Adventures Of Growing Up As A Child In Ghana, “Sending Be What”


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Reflecting on life throws a vivid picture of my childhood days in Ghana. The adventures that sidelined growing up in Ghana are so entrenched in my minds that I can never forget them.  In fact, I miss being a child in Ghana and this makes me wonder if others do have their childhood adventures and experiences so well engraved in their minds too.

Do not get me wrong, it was hectically difficult growing up as a young boy in Ghana, but the experience was so good that I will never regret it. I certainly know most of our readers on GhanaCelebrities.Com had different childhood experiences, grew up at different parts of Ghana or in different countries but it would be grippingly amazing if we can all share our little unforgettable childhood experiences.

A common thing almost every Ghanaian parent has is the edge to give his or her child some sort of quality education. My mother was fanatical on this and my teachers did worsen the burden by bombarding my mates and I with countless home works.

Since I am talking about the fundamental of my today (education), I would try to chip in the various unforgettable experiences during my childhood educational days which we might all have experienced. I hated home works and I know most of my friends did too. I wouldn’t be surprise if you hated those home works as child.

The most annoying aspect of these home works is the fact that every subject teacher gave one out and some times, you can be burdened with about 4 different home works, all due for assessment the next day. (And this is when one is just at the primary school…)

As much as I hated home works and the teachers who gave them out most, these were not in isolation. I also hated Sunday evenings. The mere thought of Monday being at the corner, meaning I would have to go to school for another 5 days was enough to depress and give me sleepless nights.

Even if I was tired on Sunday nights and wanted to sleep, the early Monday morning English Dictation class (…something like spelling galore..) followed by “Maths-Mental” where you were randomly asked 2×6, 4×9 and others were enough to keep me up all night. Ah! Indeed, I hated Sunday nights.

As unstoppable as its coming is, Mondays always came and went, no matter how much I hated them. They were full of sorrows and caused depressions upon depressions to my life such that I developed thick skin to the winds Mondays blew. Anytime I couldn’t spell a word like “Umbrella”, “Hippopotamus” or “Xylophone”, I was given 4 strong lashes at my back.( …No wonder my Gf thinks I have a rough behind even though I have never been to jail before…)

It wasn’t always bad at primary school; some beautiful times I always looked up to and even wished I could push the clock’s hand forward to such days need not to be left out. Do you remember “Our Days”, these are the days I enjoyed most. My mum who is the best chef I have ever known always hooked me up with some delicious rice & stew, enriched it up with some salad and talia (local spagehtti) alongside my Fanta, Pepsi , Coke or Malt (..I had a choice you know..lol )

When these days came, smiles were always on my face. With my food, drink and digestive biscuit packed in a basket, I would make my way to school. Remember this is my food, cooked by my own mother and yet the wife of my school’s Proprietor would hijack all our food till 12 noon.  As our tongues engorged in our saliva mouths, ready to fast eat our food, the area boys would also be on standby ready to parasite or beg.

At around 12 noon, the hijacked food would be granted Amnesty by Her Imperial Majesty, Madam Proprietor’s wife but it cannot be eaten. My teacher will shout out “Class Stand, eyes close, the Lords prayer…”

As we recite the Lords prayer wrongly since we never knew the right words, my teacher would be moving from table to table with the biggest plate and spoon I have ever seen in my life taking bits of everyone’s food, catching up on our eggs and meat. (Geez! It hurts!)

Let me throw out a bit of light on life outside schooling hours. I was born on Tuesday and as such the name is Kwabena, if I am lucky some will call me Kobi and the old ones who claim to have come to the hospital when I was born will give out Kwabena Agyapong. (Digging out all the hidden names)

Every micro second of my life out of school was about “Sending”( Asoma soma nkoaa). Kwabena, go and buy me Maggie cube when the person just came from the market. On my way back after securing the item sent for, the next house neighbour knowingly how scorching the sun is out there and knowing that I am just coming back from the shop would also give me another send.( Kwabena, get this money and go buy me some milk if not charcoal from the charcoal seller, the woman who had some weirdo dogs in her house)

“Sending be what”, my slippers (charley watey) never lasted long, my feet was always dusty and legs were always tired from all the sending-ranging from going to buy bulbs to calling area girls for area boys. I was literally the hood freelance messenger. Neighbours were sending me on errands; Uncles were doing it and “Grannys” were also doing it.

Basically, everyone older than me had the prerogative to use my services. Oh! Growing up in Ghana was adventurous, perplexing and loving but the sending was too much… What was your experience?

 


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Chris-Vincent Agyapong Febiri, Esq
I am a Hedonist, Contrarian, Traveller, Lawyer, Atheist, Thinker, Writer, Minimalist & a Professional Truth Sayer.

9 Comments

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  1. first time on ur blog and as I’m not big on ‘celebrities’ (wht does the name mean anyway), the first story i read was this. massively hilarious. I cherish my childhood memories. Growing up in Cape Coast. Those were the days. Things r different now. Kids dont even play anymore atleast not like we did. Brofosem all over the place. Sad.

    1. Thanks for commenting and visiting, I hope I will see here a lot…If you are not into GH celebrities, then this place is a good place for you since I will not be doing a lot of celebrity blogging here!

      It is sad that the natural fun and growth associated with being a child have been eraidicated by what we term ‘modernization’ and ‘westernisation’. As Africans, we seem to be giving away our best things away so easily…no preservation!

  2. say that again! now every child MUST speak english. You dont even see children playing ampe, pilolo etc. Errm aint digging the pix you used though. too nasty. you’ve been watching too much CNN etc (to the western media, any news about us must be about poverty etc). Nicely written though. :).

  3. Well, I’m a 16 year old Ghanaian who moved to London in 2008 and should be revising for two AS exams in the next twelve hours. But I’d rather share my story!

    I grew up in Cape Coast and Elmina and was known as Sɔfo and Anti Nurse’s daughter. I was also referred to as ‘Trinity Enterprise’, the name of my dad’s cold store.

    Busy as my dad always was, we usually had a hired driver transport us to and from school. My earliest memory was falling straight into the gutter as a five-year old because I thought I was a big girl and could open my own door. It was definitely traumatising and the neighbours didn’t help by laughing that bow-lɛggɛ was at it again with the clumsiness.

    Class 6 was probably the highlight of my education. I was that class prefect who would write my friends’ names if they were talking too, to prevent the label ‘partiality’. The best ‘Our Day’ was when we all contributed 10,000 old cedis for various classmates to cook for a party we organised. It was the bomb, no lie!!! We were just that cool.

    Two years later, my life was over. I’m kidding, I came to the UK. Well.. those two pretty much equate.

    And now I’m off to write exams with Tampico and Fanice on my mind. Wish me luck.

    1. Good Luck Nancy! 🙂 I hope you did your best? The childhood memories are very valuable, especially when it is form a colorful nation like Ghana where children have REAL fun.

  4. in as much as we talk about our primary school days,i will like to deviate a lil bit and talk about adisadel college elliott house where i know vincent from.one incident i remember vividly is the day vincent was called n questioned about “representing” thus writing his name “bush man” on the administration block wall..he was queried “r u bush man” he answered yes i am, then he was told u will buy paint then he replied “yes sir i will buy paint”…….that was such a hilarious moment.hope ur good vincent