Voyager, vivre et expérience [1]: Where Congo Rep. beats Ghana hands-down

Ça va? Quick French lessons to kick this off. Voyager is "to travel," vivre is "to live," and expérience is to "have a feel of / to experience." Maintenant, on y vas is "now let's go on."

Time they say flies. It does when you are having fun – others have often clarified. Fact is life cannot be all fun and the opposite cannot also be wholly true, a bit of the sweet and the bitter brings out the real taste of the buffet called life.

So as I have repeatedly blasted in a number of my blog posts, February 2018 marked two years since I stepped foot on Congo soil. Subtract my holiday between March – April 2017 and it’s been 23 full months of hustle, struggle, highs and lows and eeeerm…. good life and cool cash.

Twenty – three months if you ask me is a good enough length of time for a person to make at least basic observations about the Congolese society – the good, the bad, the shocking and of course the ugly.

Under the purview of this piece, I look at the good sides of the French – speaking Central African oil producer juxtaposing it to what I had known of Ghana and Accra for all the years that I grew up – schooling and working in the capital of my birthplace.

I’m based in Pointe Noire (as if you didn’t already know), it’s the equivalent of Ghana’s oil – rich Western Region. But let’s agree to equate Pointe Noire to Accra in the context of this piece, deal? If you didn’t know capital of Congo Republic is Brazzaville.

Our Chinese built dope roundabout Rond Point Lumumba leading to Grande Marche.

Now to the substantive matters. In the first of two parts, I present 5 top reasons why Congo (Pointe Noire) is superior in terms of standard of living, comfort and peace of mind.

1. Price Stability – #Breathtaking

90% of the stuff I bought in March 2016 still bear the same price, worse case they have marginal – very marginal increase. If a person fails to plan and project his finances whiles living in Congo – he’d possibly not be able to do so anywhere.

Ghana and price sprinting, week in – week out even if the sun ‘delays’ a little before rising fuel will take a step and all the rest shall, will, must follow.

2. Paper and foil packaging vs. Ghana’s rubber and rubber – #PolytheneDiscipline

Waakye (beans and rice cooked together) is one of the main foods in Ghana so let’s use it. If you wanted to buy waakye in Congo, it will be put in a foil nicely wrapped and put in a brown or white paper envelope. For those that buy in multiples, you will get a cloth bag for your load. Mind you waakye no dey Congo.

Our waakye equivalent is called manioc - cassava-based delicacy cooked and eaten like Ga kenkey - with grounded pepper, mayonnaise, chicken or fish plus ketchup. Chai!

Whereas in Ghana, the waakye can be in a plain olonka rubber with pepper and stew. Another rubber for macaroni and gari. All put in a black polythene then in a more colourful one. Even entering Congo with polythene, they’ll seize it, smuggle in but thy shall not be caught.

People's delicacy, the affordable cassava staple a.k.a. Manioc

3. Transport fares: Rooted like Egyptian pyramids #StableAndUniform

Okay so in Congo, taxis are taxis and trotros (commercial buses) are taxis. The mass transport is called cent – cent (100 CFA, 100 CFA) and shuttles you within most parts of town. For those that prefer to charter a roving taxi, you dish out a standard 1000 CFA except in rare cases when you pay more.

Another leg of uniformity is, aside the state – run white buses, 99.9% of commercial vehicles are Toyota and they are all painted in shades of blue and white. In the capital Brazzaville, they are painted/sprayed green and white.

Pointe-Noire blue Toyota taxis and taxis (trotro)

4. Apartments for rent are in abundance 

In Ghana, you are not even sure that you’d get an apartment of your choosing. Rent spaces are limied and when you get it, man must pull the hair outta your nose to fund it – at least for a young man like me.

Shocker! Apartments in Congo are literally begging to be occupied. And there is an array to choose from. I have had friends move in and out of about six different places in the last two years. Try it in Ghana.

5. Zero Rent Advance, two month caution 

Take Ghana’s throat cutting rent advance illegality, doesn’t exist in Congo. You pay two months of your monthly rent as ‘caution – a sort of guarantee.’ Then you pay agree whether to pay rent at beginning or end of the month.

Two years on, whiles I learnt I dish out a monthly amount known to be on the high side 150,000 XAF. The landlord would dare ask for a raise. I’ll hunt for a new place and get one in less that 24 hours and move – most likely at a cheaper price.

CFA - Congo dollars, I can use this across Francophone Central Africa. Y(our) cedis cannot cross Togo border well.

Read also: Narkwor, Juliet, Ama, Nii, Akwei, Shaban: Ghana "Big Six" avec 'Je m'en fou' swag

The travel and see mantra has never made as much buzz to me as in the last two years. You cannot but admit that you’ll be strange to others as they they’ll look, be and sound to you. How on earth can people live without waakye and kenkey for example?

I can't tell when but sometime this month, I tell my other five reasons why life and living it in Congo Pointe Noire is as Trump would say such a yuuuuge deal. As our national motto goes: Unité. Travail. Progrès - Unity (Nkabom), Work (Edwuma), Progress (Nkorsuor). 

The blessing of water [1]: Solidarity with water-starved Cape Town in South Africa

Our water hustles and growing up in Accra, Ghana

All through my childhood, adolescence and youth, NEVER have I heard of a city that could run out of water. With that said, in the course of my education – Islamic and secular, I have learnt about the importance of water as a resource.

Growing up in Accra, Ghana, the water routine by my siblings and I was paying to fetch at a nearby standpipe and filling a barrel in the corner of our kitchen – that water we drank, used for cooking, laundry, bathing etc.

Of course I recall the days when the taps were dried. The days we cut miles on foot with buckets and pans in search for water. I repeat, never did we hear that the water could run out and we’d be without the resource – classed as a basic human right by the United Nations.

Those were the years preceding when we moved into a new home, where be bought and stored water in a large poly tank. Shortly after, we got connected to the national supply at the time the Ghana Water and Sewage Company (GWSC) now the Ghana Water Company Limited (GWCL).

Roll on the years, I have the pleasure of living away from Accra. Destination Pointe Noire in the Republic of Congo. It’s been two years since February 2015 and I can count the number of times that I have been without water.

This is a Pointe Noire that does not compare in many respects to South Africa’s iconic city of Cape Town, but guess what? Cape Town is in the eye of the storm over water. Their taps are scheduled to dry up in the much talked about ‘Day Zero,’ projected date April 12, 2018.

What then is going on in Cape Town?

Experts say their taps will dry up in April 2018, the date has since been moved to July 9. That they will have close to no water and so radical water usage is being advocated whiles the local authority puts up water collection points where people will collect daily water quotas.

Cape Town for the records was a host city during the 2010 World Cup, it is a key tourist destination in the country and is located at almost the bottom tip of the continent. Cape Town is a city of an estimated four million inhabitants.

Mayor Athol Trollip of neighbouring Nelson Mandela Bay said in an interview: “We need all hands on deck. We are facing a massive challenge, which can only be overcome if we are all part of the solution.”

The view of experts on the causes of the crisis involves the following: Climate change (which Donald Trump partly disputes) and a booming population. Dam levels continue to fall and failing rains are compounding the situation.

The ultimate solution and the Lord of the rains

With the rain variable, let me introduce the divine drift. Much of this is also an issue to do with nature. The earth we are told is covered by way more water than by land. Water is man’s most indispensable resource in the general scheme of events.

Water then is a blessing. One of million others bestowed on mankind by Allah. The incontestible dependence of Cape Towners on nature is now more than ever poignant. There is a Water Disaster Plan to contain the crisis.

That is what people should ordinarily do, plan! But we know that man proposes and God disposes – the Quran tells us that Allah is the best of planners. If HE wills it’d rain and fill up the dams and Day Zero will come to zero. Yet, we cannot lose sight of Allah’s trials for man – may we be of those that pass these tests.

What are the city authorities proposing?

Under the Water Disaster Plan, the authorities have all but resigned themselves to the reality that the taps will dry up before or on the projected date. As above stated, there are water collection points being built across the city.

In more technical schemes, they are pushing down the velocity and water supply pressure to save water, meters are to be repaired plus an overhaul of the water supply infrastructure – maintenance and replacement.

Large-scale users of water are to be ‘policed’ more. Authorities are looking at desalination as a longterm solution wary of the costs, use of aquifers have also been very key in deliberations. Then there is a call center that is expected to interface with the public on pressing issues.

What is an aquifer? Simply an “underground bed or layer yielding ground water for wells and springs etc.” (Wordweb)

So then, a resource as basic as water has moved from being one that rests on affordability but more on availability. It has shifted from being a symbol of privilege and bonus to being an ultimate leveler. It is as the News24 portal put it, ‘a matter of life and death.’

People are tasked to be judicious in their use of water. Some of the ‘weird’ but real reports indicate that people have cut down on showers. People are harvesting used water for reuse – for example, collect bath water and use to flush toilets.

Women have given up washing of their hair. People have been told to stop using the shower but rather fetch a quantity of water for their ‘modest’ baths. No one is to hoard water because everyone is sharing what there is available in the lead up to and post ‘Day Zero.’

We must as a people be grateful for the countless blessings Allah has bestowed on us. Whiles at it, let's not forget to pray for people who find themselves in chaotic zones across the world. May Allah grant them and us all relief. Ameeen. 

My 2nd Congo anniversary: Linked via Ismail’s LinkedIn, Mariam’s $150

February 22, 2016: That day, I landed in Congo Republic’s commercial capital of Pointe Noire. I was to take post as a journalist with a new news channel. The Accra – Abidjan – Pointe Noire journey on Air Ivoire needs vetting by a Special Prosecutor. Chai!

Hajia Fati was all moody as I left for the airport in small big sister Fuleira’s car. Then came Mariam (big big sister) who brought me $150 despite assuring her the company will pay me a relocation sum – she said I’d need money any which way.

On arrival, I ‘melted’ a third of Mariam’s dollars on day 1 – bought a SIM and call credits and paid the taxi driver who picked me from the lodge to the forex bureau, the MTN offices and back to the lodge. Called Hajia Fati to assure her son was safe and called for office location.

The remaining cash will serve me in several respects. My daily commute to work till my first pay cheque came in, the food I ate over the period and other petty expenses were all covered. Till date, I celebrate that $150 as much as I do my very respectable salary.

Now unto the main subject of this piece: Nii Ismail (Sheed) Akwei. In summary, he is an academic pal (Hamdaniyya Islamic School), a professional colleague (Ghanaweb, Africanews), a friend and married brother – if you want, a ‘meigida.’

I repeat, he’s a nice married guy – shout out to his wife Inna ‘Sunshine,’ hopefully, we can have a new member with the tagline ‘moonlight’ sooner than later – insha Allah. Ismail is decidedly tough, first class opinionated and blunt to a fault.

When our paths first crossed in the 90s at Islamic school, I thought of him as that soft type. One that grew up in the Muslim – dominated setting (Zongo) but lacked steel and grit typical of such upbringing. How wrong I was – but it’d be years before I admitted I was so wrong.

Work reconnected us after secondary school separated us. Makaranta lost him to boarding school – Aggrey Memorial SHS. We shared an office at Ghanaweb where he was in charge of sister site Cameroonweb. I applied for that job after he shared the opportunity on Facebook.

Through the LinkedIn platform, he was contacted by an agency recruiting personnel for Africanews – at the time, a new Pan-African bilingual news channel based in the Republic of Congo.

When the approach was made, he passed the news by us in the office and I mocked about how terrorists – specifically Boko Haram – could use employment baits to recruit. It seemed Shekau had other important things doing, maybe sheltering from the army’s combat. Lol!

We laughed it off but it turned out to be genuine and myself and other colleagues contributed our bit in urging him to ‘sign out’ of GhanaWeb and ‘log on’ to the new opportunity. So he eventually left us behind and started his new adventure.

Barely months at Africanews, Ismail will make a case for having another journalist to make work ‘bearable,’ he was the only English web journalist as against a French duo. So of all the people in mind, he called me to send my CV to him, which I did.

He’d assist me with the visa contractor who had helped him, he’d share what the experience was going to be and warn me to of all things to come along with an umbrella. I did and still have that umbrella which was of use on day one – I met crazy rains the morning after.

So exactly two years ago today, I arrived in Congo to begin work along with Ismail on the digital English desk of Africanews. A period that afforded us the opportunity to work closer than ever and which exposed our respective strengths and weaknesses.

The Ghanaman dynasty led by Patron Veronica Narkwor Kwabla. Inna (veiled) special guest amongst 'Big Six.'

Two issues stick with me throughout his almost two-year stay. Thanks to him, I got a hustle-free apartment. I almost walked into an apartment Ismail secured for me after my month’s stay in an official lodging.

And I got to know the real hard side of him which exposed my soft side and eventually helped me to toughen up in some respects. It’s something we have discussed and which is captured above, I repeat: Ismail is ‘decidedly tough, opinionated and blunt to a fault.’

Me, head of silent reactionary overtures. Where Ismail will send a stinging email or walk to the ‘offender,’ and deliver in black and white, I would reset conditions to suit myself and go on with what concerns me – insofar as my output remains intact. But I have since changed, don’t bring yourself.

I’m certain that Ismail owes people credit for his life’s journeys, so it is in my case, I owe Inna Mariam’s husband a whale of gratitude in many respects than above enumerated. He moves on to other stuff that will make him happier than he was – at Africanews.

Of course, there were the days of professional and even personal tension. We disagreed on style and other stuff. We fired shots where necessary and we ganged up against those that sought to make life uncomfortable for us.

Till his final exit of Friday, November 17, 2017; we continued to share ideas about life as we soldiered on in our different worlds. Africanews offered him the TV break after he’d done radio and digital journalism. He was boss of Sci-Tech on The Morning Call.

He is continuing with the digital onslaught as head of content (big post) with Face2Face Africa. He’s back home in Ghana but still with his continental reach intact, in fact now extending to the Carribean region et. al. Big men take big steps – Oga I greet you!

Congo sojourn: Asäse Aban Ghana dynasty and our 'je m'en fou' swag

Congo akwantuo: Asaase aban Ghana dynasty and ‘otanhunu’ mutiny

I have worked directly with Ghanaians all my professional life, at a point or the other I have interacted with non – Ghanaians in the line of my work. February 2016 was to drastically change that when I accepted to work in Congo – Brazzaville.

I was the fifth Ghanaian to join Africanews in Congo’s port city of Pointe Noire. It was the first time working directly with a myriad of other predominantly African nationals – Kenyans, Cameroonians, Ivorians, Congolese, Nigerians, South African etc.

National allegiances seem to work for some, whiles others couldn’t seem to patch up anything close to being together. That seemed to be at the heart of the headache some had, seeing Ghanaman bind and bond – professionally, socially and culturally. But does we care?

For the records, the Ghanaians I came to meet included Veronica Narkwor Kwabla – a known face on TV3 news, Juliet Bawuah (Julie Juu) also of TV3 and Nii Akrofi Smart-Abbey of Joy FM and Joy TV. Till Congo, I knew him by his voice as a Joy FM addict.

The least known must have been another Nii – Ismail Nii Akwei – a direct colleague at Ghanaweb. Ismail and I were web journalists, the other three were TV divas, another Joy News diva – Auntie Ama will later ‘storm’ the party – she was our biggest by a mile.

We were who we were, Ghanaians who met in our own corner outside the office to dilate on any and everything. We spoke Twi and Ga when it suited us and we related perhaps closest than other nationalities – but we, in essence, concentrated on our happiness than anyone else’s.

Our circumstance changed one nice Friday at an editorial meeting. After a fellow colleague honoured us with a dynasty status under very weird circumstances.

The fact that all Ghanaians at the time except me had raked up ‘posts’ in the different departments was apparently a head and heartache some people were harbouring. For how long they pained, is part of their ache, we doesn’t and didn’t cares.

To paraphrase this colleague: It’s as though you (Veronica, then a deputy head of language – English) created a dynasty, this is Africanews, not Ghananews,’ he stressed. And with that we birthed a dynasty. Veronica (Patrona), Juliet (Princess), GP Ama (Queen), knee Nii Akrofi (Prince), Nii Ismail (Mantse), Yours truly (Chef).

But as Lil Wayne put it, ‘does we care?’ And to butress with a french terminology we kept a 'je m'en fou' posture. The term means 'I don't give a damn,' and so di we, as a group collective, we no see them seff.

The dynastic levels will shoot in the coming months, our WhatsApp page was lit as we discussed and planned Ghana meetings over food and drink. Ismail away on vacation, I missed a beach trip because Ramadan 2017 was starting next day.

Later, we’d meet up at Ismail’s place over strictly Ghanaian dishes, of course only made possible because his wife Inna was around. Days later our Eid party clashed with the first series of capitulation. ‘Volatile’ Juliet was leaving and we had a send-off at a plush, posh place.

Post – Juliet era brought in more parties and get-togethers. A senior Ghanaian – Congolese, Andy, joined the ranks thanks to Ama. More food and drinks, we had time to unwind and rewind, we caught up with memories at home and in sojourn – Twi, Ga, English and French where applicable.

The "capitulation" will continue in earnest, Ama will step out and stage a return to the capital, thereafter; Narkwor nso b3 kor – back to Ghana en route to Turkey (TRT World), then Ismail jumped (Back to Accra for Afro – Carribean kpa kpa kpa).

The dynasty now has reached the level of a corporation where we dilate over the times we peppered those that wanted to. We talk about that which professionally and socially shoots us beyond the now – of course, the little gossip has crept in sparsely.

Mind you, amongst us, we had differences at certain times – but that was it about working together, identifying the strengths and weaknesses of one another but not allowing it to affect overall output.

The chapter is closed for those that jumped ship – for want of a better word. Nii and I have two other Ghanafuor joining – J Rice Chef and Ericus, but seems however that the dynasty was specially crafted for just six.

The sovereign relation template whiles in sojourn was one that we as Ghanaians close to perfected. It so worked well for us when we were together and months after the ‘exit flood.’ The two visits to the Ghanaian pastor were lit, to say the least – All hail our Patrona.

So for us, the "otanhunu" - dirty hate and propaganda championed with so much vile and venom purportedly against us was to leave smudge in the faces of its mutineers. They are still peppered by the shitty mess of a ‘fight’ that did not exist anyway.

From La Voile Blanche to Wharf, from Hotel Le Russeau to La Base Aeroport and from Pemba to the Si Bon pizza outing, we forged ahead with being Ghanaians whiles the job-place politicians kept campaigning in rampant chase for only God knows what.

Still headquartered in Congo, our international deployments continue to serve the cause, international comparisons, Carribean ‘krinkum krankum’ and globetrotting gambadoism thanks to Juliet – we remain, the ‘accidentally’ intentional Ghana – Congo dynasty.

Allah's mercy be on our departed: Old boy was our ‘powerhouse’

He felt sick suddenly, he was in pain! A pain we’d never ever seen before, he asked to be helped walk around the compound before being sent to the hospital that fateful day. I got a hunch but would have been stupid to tell what I felt – to me, the end had come.

He left for the hospital together with mom (indefatigable Hajia Fari) and big brother. She wailed when doctors requested his transfer to Korle Bu from Kotobabi polyclinic. There in the ambulance, Abdur Rahim Shaban ended his time on earth.

No need going over the mood and events thereafter. I attempt to bring to life the man who denied himself so much to ensure that his six kids will be well placed – reasonably – to take care of the woman he married – Hajia Fati.

To us, as his kids, ‘selfless’ pretty much describes the man who diligently stuck to his trade of barbering to educate his children. We had everything, but we grew up knowing our father was nowhere near rich.

Yeah, way back when I used to be a last born, till riff and riffa popped up 

None of his seven grandchildren so far met the old boy – it’s for those boys and girls I weep. At least we experienced his (fatherly) warmth, his (intellectual) depth – French, English, Arabic – and his (generous) width. There was a fine man who served us with his simplicity.

Cast us aside for the moment, the guy was totally respected by family members – those on his side and no less from Hajia Fati’s bloc. His pursuit of knowledge and thoughtfulness – which we saw and learnt – put him in a position of respect and reverence.

Yet when he died that fateful day, reality struck! I saw men cry and I’m certain I’ll most likely never seen them do so. Fuleira mourned more, Rayhann – who saw the end – plus Mariam and I seemed reasonably okay. As for Sherif and Sherifa, I can’t recall their contribution.

The reality I mentioned earlier is of how much little the old boy had amassed. His brown briefcase which we grew up knowing was all there was. It contained some old Arabic books. What was left behind the briefcase was his usual clothes and nothing more.

He was a powerhouse in the FULL sense of the word. A powerhouse like 'charter house.' Let me explain the bit about ‘charter house,’ we grew up when Charter House was Ghana’s biggest entertainment events company and they had a motto: ‘The power behind the performance.’

So was Abdur Rahim Shaban to us. Every good you saw us exude individually or en bloc was of traits we picked from him. Mind you, if the opposite resulted, it was because we had failed to heed what he had instructed us to do.

He loved to read, he did not have time but joined the British Council Library for us. He picked books for us to read in turns so he could return it and get us some more. Prior to that when Ghana Library was in its heydays, he dropped Mariam and Rayhann to read.

Countless times when he came home and realized we hadn’t eaten, he’d prepare food and wake us all up – including Hajia Fati to eat. He led us as a family and at no time shirked his responsibility.

He was our goalie/defender in all the times that Hajia Fati exhibited striking abilities. I was ever thrashed for jogging to Nkrumah Circle and back with some friends. When he heard the episode – he only wondered why and for what but Hajia Fati defended her action. Lol!

He had a great sense of initiative in his dealings. We lived in a compound house but much as he was hardly at home, NEVER did he exchange words with other tenants over anything. He seemed to believe one man could always sue for peace and live that very peaceful life.

Of course there were days that we did what all children do – upset their parents. But he won’t beat anyone of us save for a strong verbal reprimand which NEVER included insults, unlike the case of his opposite number. The legendary Hajia Fati.

It’s on hindsight that I try going into his mind to think of what kept that man awake, my belief is that he thought of how his kids will be more comfortable than they were at any one point in time. He was our manager, our driver, our friend with whom we listened to the BBC.

We did not have a television set, man did not buy one in his lifetime. We had a durable radio set, set and stuck to BBC shortwave. We woke up to BBC Radio’s Focus on Africa cock crow listening to Udwak Amimo, Tomon Doro, Togo Moyo and other leading voices on BBC.

When we usually returned from school to his barbering post, the radio over there was also on BBC so we listened to World News from Neil Nunez and co. We loved Outlook and waited for Network Africa and eventually Sports Roundup. Our TV escapades, story for later. Lol!

Abdur Rahim Shaban was a father to us only due to nature’s processes but beyond the father, was the friend, colleague at a point – even at our young ages – he was our chef, our signpost and one who is not missed – for we believe he left us enough memories of our time together.

One day when I die, I would want to be remembered for the qualities that Abdur Rahim Shaban lived. Even as I toss in my head the next to die amongst the remaining seven of us, I continue to live like dad and hope Allah takes my life when HE is pleased with me.

The STAAGA ‘ejaculation’: Accra Girls election and Aquinas boys ‘erection’

Emashi! Emashi kpen kpen! Ga word loosely translated as: ‘it is established,’ ‘it is well established!’ That was the response to STAAGA whenever the word was chanted – at least this is as far as I knew, how I go know if it has changed since?

Boys have indeed suffered youthful ejaculation over the six-letter word that brought them an emotional and occasional association with an opposite-sex school located in Mamobi, opposite the residential enclave of Roman Ridge in Ghana’s capital city of Accra.

Boys carried STAAGA on their heads like plantain chips vendors – balanced and with style. Some virtually pumped themselves taut when the opportunity to meet the Mamobi girls came up – be it at Interco, Super Zonals, the girls coming over or boys leaving Cantonments to Mamobi.

In any case, Aquinas was the majority name holder in the word ‘STAAGA’ because we had three alphabets out of the six, the Mamobi girls had two and we shared the last letter. STAAGA = St. Thomas Aquinas – Accra Girls Association.

Beside having ‘dog chains’ as first-year students, STAAGA briefing and jama were two areas that compulsory by – force you needed to know about. Some boys would virtually go into a fit because INTERCO had been canceled for us or Super zo was slipping.

For some of us, whenever a STAAGA meet was threatened, it seemed as though Kim Jong-Un had finally agreed to use his nuclear button as promised. Some felt like Mugabe being forced to relinquish power or Asamoah Gyan after the Suarez penalty miss in 2010.

Then there was STASMA – St. Thomas Aquinas – St. Mary’s Association. STASMA was a somewhat rival body with the Kaneshie baes never really took off. Let me set the records straight, I began rolling with AGISS girls long before Aquinas. Of course, my sister Fuleira was there and I used to go home with her plus her buddies.

As for the downgrade ACASMA - Accra Academy - St. Mary's Association noise, true to its sound sounded all but asthmatic – the Keneshie Senior High Spoof boys, always de carry last innit?

So there were STAAGA executives, some of who were busier than SRC officers in their commitment to ‘the cause.’ Then the STASMA spoilers, who knew they were heading nowhere but continued spreading malware – one aspiring lawyer in my class was one such - today he is married to an AGISS old girl.

Suffice it to reiterate that the (literal) convulsion that boys suffered at a missed STAAGA opportunity was enough to freak anyone out. Roll forward the years, so what at all did people reap from the ‘AGISS shordy, AGISS babe’ erection?

I hear some have resulted in marriages – so I hear, others were just what it was, youthful emotional investment, at best a ‘brief knowing me – knowing you’ restricted to the pages of writing pads with scented pen vibes – Ghana Post made some cool cash with postage.

In between AGISS and Merries were Corpus Cristi. If you don’t know about them, there were students from a Catholic school, I stand to be corrected but they used to join Aquinas’ SSSCE batches, they also partook often in activities of the Catholic students group on campus.

However you look at it, the STAAGA thing was only the informally formal union, for (some) Aquinas boys on any day, they were ready to ‘drop bars’ and ‘ron’ any female within and outside our territory irrespective of school uniform, shape, colour, size, height etc.

Letters became a status symbol at a point. The number of letters one received almost gave some an aura of invincibility – all the better if it is accompanied by a photo. 

And to reply, some will buy an entire writing pad (12 pages minimum) and beg others with presentable handwriting to do the honours.

But that was all there was to it, apparently, it was for the fun of it and for the emotive value of being boys. Some girls we laughed at for their bumpy sentences – incidentally it was those kinds of letters that were read aloud and passed around.

I have and continue to wonder in these days of social media, how students of today will relate, I very much doubt the ejaculation and other ‘tion’ will be any different but the speed of transmitting the messages – would be fiercer than the spread of Trump themed ‘Fire & Fury.’

My verdict: Those that benfitted from STAAGA did. Those to who it was a waste of time, know themselves – if you think I’m not entitled to a view, I’m currently in Congo – Brazzaville, Kabila is our neighbour in DR Congo, ask him to send militia to come and beat me.

Better still if I’m back in town for holidays – I will let you know how the proponents wasted their time, so that you can come and beat me. In any case, I have wasted my time writing this, haven’t I?

You may read other Aquinas-related blog posts

Aquinas 'perceptions': ‘Wicked’ Mary Boat vs. the lovely one I encountered

Aquinas boys and commute hustle: Danquah, 37, Circle, Tema station etc.

Aquinas in ‘Temple Run’ mode: Illegal route, prisons, wall jumps

God is NOT an old tom, 'heaven' has never been at Cantonments

READ ALSO: A Muslim-Roman Catholic and my ‘holy’ days at St. Thomas Aquinas

He attended Aquinas yet failed to complete: Must be a ‘Tom Tom’

Headline on repeat: He attended Aquinas yet failed to complete: Must be a ‘Tom Tom’ 
Irrelevant Fact: reading this piece down - up also makes 'perfect' sense.

At Aquinas, a person ordinarily makes 30 plus classmates and over 200 odd year-group colleagues. Such was the ‘local network coverage’ that extends way after school into tertiary, professional and way into the wider social labyrinth. At Aquinas, you did not just belong, you were made to feel so.

For different reasons, some colleagues are lost along the way. Death! On which score I recall the passing of one all-out, fun-loving guy back in 2000. He was an Arts student nicknamed ‘Moon Walker.’ It was indeed emotional when his death came through. His family said all persons willing to attend his funeral had to come wearing white, they were celebrating his life on earth.

Other reasons people left included being sacked (sadly) and those that even sacked themselves sake of na school dey bore them. Then there were those who transferred and in the case of our fat friend – just because he had secured a U.S. visa.

Mubarak Alhassan, the self-acclaimed Big Master, real nickname Michelin Tyre boy as christened by Mr. Ababio (the late) was one of those that refused to complete the school because of travel – today, he wants to claim a title we (2003 batch) fought till the end to attain.

So, just like that, he switched "high-class" Madina from where his uncle usually drove him for the streets of New York City. He pops up and wants us to clap for him, for abandoning ship and escaping SSSCE.

(Hold on) Let's deal with what an Old Tom means and should signify in the general scheme of events. You MUST belong to the main OT body and/or other subsets - year group/class groups - be it on social media or attending physical meetings. Man up and stand up to the title of OT.

Question: Are you a fully paid up member of whichever OT bloc you belong to? Reality check, being an OT is more than the emotional association of having belonged to Aquinas years back. You must contribute your views, your time, expertise, finances and more emotions and pride at all material times - now, that's what's up!!!

He was the ‘phatest’ among us, had a risible annoying laughter. The late headmaster, Edwin Okyere Ababio rightly labeled him as per the infamous Michelin tyre advert. He was a ballooned type and still won’t miss a single break period.

Boy in front row (hand in mouth), jumped ship

I’m only contributing my bit in helping free a friend of a dilemma he is suffering. The guy suffers an identity crisis. He was once a Tom but woefully failed to attain the ‘old’ component. So we peg him in the middle for pity reasons. He is a Tom Tom.

Positioned on the infamous minty toffee advert of years back. He (Mubarak Alhassan) and many others who abandoned Aquinas for whatever reasons are like the original black and white Tom Tom. Simple reason: they are between light and darkness – and there shall they remain.

I learned that the Old Boys Association could confer an ‘honourary’ status on people for different reasons. No wahala but certainly not for leaving Madina for New York. (And) of course, not for being fat and wearing ‘AND 1’ footwear back in the day.

Old Tom-ism does not and must not come cheap. The title ‘Old Tom’ effectively means you have survived years through the walls of Aquinas – now, that’s real survival, academically, socially and morally.

You may read other Aquinas-related blog posts

Aquinas 'perceptions': ‘Wicked’ Mary Boat vs. the lovely one I encountered

Aquinas boys and commute hustle: Danquah, 37, Circle, Tema station etc.

Aquinas in ‘Temple Run’ mode: Illegal route, prisons, wall jumps

God is NOT an old tom, 'heaven' has never been at Cantonments

READ ALSO: A Muslim-Roman Catholic and my ‘holy’ days at St. Thomas Aquinas

[Hijab Poem] Hail she who islamically veils

In an era when lewdness has set full SAIL,

In a world where morality more often WAILS
The sick-hearted call it a habiliment JAIL

And of it, they’ve told countless bad TALES
In a vain struggle, they call it ‘rights’ to BAIL

Certainly, its detractors have and will FAIL

Cuz it is a goodness train on Jannah RAILS

A blessed covering from the sunnah PAIL
A great message from the Almighty’s MAIL

An attire on the head, never at the TAIL

A panacea to the worldwide nudity AIL
Of it ideal Mujahidas are hearty and HALE

The TITIVATING apparel of Islam: THE VEIL

Published on occasion of 2018 World Hijab Day: Every year February 1 is marked as ‘World Hijab Day.’ Its mission is to fight discrimination against Muslim women through awareness and education.

It is a day on which women of diverse backgrounds and persuasions are encouraged to wear the Islamic head veil in solidarity with Muslim women.

Read more: What is the "World Hijab Day" about? 

Salat miles above ground aboard Ethiopian: The positive signpost of being Muslim

It was in March 2016, over a year since I signed up to work for a news channel in the Republic of Congo. I had applied for and my holidays had been approved. I arrived on Air Ivoire in February 2015 but I opted for Ethiopian Airlines for my return to Accra.

If you don’t mind, I’d share my reasons. Air Ivoire ferried us to Abidjan where you stayed in the airport for close to 12 hours before flying over to Pointe Noire. Ethiopian takes you to Addis Ababa and ‘pampers’ you with a night stay in a hotel before you leave for Accra.

So there I was aboard Ethiopian heading for Addis that Thursday afternoon. I opted to join my prayers – Zuhr and Asr before boarding. I was left with reading, listening to audio books, sleeping and twisting and turning in my seat plus stretching my legs once a while.

For me, it was all about waiting to reach Addis to say my last two prayers for the day. But before long, a prayer situation caught my eye. A stout, fair man had spread his mat and was offering his prayers on board. When he was done, he beckoned another man to do same.

I whispered a word of prayer for them and for my friend, Wahany Sambou. Wahany is a Senegalese pal who bought a prayer mat for me after seeing me pray with my handkerchief at the office. I carried the mat on me because I expected to pray in Addis Ababa.

So we reached Addis Ababa and I got to my hotel, with my hausa cap balanced on my head, I went for dinner and there, a man walked up to me and said, ‘If you want to pray, this is the direction,’ – pointing me in the direction of prayer (the Qiblah) – ‘Alfa, don’t just be Muslim, look it,’ I advised myself of course after thanking him for his unsolicited generosity.

After dinner, I reverted to my room, ‘killed’ the remaining battery on my laptop after putting the charger in my main luggage. Prayed and slept till the receptionist called to say I needed to prepare for breakfast and to leave to the airport. Discharged Fajr, breakfast and back on board.

Allah brought us back home, it was a slow month of being away from work – at a point it felt too long for someone who was taking the first vacation in his professional life. Then it was time to return to base. The Kotoka hustles is topic for another day but relished getting back to Addis Ababa.

It was a Friday, I was sure gonna miss Jum’ah. For some reason oboy failed to join Zuhr and Asr. Flight delayed for over 90 minutes and eventually we took off. I was sandwiched in the middle row between a Nigerian lady going to South Korea and Chinese heading somewhere.

We left Accra behind and were well above Nigeria when I remembered it was time to discharge Zuhur and Asr. With Wahany’s mat I spotted the most spacious place for the motions. I spread out the mat and ‘they’ were nice.

The two men seated where I spread the mat would adjust their feets and one will even clear his food tray to allow me more space. Effect? A Ghanaian man came over. Asked of Qiblah, I said it didn’t matter under the circumstance, shall we pray?

We did, and comfortably so. Finished, shook hands and returned to our respective seats just then another guy walks up and demands for the mat, he also discharges his prayer and yet another person.

So there we were, a community of Muslims on board the flight. That act by the man on my return in March had coalesced and created that ripple effect of persons hitherto unknown to each other submit in prayer to our lord, Allah.

A lesson has since stuck with me and it is, to do right – be it via words or deeds – in whatever situation one finds himself. Allah sees and will reward you if your intentions are right. But people will also see and learn – you will become a beneficiary of that good whenever they so act upon what from you they learnt.

And people whoever they are will respect another’s worship if and only if they are open and fair – minded. That is the very basis of peaceful coexistence, isn’t it? I laud those two men who ensured that we could pray in a conducive atmosphere even it it meant they had to adjust their legs for a while.

May Allah bless that man and his brother for being the signposts, ya Allah, bless my friend Wahany for his mat and accept the prayers that we offered high above the ground and those nice non-Muslims grant them more understanding of and Islam itself. Ameen.

This! In the name of food 😕😐😂