After spending so many months at home, school finally resumed. We came to school with lots of issues from the vac. Justica Anima’s article addressing a letter to the guys … Nii Boi, well just being Nii Boi. I must say that the troops that had camped on campus the first day got me a bit confused. It felt like a new refugee camp had been moved and no one told me. The level hundreds weren’t so bad. I was expecting some very unthinkable things but God always has a way of blowing minds. We were welcome by the usual atmosphere of hugging and merry making. People screaming names of their buddies and others laughing hysterically like the evil witch in Sleeping Beauty (No offense).
Nobody expected assignments to be given out too soon. I don’t know what lecturers discuss at their meetings but the beginning of this semester seemed to give me a fair idea. As if it was a perfectly planned plot, assignments were being given out here and there and in seamless fashion too. The days just got drowsier with each passing with some of us regretting the moment we stepped back on campus. Whoever brought education never really force chale!
The day people escaped to Akosombo. The freshmen were also matriculated into the institution. While people had fun and whiled away their time, others sat in the heat to be officially welcomed into the school. I must say that the address that was given by our main man Doc was least expected. You should have seen the looks on some of the faces of students when they heard the ban placed on offensive dressing. Oh but Doc paaaaa? (Where’s Justica to bow her head in shame after asking the guys to where shorts in her letter?). There’s a new superhero in town guys and he doesn’t like miniskirts and shorts. As if the media attention would distract school activities for a while, it actually propelled lecturers to just administer their ‘evil’ plans. Oh but on the real yeah, these people paaaaaaa? Anyway, they are our fathers and mothers so we no bore.
Be like the escape didn’t really serve any purpose after all because the trap was still waiting for them. I’m still in thoughts as to which issue to dwell on. Since I’m feeling petty, let’s just talk about the escape… No offence!… Rather unfortunate, I wasn’t able to escape some. The plenty issues that came up and things all. This blog is meant to entertain and inform at the same time so no time for any long political talks. Kweku Eshun and the rest of his comrades in the upper echelon of GIJ are busy with that. It’d be lovely to list the bourgeoisies on campus but that is gonna be another day.
So on this beautiful Saturday night, I sit at the dining table typing out memories of what ensued at the Prisons’ park just the day before. If ever there was a history of flops or fails, I suppose I should be inducted into the hall of fame. I agree I didn’t give off my best on the court and all but isn’t that what you get when you’ve not touched a ball for months on end? I’m not even going to try and justify myself so let me just move to the football pitch…
Sporting events usually do not enjoy the sort of publicity this particular
inter-levels football and basketball competition enjoyed. Thanks to a few hardworking folks like Francis— and his Chomsky sports.
The level 400PR soccer team was the most talked about team, having won the
tournament in the past. Level 300JN team was equally bent on whisking away this semester’s trophy considering the avalanche of good players they had.
Their remarkably uniformed Black and Yellow outfit alone clearly spelt out their gross determination and staunchness.
The competition began on a good note with a few players advertising their dexterity with the ball. Yakubu Alfa a.k.a Acid of level 400PR proofed his worth on the field doing a beautiful work on the left wing for his team. He managed his role so well that he could afford to slip to assist the defenders and even make a few attempts at goals. The Level 100 team had a hard time playing as a team. Individual talents were advertised but the thing about football is teamwork and they outrightly lacked it which cost them a lot.
The subsequent matches were as boring as watching the grass grow. If not for the commentator who gave us something to laugh about with his heavily articulated, condensed, original Twi which he used in describing the minutest detail as it happened on the field.
He did it so well that fresh discussions were raised as to why a community based radio station as Radio GIJ wouldn’t consider broadcasting in a local dialect.
I, Edwin Abanga aka Dada Baaaaaannnggggz, managed to secure a slot in my team as a goal keeper for level 300PR. My coach Jackson had psyched our team so much that we were “blowing off steam”. Not just that but the beautiful ladies of 300PR were there to give their support. And by this I mean every aspect a person can give support in. Their beautiful faces and charming smiles alone was enough motivation for some of us.
Our first match was with one of the diploma classes. You should have seen how my PR boys toyed with them. We should have trashed them to hell but the referee just wouldn’t allow us. Probably he wasn’t overly enthused about our dexterity and perhaps he wanted the fun to end abruptly. Any time my strikers reached the 18 yard box and wanted to attempt a goal he would whistle for a foul. Call it hype but their luck was short lived when we went for penalty shootout and knocked them out.
We had nicknamed our team the “Blue magic”, after our blue jersey and we were performing magic like the original bearers of the name. Though we were seen as the under dogs we rose with the speed of the proverbial tortoise through the ranks to face the then reigning champions 400PR.
They had lost a match against 300JN and had come to face us, that match was ticked finals before finals. To graduate to next progressive stage they had to secure a sure win.
That match was laden with so much tension, as the underrated 300 PR team had risen through the ranks to face the reigning champs. The champs were riding on tenterhooks and approached the match like wounded lions. One could literally taste the tension which was evident, as our eyes were blood shot.
I grabbed my gloves and joined my team mates to say a prayer before trooping the park for the “Battle of Kumbi-saleh.” We bowed our heads and prayed silently and just before I rose to my feet, there was a gentle tap on my shoulder, then a sweet voice like the wind followed, “put up your best Abanga, you are good.” I turned and it was Justina, Ooboy! My heart melted like sheer Shea in the mere sun.
The match was very heated and we played with all our hearts, body and mind. Maybe even soul and spirit. The 400PR team was up to task, displaying their skill and teamwork.
You can’t expect any less when they have Gerrard, the captain of the School’s team, on their side and a number very good players as well. On our side too were the likes of Kojo Asante, Fiifi Manful, Tregar and many others. In the heart of the game, we had mounted a lot of pressure and had sustained the 400PR team, they had very good defensive composition which foiled most of our attacks. An attempt at goal by Fiifi ricocheted against the goal post and was cleared to safety by one macho man in the 400PR defense. I heard them call him Chinedu. Joojo grabbed the ball few meters away from the center line and sped with the ball towards goal, my defenders had been coaxed into complacency by the splendid performance of my midfielders and the strikers.
Joojo still had the ball breaking easily through the defense of 300 PR as two of the defender position was caught unaware. Sensing danger I positioned myself in the post well, ready to shield off all possible threats. The fans of 400PR were shouting and screaming loud, some already cheering goal. The tension had risen ten folds by then and my heart was practically racing with Bolt.
Joojo was approaching steadily, Treggar, my No.1 man-stopper was way behind Joojo, and I knew “wahala don come!” I began to regret boasting so much of how good I was in the goal post when I knew very well I wasn’t as good and hadn’t trained in a very long time. Even the words of the Lord’s Prayer had entirely vacated my brains and I just didn’t know what to do.
I felt a hand so soft touch my shoulder, it was as if I had fallen into a trance, and that same smooth sweet voice like the wind began to speak to me once more, “put up you best Abanga, you are good ..”
I looked at the far end and under the tent that Romeo provided for the SRC.
I saw my coach, Jackson and his good friend Hughes jumping up and down and waving a book in his hand, he was trying to communicate but I just couldn’t make sense out of it, behind them stood the ever beautiful ladies of 300PR. I instantly felt the pain of Jesus Christ, massa!
I surged forward, racing towards Joojo who was weighing his leg to smash a shot, he swerved his body to the left and right, in an attempt to displace my balance but he didn’t do it so well. My reflexes were acute as always. He smashed the ball, and I jumped towards to it and rammed my clenched fist into it, ricocheting the ball to safety. But the impact threw me 5yards away from the goal post, sprawled awkwardly on the bare floor.
Kobby, onipa y3 bad oO! I never knew the gentle looking Joojo could be so mean and deadly. My whole body ached from the impact and I felt completely numb and utterly confused. I wished I could cry. But for the presence of the ladies paa herrh!
I was helped to my feet and that was when I came to my senses, everyone was clapping but only I felt the pain. From the far end of the park I could see Jackson fall to his knees and raised his hands to the sky, the young man was not in a jersey but the match meant the world to him- poor coach.
We had managed to net a goal and we saw our shadows in the finals.
The game ended with us winners, and 400PR down by a lone goal. We were as tired as the wings of a bird. We were called back to play in the finals in less than 10minutes, we knew we had lost before the commencement of the match not because we had lost our competitive edge or because the other team was better composed but with no substitutes available on our side and a bunch of 12 tired men as against a side that had rested well over two hours it was obvious.
Both teams played well, but the better team won, they beat us three goals to nil. With Mutala Yakubu netting the most admirable goal of the match, disposing a free kick dexterously to the back of the net.
Spectacular Appearances. . .
Eric Mawuena Egbeta.
The young lad is better known for hosting the morning dew, posing critical questions and knitting constructive criticisms. It was a surprise when he grabbed a jersey and run to the field. Just like he does on radio he
exercised a lot of maturity and obeyed all the rules on the field. He had a touch of swag to the way he run about on the field. It reminded me of Super Mario and the toys that wore “sor-por-ta”.
But Eric played well. He deserves a hand.
Clement Edward Kumsah a.k.a Pilolo
He is everywhere, I hope you know that already. And he knows everything, I hope you know that too. He is the king of expose and a comrade to Anas Aremeyaw Anas. The only GIJ student with a copy of the contractual document signed between the Ghana Government and Guerrioz Gulvao. And one more thing, he is the biological father of Confusion. He didn’t play for his team 300JN, only to find him running around on the pitch marking the jersey of 400JN. He performed wonderfully and did everything a footballer does on a field. Only thing is that he couldn’t
manage all air balls. The plight of vertically challenged people… Rather than touching the ball with his head, the young-old lad would rather kick the human being with his reason being very simple-“should you miss the ball; you don’t miss the man”
A protest was raised against him and massa! You should have seen him on display. I am told he even threatened to bring out an investigative piece about the sports commission if they tried anything silly against him or the team. Trust me, that guy doesn’t joke. I call him me kuuuuumsaaah! He knows everything.
I don’t really know his name, he is popularly known as governor, the schools official goalie. He proved his worth and was awarded best goalie of the tournament.
Highly skillful and tactful. Played extremely well and was awarded man of the match in the finals.
Before I continue any further, let me just commend the guys at RAD Africa
for a wonder job. GIJ’s Grammys was a success. Don’t listen to what others will say, they’re probably just hating. The eminence awards ceremony was massive and I was especially happy because our wonderful girls and sisterlings decided to reenact the no bra day. That steeze was just off the charts. Ladies and gentlemen at this point, I take a break to disagree with a popular saying that “The best comes from the west” Whaaaaaaaaaaaat?! They have not been to GIJ. Maybe, just maybe! Because dear brethren, that was a night of bliss. But enough of the no bra day steeze!…
This picture is very deceptive –in the sense that, it’s hiding the truth behind. I’m sure you’ve caught wind of what I mean right now so I’ll just get on with what I want to say. Anyway, biggups to B mane and Lillypearl, for ‘MCing’ the event. It was just beautiful. It was….. *At this point, I have to wipe the tears in my eyes*… I’m feeling petty so I’ll just dwell on Lillypearl for a while. Whattttt??!! Herh! God really create you wate. I’m sure He used clay from Afadjato because this is not normal back elevation ooooo…. My gentlemen will … no!
They must agree with me. More pictures on Richmond Anim-Damoah’s Facebook wall. All in all, the awards ceremony was beautiful. Those of us who came in Ubers and things just to impress just had to walk to GBC so we could get trotros home. Things we do for love.
Anyway, biggups to this man right here. One of the ‘mainest’ people behind the awards ceremony. Henny, to greater things bruv! You do all chale. And yh, to Shemy too, for putting up with those late nights and to all others who were sleepless. Thanks for putting this together for some of us. We’re really grateful boss.
Special thanks to Jah Abba Fada. And to this man right here. I and I know say the eminence no… And there goes the last of my patois. Our appreciation goes out to this man. Henny to greatness man. You do all and GIJ ‘dawaase’.
For those of you who know me, you know how petty I can be. And as always there’s someone to aid my pettiness. Let me just get Abanga to do what he does best. I’m going to sip on some Henny. I’ll be back. . .
Enters Dada Baaaannnnngz. . .
Women! What else could a man suffer so much for? From infancy, we are taught naturally to be protective of our women , and as Men as we are at that tender stage, we brave up, beat our chest and stand up to protect our little sisters, mothers and childhood lovers. We wore that “admirably horrible” frown when those guys from the neighborhood came looking for our lovely sisters. We ‘manned up’ to fight on behalf of
our lovely sisters and childhood lovers when their ever promising “ripe” lips led them into trouble. Growing up, a good number of us have been beaten black and blue for the sheer sake of advertising our love for our Women. One particular episode which I don’t want to remember is the silly fight that erupted back in high school during ‘Interco’ -the cause of those brutal fights- mbaa yiaa(this same women).
We love them, cherish them, revere them and admire them…but… hmm… They keep confusing us. As to what they want us to do for them? What they expect us to do to them? How to treat them? How to behave around them? And whole encyclopedia of instructions we have to read and abide by around them. Our women on campus are well, grown up. Being the Men we are, treat them as such. I admire their demeanor, and composure. Ready to match us men, boot
for boot and tooth for tooth.
My first encounter was in 2015 when I met Stephanie Adenyo. Whaat?! What a WOMAN. The kind of woman with the, “man” in her highlighted. The likes of Phyllis, Dora Badu and Godslove Cudjoe also come to mind. These are the signals of substance our women are sending to the world. Women of Substance, we call them, with a smile.
My heart gave a giant (note the use of the word giant?) leap when I came across the jabbing write-up by Justica. That lady really knows how to bite and bite hard.
She said we should pay for their meals at the cafeteria, we should allow them to jump the long winding queues that snakes its way out of Reggie’s Counter, (I’m glad she didn’t mention Aunty Mercy’s), whistle down taxis for them, and most importantly we should wear shorts and stop dressing like married men. Excuse me, what?! My first expression was, what in heaven’s
hell happened to “The Feminist Theory?”
My brothers and sisters, as I speak
I’m a confused young man. Not knowing exactly what our women want from us.
First they said they wanted fresh guys. We found our own magical way of appearing handsome. Haircut, “shommie”,”shadurs” bi what?! Then they said it wasn’t just about ‘handsomeness.’ They wanted intelligence. Then we began burning the midnight candle. Lord knows how hard we learnt to answer all those questions about theories some dead men crafted before their death. As if that wasn’t enough, these same women of ours, came up with a new theory. They claimed that intelligence was not just enough for them.
They wanted men who could take care of them –rich guys. So as loving as we are, we geared our efforts towards acquiring wealth – working hard and saving enough to attain wealth for the sake of mbaa yiaa. It didn’t end there, Kobby. Another theory emerged, which postulated that the now rich guys should be respectful because our wealth was making us quite boastful.
So we became humble. It didn’t end there. They said they didn’t want riches or wealth any longer. They wanted loving, caring and responsible men. Riches meant nothing to them. My goodness!
We resorted to being simple, humble folk… Sake of mbaa yiaa… Then guess what? A few guys couldn’t bear the twist and turn of it all and so resort to their former simple way of life. They, rather being smart individuals, were called LIARS… Mbaa yi b3kum yen Ooo, but we no go die!
Charley Kobby, I dey beg ask Justica sey, between 6 cars and 6 packs what would she go for? She talk 6 packs aaa then ibi like she want make we shun the school then turn bouncers that ooo. If ibi 6 cars too aaa, then make she make we continue dey give wonna Jidenna steeze.
Could it be, for the want of a better word, that she described our perfectly selected, crispy, formal CK and D&G shirts, over beautifully sewn and neatly ironed cotton trousers, as outfit for married men??? Or she was just giving a signal of how already responsible we look? Kobby ask am Ooo. Make you no forget. Well, H.E Madugu heard the cries of our lady Justica and responded as a gentleman, rather than whistle down small taxis for y’all ladies, he asked for the big SRC bus to take y’all home.
I have been meaning to meet Justica, but I didn’t know where to find her. So I kept my eyes at the Kenkey seller’s joint where, you know, most of our women align themselves to devour their favorite delicacy all semester long.