Burma Camp as an academic environment was on point, the ambiance was serene always. Mind you, it had crèche through to nursery, then the nine-year basic education was available and beyond that, there was the Armed Forces Secondary Technical School (AFSTS).
Maybe one day they would cap it with a university. Burma Camp deserves that if you ask me. We used to call AFSTS, BUCASS – apparently it meant Burma Camp Secondary School. Our school's (Burma Camp Basic - Complex) main block was sandwiched between their technical and vocational blocs.
The home economics block from where ‘nyunyu’ scents emerged was in front of our school. The rather noisy technical block, on the other hand, was behind us. And that unit did serve us well to a large extent especially with our Pre-Technical Skills class.
From sledgehammer to the anvil, G-clamp to hacksaw blade, the type of saws and planes, the spirit level and the trowel, we saw these tools with our eyes beyond the textbook drawings. BUCASS served us technically as a matter of fact.
We were boys and girls back in the day, we the boys played football on the least available space and the girls jumped and threw their legs shouting ostraighti and okondor, i.e. playing ampe. The BUCASS students, especially in the carpentry workshop, literally were men.
If your ball enters the workshop – you don’t run in for safety reasons, there were moving machines in there so you went to literally beg for the ‘men’ to release our ball. Roundly, they were nice guys who hardly gave us a hard time.
But what on hindsight amazes me is how we – or is it the majority of us, never gave BUCASS a thought when it came to choosing our Senior High Schools. Of course, they were classed as a third-grade school at the time – to the best of my knowledge.
But (again), is it not more because as a people we have always looked down – sadly so – on the vocational and technical subjects? I can assure you that the scents that came from their food showed the food will taste good.
And the outcome of their technical products looked decent. They came across as a very serious bunch with who we hustled for transport on our way back home. On the days we had to make the journey on foot, we were with them on the Burma Camp – 37 route.
Suffice it to state, it was their premises that most schools in the 5 Garrison enclave sat for our Basic Education Certificate Examination (BECE) – the then dreaded terminal exams that we had sleepless nights over.
For the one-week stretch when we wrote two papers daily, Services, Burma Camp, Garrison, Arakan, First Signal, 5BN, Forces, Kotoko and other schools will shepherd their candidates to and from the venue.
Then the eruption of joy when the bell went after the last paper, those that broke their pens did, those that hugged each other did. The end of the Junior Secondary and a wait to transit to the Senior High.
All the days of early morning mental whips (Bra Ansah and Mr. Osei), the French fret (Monsieur Tackie dans l’auto), the Ghanaian language ‘gas’ (Tsoorlor Mensah), and of course the vocational skills vibe (Mrs. Bekoe).
Add that to the mocks that were no joke plus the long story of filling cumulative assessments and those of us who hardly ever attended any extra-classes. The scramble over past questions and for apor – it was all gone!
The future beckoned and here we are …. Still aspiring in some respects as we count modest achievements in education, professions, family life and friendship that temporarily ‘dropped’ but thanks to technology has picked up. This is who we are – the Millenium class of 2000.
The Burma Camp days: B Class, bee invasion, Akrasi, Amankwah & Asihene
Maybe one day they would cap it with a university. Burma Camp deserves that if you ask me. We used to call AFSTS, BUCASS – apparently it meant Burma Camp Secondary School. Our school's (Burma Camp Basic - Complex) main block was sandwiched between their technical and vocational blocs.
The home economics block from where ‘nyunyu’ scents emerged was in front of our school. The rather noisy technical block, on the other hand, was behind us. And that unit did serve us well to a large extent especially with our Pre-Technical Skills class.
From sledgehammer to the anvil, G-clamp to hacksaw blade, the type of saws and planes, the spirit level and the trowel, we saw these tools with our eyes beyond the textbook drawings. BUCASS served us technically as a matter of fact.
We were boys and girls back in the day, we the boys played football on the least available space and the girls jumped and threw their legs shouting ostraighti and okondor, i.e. playing ampe. The BUCASS students, especially in the carpentry workshop, literally were men.
If your ball enters the workshop – you don’t run in for safety reasons, there were moving machines in there so you went to literally beg for the ‘men’ to release our ball. Roundly, they were nice guys who hardly gave us a hard time.
But what on hindsight amazes me is how we – or is it the majority of us, never gave BUCASS a thought when it came to choosing our Senior High Schools. Of course, they were classed as a third-grade school at the time – to the best of my knowledge.
But (again), is it not more because as a people we have always looked down – sadly so – on the vocational and technical subjects? I can assure you that the scents that came from their food showed the food will taste good.
And the outcome of their technical products looked decent. They came across as a very serious bunch with who we hustled for transport on our way back home. On the days we had to make the journey on foot, we were with them on the Burma Camp – 37 route.
Suffice it to state, it was their premises that most schools in the 5 Garrison enclave sat for our Basic Education Certificate Examination (BECE) – the then dreaded terminal exams that we had sleepless nights over.
For the one-week stretch when we wrote two papers daily, Services, Burma Camp, Garrison, Arakan, First Signal, 5BN, Forces, Kotoko and other schools will shepherd their candidates to and from the venue.
Then the eruption of joy when the bell went after the last paper, those that broke their pens did, those that hugged each other did. The end of the Junior Secondary and a wait to transit to the Senior High.
All the days of early morning mental whips (Bra Ansah and Mr. Osei), the French fret (Monsieur Tackie dans l’auto), the Ghanaian language ‘gas’ (Tsoorlor Mensah), and of course the vocational skills vibe (Mrs. Bekoe).
Add that to the mocks that were no joke plus the long story of filling cumulative assessments and those of us who hardly ever attended any extra-classes. The scramble over past questions and for apor – it was all gone!
The future beckoned and here we are …. Still aspiring in some respects as we count modest achievements in education, professions, family life and friendship that temporarily ‘dropped’ but thanks to technology has picked up. This is who we are – the Millenium class of 2000.
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