I was not pleased with the conduct of my bodyguard on the occasion of the Fourth GJA Awards Nite at the Labadi Beach Hotel last Saturday. Theophilus Yartey was supposed to be at post at exactly 7.05pm but was nowhere to be found.

My honourable press secretary, Devine Ankamah, had to double as the acting bodyguard. He was quite impressive except that his height didn’t quite measure up to his responsibility as the personal guard of a six footer columnist.

Suddenly, Theophilus appeared in full gear grinning contentedly. He nearly missed the buffet. He apologised for the lapse in his security arrangement, rationalised his undue delay and reaffirmed his loyalty to Kwame Alomele.

I looked at the divine shape of his head and had no doubt whatsoever in my mind that he was the ideal guy for the job. Theophilus is a man whose height is proportional to his intelligence. And for the fact that he is also a born-again Christian makes him an ideal personal guard.

He once confided in me that he could order a gun-wielding attacker to surrender his weapon to him in the name of Jesus. I suppose he could also chest bullets in the name of Elijah. At the present, he is the man who holds my life in his hands.

With the appearance of Theo by my side, I breathed easily. Meanwhile the awards ceremony was underway in grand style. When I heard the citation read in my honour with respect to my article titled “PRESS FREEDOM AND THE BEARDED GOAT,” I was elated. What the bearded goat did to press freedom was, however, not recounted by the exciting and able MC, Godwin Avenorgbo. That guy is a wonderful master of ceremonies. I salute him!

POETIC TRAGEDY

The Columnist of the Year award was delivered to me by no other than the legendary poet and master of the ink, Dr Atukwei Okai. He is a man I envy so much, if not for anything, for his poetic genius.

I have always tried to be a poet without success. I write a few stanzas but they do not shine. What a tragedy! But it comes so naturally to Dr Okai, sometimes in the semblance of lorgorligi.

I am flattered to say that the man is also my admirer and once told me he wished he could write prose like me. At that time I doubted his sincerity because I could not imagine how a great name, a poetic legend, could ever wish to be like an upstart columnist with very little promise of becoming great.

I was so happy to see that he was the very man to present my award. And to my utmost satisfaction, he blessed me with his own citation, whereupon I was filled with the spirit of literary power. I felt like I was in a dreamland.

NO MORE WEEPING

The Sikaman Palava column began as a light-hearted approach to information dissemination such that if your mother died, the Palava could inform you in the kind of language that would make you laugh rather than weep. The column turned sorrow into joy.

I did not know the column was generating so much appeal until the Editor’s office was besieged by readers one Monday after an article I wrote on impostors appeared the previous Saturday. It was then that steps were taken to baptise the column with water and then with fire.

In 1991 it earned me an award as an Outstanding Journalist at the National Media Awards night. I was given the award although I did not present entries as others did. In fact, I’m not used to sending entries to compete in these awards because it just doesn’t seem right to me. But this year, I was compelled to do so because my colleague and press secretary Devine Ankamah said he was going to do so on my behalf whether I liked it or not.

Other colleagues put pressure on me and finally, and in consultation with Devine, I submitted the entries. I was glad to have won this award as the best in Column Writing although the ¢200,000 prize money isn’t quite proportional to my height and of course weight. I could have done with a deep freezer and ¢500,000 in it. Sponsors would have to be found for these awards to make them more inducing.

CONGRATULATIONS

At the hotel, I was privileged to be congratulated by Mrs Gifty Afenyi-Dadzie, the versatile, intelligent and resourceful Vice President of the GJA whose Christian ideals I admire so much. She is a Palava fan.

The dignified Mr Kafui Asem was so pleased with my award and the dazzling former Mirror columnist Ajoa Yeboah-Afari was similarly glad I was honoured. Her column ‘Thoughts of a Native Daughter’ used to whet my reading appetite those days. She is one of the few lady journalists who have distinguished themselves in the profession. She reminded me that my 1989 article ‘A Name Under Siege’ is still her favourite. Many others say so.

Finally, I didn’t know I was so loved. A good number of my colleagues paid ¢15,000 each, not to wine and dine but to cheer me up and I’m very grateful. I was excited and certainly, they made me the star of the night, dancing round me as we took pictures here and there; hugging and pushing me around.

May I express my profound gratitude to two Spectator national service ladies, Betsy Okan and Tina Donkor who defied all odds and made it to the beach hotel to cheer me loud. They made all the difference, together with tall, brainy Peter Francisco, ace-reporter, Francis Twum, and celebrated humorist Alfred Tamakloe who dressed like a voodoo priest and became a centre of attraction.

Peter Quayson, the wonderful cameraman and camera-magician Seth Aduagyei together with my good friend Gayheart Edem Mensah, gave every moral support. I dedicate the awards to them and to the New Times Corporation.

Now I guess if these awards will have to be competed for every year, some of us would have to stop contesting for a while to give a chance to the young, up-and-coming journalists.

They need to be motivated and we must give them the chance to be known through these awards. Don’t you think so?

This article was first published on Saturday, May 25, 1996