started. It was a colourful myriad of Ghanaian culture and Motown traditions: people were singing, and dancing, and chanting, and cheering, and then the Akan lead dancers took the floor. Akua was one of them.
When you hear the term “graceful dancer”, do you understand? No, you do not.
If you have not seen Akua dance the Adowa, you have not seen a graceful dancer.
Herh! The girl can daaaaance! And because she was in traditional dancing garb, not her usual buoyant uniform I saw something about her I’d never seen before: curves.
I was smitten. Chai! 
Seeing her move was like watching a musical plotting of a sine wave. If ever I have felt bewitchment, it must have been then.
My eyes were fixed on her as I watched from the sidelines. Then for a brief moment, she looked in my direction — our eyes locked, and then she winked.
She winked oo! Like, she winked la!
My brain scattered.
Two boys behind me began to argue over whom she had winked at. They wished.
At the end of the durbar, as I made my way towards the dining hall for supper with Obodai, I heard my name, “Kodzoooo!”
Obodai just sighed and left. I think he was tired of me always ditching him first.
I turned around, and sure enough, it was Akua, still in the traditional Akan attire.
“So”, she began, “earlier today, I meant to say that I overreacted, and I haven’t been fair to you. Also, Nhyie put in a few good words for you, and that poem was funny. So yeah, I’m sorry for getting so worked up for so long.” Then she leaned close enough that I could feel her breath and whispered, “I think it’s the hormones. Puberty is tough.”
I burst out laughing. That was the funniest thing I’d heard all week.
“Alright”, I agreed, “we’ll blame the hormones. But you were great out there today oo.”
“Thanks”, she replied with a shy smile. You could tell that she already knew she was a very good dancer.
“‘Bithaaaa! We have to go.”
It was Nhyira. I smiled at her. She’d come through after all.
She smiled back and waved, then Akua said good bye and turned to head to the West with her friend.
If I continued to watch her from behind as she walked away in that dress (or more accurately, cloth), my mind would have roamed into uncharted waters. I turned away out of respect and ran to catch up with Obodai.
Good things happen on Founders’ Day.
