Features
Of rat catcher, ambitions
It was the day for the interview. Boys as small as 11 and as old as 22 and numbering about 120 were scheduled to individually face a panel of three to justify their inclusion in the first year list of students of the secondary school that was their first choice.
The Common Entrance Exam (CEE) marks would be added to marks obtained at the interview, out of which a borderline would be drawn to make way for 80 new students. The rest could go to hell or become cocoyam farmers if they chose.
Incidentally, that was the year the school authorities decided not to enrol ‘grandfathers’. Hitherto, bearded men were admitted into form one primarily because the school needed physically powerful students to represent it during sporting activities.
Apparently, most of such muscled, macho candidates had stayed all their lives in the villages chasing rats and racing with grass cutters that didn’t want to end up in the soup pot. The skills of such candidates were thus harnessed to win hundred-metre races at inter-school athletics, meetings. Some could also run 800 metres like the antelope.
Some of these over-aged students loved school and had ambitions. They started school at the age of about 12. By the time they got to Form 4, they’d hit 22. They sat for the CEE, passed and got enrolled into secondary schools where they featured prominently in athletics because of their rat-catching skills and styles.
Normally they were not good footballers because they were notorious for scoring ‘own goals’. Neither were they good table-tennis players because they held the bats as if they were going to weed a cassava farm. But in the school-choir, they were fantastic as bass singers. In fact they sang double-bass and the school buildings shook with the resonance.
It was often the tradition that the biggest ‘man’ in the school was made the dining hall prefect in his final year. By that time, he should look like a Rwandan militiaman, and should eat like an idiot. However, they kept the discipline because of occasional slaps they dished out to recalcitrant juniors.
It also became registered that because the older boys developed uncontrolled appetite and passion for double-plates, they instigated the students to riot whenever there were lapses in proper nutritional management.
The big students, were, therefore, useful in certain ways but problematic in others because they were also bullies.
That year, the authorities decided that the tall middle-weight candidates wouldn’t be admitted, but they came for the interview all the same thinking that they would even be given preferences because they could compete with grasscutters in any free race.
The biggest and tallest entrant that year was a Togolese. While the lad was schooling at the primary level in Togo, his father was in Ghana. Having completed, he joined his Dad and attended middle school in Sikaman and studied Anglais. Luckily he passed the entrance exam although his English was quite damaging to the human ear.
Before the interview session, the headmaster came round to look at the candidates present. The Togolese copper arrived a bit late and when he landed, many mistook him for a pantryman. He grinned contentedly and was quite magnificent with his shirt tucked into a tight pair of shorts. His muscles bulged
When the headmaster saw him, he was awed. This was a classic example of men they didn’t want to admit into the school; a perfect specimen of the undesirables. The boy, sorry man, was almost 25, barefoot, completely shaven with close-cropped hair like a convict, hard face with a noble ambition to become either a lawyer or doctor.
His colleagues curiously studied him and agreed that he’d be a good sprinter for the school although they also admitted his appetite for food will be a problem to humanity.
The headmaster called him to have a chat.
“What’s your name?”
“Kormi,” he replied and grinned sheepishly.
“That’s the only name you have?”
“No. Kormi Drakey”, he said crudely.
“You’re a big boy”, the headmaster observed.
“Why have you applied to this school?”
“I can do sports well”, Drakey declared. “That’s why I apply”.
The implication was that he applied to help the school through its sporting problems and that his enrolment should be a matter of course, an issue of undisputed priority.
“You can run well?” the headmaster asked.
“Yes. Look at my thighs; couldn’t you see it? I be zonal champion. 100 metres, 200 and long jump. Nobody fit me.”
The headmaster was doubly impressed with the curriculum vitae. The boy was not a giant, he was indeed going to show his class.
“Okay”, said the headmaster. “Run round the park and let’s see your stamina.”
Drakey immediately took off like an Olympic champion as the headmaster called out the name of the first candidate on the list to begin the interviews.
Drakey circled the large park 13 times, and when he became very tired, he stopped and headed for the master’s office where the interview was taking place. He was sweating and bedraggled. The other candidates laughed because the Togolese machoman’s destiny was becoming quite tragic.
He opened the door and when the headmaster saw him, he was amused. He has forgotten all about the six foot candidate was becoming quite tragic. “Is that all you can run?” he asked.
This, certainly, was an irritating question.
“Didn’t you see me?” Drakey ejaculated. “I ran be a hare 13 good rounds. No be joke at all-o”.
Okay go and wait for your turn. It turned out that Drakey was indeed not given an admission letter after the ordeal, whereupon he became furious and insulted the headmaster.
“If you know you won’t took me why should you take me run like that? You don’t have sense? Is that how to treat a woman being? Your mother!”
Of course that wasn’t the right way to treat a human being much more a “woman being.” The case would have been referred to the then Ombudsman.
I was reminded of this incident when Samuel Adade was sacked from school because he was married, apart from the fact that he was grossly over-aged. The guy wanted to be somebody in life and saw education as the way out. Why should he be denied the opportunity?
His wife is dead and they still do not want him back in the school. This is clearly unjust. Sikaman Palava submits that a man’s education cannot be stifled because of age and marital status at this time when we are even encouraging the idea of functional literacy for our fathers and grandmothers. If 60 year olds are being encouraged to learn, why should a 22-year old be denied the opportunity just because he is married?
In some overseas countries, even 90 year olds are pursuing degree courses although they know they’d die the next minute.
If Master Adade cannot be enrolled because of his “old” age of 22, then functional literacy is no longer anything to encourage. Don’t you get my point?
This article was first written on Saturday, September 17, 1994
Walk into any supermarket in Accra, Kumasi, or Tamale today, and you will see the modern Ghanaian diet packaged as ‘progress.’ You will see breakfast cereals with cartoon mascots, fruit drinks that are mostly sugar and colour, and snacks promising energy and happiness in bright fonts.
Even products loaded with salt and unhealthy fats often wear a health halo labeled as fortified or natural, while the real nutritional risk is hidden in tiny print on the back. This is not just a consumer inconvenience; it is a public health blind spot. Ghana is living through a silent surge of non-communicable diseases (NCDs) like hypertension, diabetes, and stroke.
These conditions quietly drain household income and steal productive years. According to the Ghana Health Service (GHS) and World Health Organisation (WHO) estimates, NCDs are now responsible for nearly 45 per cent of all deaths in Ghana.
We cannot build a healthy nation on a food environment designed to confuse people at the point of purchase. Ghana must mandate simple front-of-pack warning labels (FOPWL) on high-sugar, high-salt, and high-fat packaged foods because consumers deserve truth at a glance, and industry must be pushed to reformulate.
Why Back-of-Pack Labels Are Not Enough
In theory, consumers can read nutrition panels. In reality, most Ghanaians shop under pressure, limited time, rising prices, and children tugging at their sleeves. The back label is a relic that requires a high cognitive load to interpret—essentially, the seller knows what is inside, but the buyer cannot easily tell.
This ‘information asymmetry’ is not fair. It is not consumer choice when the information needed to choose well is deliberately difficult to find.
Simple warning labels like the black octagons used in the Chilean Model act as a ‘stop-and-think’ nudge. They do not ban products but they simply tell the truth so people can decide.
Reshaping Our Food Environment
A generation ago, Ghana’s meals were mostly home-prepared, like kenkey and banku with soups and stews. Today, ultra-processed foods have become the norm, especially in urban areas. Children are growing up with sugary drinks and salty snacks as everyday items, not occasional treats.
If Ghana is serious about prevention, we must act where decisions are made—thus, the shelf. Warning labels protect parents from sugar traps and pressure the market to improve. When warning labels are mandatory, manufacturers start to compete to make healthier recipes to avoid the stigma of the label.
Addressing the Pushback
Industry will argue that labels create fear or that education alone is enough. However, health education is slow; labels work immediately. While the informal street food sector is a challenge, regulating pre-packaged goods is the practical starting point because the supply chain is traceable. We cannot wait until the whole system is perfect; we must start where action is feasible.
A 2026 Implementation Roadmap for Ghana
To move from talk to action, Ghana needs this 5-step plan:
- Issue mandatory regulation: The Ministry of Health, Food and Drug Authority (FDA), and Ghana Standards Authority (GSA) must define the label format and nutrient thresholds for all pre-packaged foods.
- Simple, bold symbols: Use plain language and clear symbols, such as “HIGH IN SUGAR,” designed for busy families, not experts.
- Transparent thresholds: Adopt technically defensible standards adapted to the Ghanaian diet.
- Transition and enforce: Provide a 12–18 month period for manufacturers to reformulate, followed by firm enforcement at ports and retail centers.
- National literacy campaign: The Ghana Health Service must pair labels with public messages explaining why high salt or sugar increases disease risk.
Conclusion: Truth Is Not a Luxury
Prevention is cheaper than treatment. A warning label costs little compared to the price of dialysis, stroke rehabilitation, or lifelong diabetes complications. A black octagon on a box of biscuits is more than a label; it is a shield for the health of all Ghanaians. It is time to put the truth where we can see it, right on the front.
By Abigail Amoah Sarfo
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Natives of the Kenkey Kingdom were mad with joy. They were still recovering from the hangover of the kingdom’s loss of the African Cup when their spirits were rekindled. Their great warrior, Zoom Zoom, stormed Melbourne and made sure that every Australian refused food. And that was after he had drawn contour lines on the face of their idol, Jeff Fenech.
Not only did the terrible warrior transform Old Boy Jeff’s face into a contour map useful for geography lessons, but he also accomplished the feat of retaining the much-envied super-kenkeyweight title against all odds. The warrior had not been eating hot kenkey for nothing.
The Fight Against Fenech
When Jeff Fenech bit the dust in the eighth round, I was tempted to consider if Adanko Deka could not have faced him in any twelve-rounder, title or non-title bout. Adanko has improved tremendously, and soon he would be facing Pernell Whitaker.
Sincerely, I was pessimistic about Azumah’s man, who the last time took him through twelve grueling rounds of rough boxing. I expressed my fears to my colleague Christian Abbew, alias Gbonyo, who surprisingly had total confidence that the Australian brawler would fall, predictably in Round Five.
Gbonyo gave reasons for his contention, all of which I counteracted using the age factor. Fact is, I didn’t know that contrary to the laws of nature, Azumah was all the time growing younger.
When Fenech fell briefly in round one, I asked my brother whether it was the same Fenech that fought Azumah in Las Vegas. Sure, it was the same Fenech, all out to beat Azumah before his countrymen.
But the African Professor had no intention of making the Australian a hero. As he spun round the desperate Aussie, dancing and stinging out his jabs, it was not too long before I realized that the end was near.
The Eighth Round Showdown
Two minutes into the eighth round, the African ring-master proved to the whole world that he was a true son of Bukom. He himself was cornered, but like the tough nut he is, he managed to break free before overwhelming the panting Australian with several blows that made him crash headlong.
Moments after, the referee, expressing fatherly sympathy, stopped the fight to prevent an obituary. After the ordeal, Fenech’s fairly handsome face was full of newly constructed hills, valleys, ox-bow lakes—whatever. I noticed that his nose was very tired and had a miniature volcano sitting restlessly on it. Obviously, Jeff’s wife will have to nurse that nose back to its normal shape—but I’d advise her not to use iodine, otherwise her dear husband will wail like a banshee.
Reflections on Boxing
Because Mohammed Ali was the kind of boxer kids liked, many school-going kids often entertained the wish of becoming like him. I remember one day when I told my father I wanted to become a boxer, and he advised me to first complete my education to the highest level. Then, if I decided to become a boxer and was knocked out a couple of times, I’d fall back on my degrees and make a living.
Boxing used to be interesting when bouts were fought more with the mouth and tongue than with gloves. You had to brag well, psychologically belittling your opponent before beating him up physically. Mohammed Ali became a very successful pugilist because he also managed to become a poet. He often blew his horn across America, calling himself the “pretty boxer” and opponents like Joe Frazier “the gorilla.”
Ali made a living fighting hard fists like Joe Frazier, Ken Norton, Jerry Quarry, George Foreman, Leon Spinks, and Trevor Berbick. Twice he came back from retirement to fight just for money. It was Larry Holmes who finally pensioned him, and since then the great Ali has never been himself.
The Path Ahead for Azumah
When Azumah nailed Jeff Fenech on the cross and barked almost immediately that he was after the head of Pernell Whitaker, I was happy but concerned. I would have been happier if he had announced his resignation there and then—he would have been more of a hero. Beating Fenech in Australia is more newsworthy than facing Whitaker in the States.
With Whitaker, it might be a little difficult. The “Sweet Pea” is agile, has a crooked body like a snake with diarrhea, and stands awkwardly as a southpaw. He is known for having the fastest pair of fists and the rare ability to dodge punches no matter how close they may be.
Much as I do not doubt that Azumah can take his title, I also don’t want him to retire beaten. I want him to retire as a hero and live a fuller, healthy life.
As Azumah himself said after dishing Fenech, he is now a professor and has something to show for it. Like a true professor, I think it is time he resigned and took up training young talents who could draw inspiration from him and become like him in the future.
Closing Thoughts
I must say that although ageing boxers like Larry Holmes and George Foreman are making a name for themselves, boxing is not like the Civil Service, where you can even change your age and retire at 74. Zoom Zoom has delighted the hearts of the natives, and Sikaman will forever hold him in high esteem—but only when he retires as a hero.
This article was first published on Saturday, March 7, 1992.
