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Lady teachers and swollen bellies
When I was a kid I didn’t like female teachers. They would come at the beginning of the term all nice and dainty, but soon their bellies started growing for no apparent reason.
Their pretty faces will become contorted and distorted and they kept hoarding saliva in the mouth. I thought that was not very civil.
And when will the belly of Mrs stop growing out of proportion? I would wonder who was the bastard that inflicted Mrs with a balloon stomach. Yes the bastard! Who did he think he was?
Didn’t he know that Mrs couldn’t carry such a belly all by herself? And that she kept marking correct arithmetic work wrong?
I often got angry and went to my Dad to complain about the Mrs “She marked this answer wrong”.
I’d tell Papa, tearfully. “Bring it let’s see!
My Dad would look at the sum. “I think you are right,” he would say. “I wonder why she marked it wrong.”
“That woman, she is always dozing!” I’d tell my Papa. “This morning she tried to vomit, but nothing came. And half the time she is angry with everybody”.
“What might be the reason?”
“I think it is her belly. It is too large. Or is it the saliva in her mouth?”
I decided to ask Mrs why she was keeping saliva in her mouth.
The next morning I went to school and we were told that Mrs had gone on “maternity leave.” And what did that mean?
We were told that soon, she would be having a baby. Nonsense! How possibly could a baby as large as the one in Mrs stomach come out? Through which exit? They must be joking!
Sooner than expected, the class was informed that Mrs’ had delivered a bouncing baby boy. And so what? She was supposed to be in class teaching us English grammar not delivering bouncing babies.
Meanwhile, the male teacher who took over was quite different. We all noticed that contrary to expectation, his belly did not grow. At least not frontally or laterally. And he did not store saliva in his mouth. More so, he was arithmetically alert. The class was happy although he liked caning the pupils.
The man did not doze and he’d take us to PE and also teach us Christmas songs. He spoke decent English and marked the exercises on time. Then one morning he announced to us that a female trainee teacher would be coming to teach us for a while. She was from a training college. I wondered whether this one was also afflicted with a swollen belly.
PRETTY
She turned out to be a very young pretty daisy. I liked her! “My name is Miss Amoah,” she intoned. “I’ll be teaching you for the next few weeks.”
I looked at her belly. I needed to reassure myself that she was not encumbered with a ‘bouncing baby.’ My goodness! Or was it because she was Miss and not a Mrs? What was the difference anyway? “I hope you are all good boys and girls.”
“Yes Miss!” we shouted in alacrity.
“I don’t like boys who talk in class. They end up as gutter cleaners!”
We all laughed heartily and drummed on our desks. Certainly the Miss had a sense of humour in her head. How did she know that such boys ended in the gutter? And will they wear Wellington boots when doing the clean out?
“And girls who talk in class, do you know where they end up?” she asked.
“Yes!” we chorused.
“Who can tell me?”
“Farm!” one pupil said. “No!”
“In market selling tomato and garden eggs.”
“No!” said Miss Amoah.
“Hell!” (Laughter)
I raised my hand, I thought I knew this one.
“Yes you there!” Miss Amoah pointed at me.
“She’d end up with a swollen belly full of babies!”
The entire class convulsed into laughter. And it was Miss Amoah who laughed the most.
She couldn’t conjecture how I could come up with the idea of a distended belly containing babies just because a girl talked too much in class. But she realised upon a little bit of cogitation that there could be a link between talkative and babies.
DROPOUT
After all, isn’t it those who are idle talkers who aren’t serious with their academic work and end up getting pregnant and dropping out of school?
Last weekend, I watched it live on television when President Kufuor presented three cars to three lady teachers as the best teachers in Sikaman. I protested loudly. What have the male teachers been doing? Bearing babies?
My wife was overjoyed that female teachers were making a mark. But my daughter was a bit skeptical. “How were they adjudged the best?” she asked me.
“Ask your mother!”
This article was first published on Saturday, November 12, 2005
Merari Alomele’s
• Female teachers bellies starts growing for no apparent reason
Your Weekend Companion
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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.
