Features
No vernacular here
Back in the day when we were in primary school, we were forbidden to speak what was termed “vernacular” in school. English was the only prescribed means of communication among us pupils. If you spoke Ewe your name was taken down for the teacher on duty to mete out punishment to you. It was mostly corporal punishment.
The understanding among us pupils was that English was not a vernacular. Meanwhile, our teachers spoke Ewe freely among themselves on the school compound, which baffled me immensely, young as I was. This vernacular edict followed us to Middle School. I had the nerve to ask one of our teachers, a Mr. Akakpo, why they spoke vernacular among themselves yet asked us not to do same.
Mr. Akakpo answered that they had mastered the English language and that it was our turn to learn the language so that at a point in the future, it would not natter if we spoke vernacular or English. Because some of us had searching and absorbing minds, we paid attention to how our teachers spoke English. We had no knowing that not all of them were professionally trained as teachers. Some of us took to our dictionaries to look for English words to bamboozle our classmates with. And it was fun.
I cannot remember if I was ever punished for speaking vernacular because there were a few of us brilliant ones who challenged one another to excel, so we took to speaking English as seriously as other subjects. It worked for us academically, to the extent that even after closing from classes we still spoke English, much to the chagrin of our mates who would switch to Ewe as soon as their backs were turned to the school walls.
This vernacular thing followed me to secondary school at Anloga. Thankfully, there were students from all over Ghana. Others came from Nigeria and Cameroon. Some of them were Ewe, but could hardly speak a word of the language. It turned out that their parents sent them there so they could learn to speak Ewe. Students from Accra and other places spoke Ga and Akan freely.
I wondered how those who were at Anloga to learn the language were going to succeed since vernacular was forbidden. But somehow a good number of them spoke the language by the time they left the school. I did not know until after I had left and met them at old student meetings and heard them speak fluent Ewe.
At a point I thought only Ewe was regarded as vernacular until I was speaking Akan with a mate whose parents, like mine, lived in Koforidua when a tutor accosted us for speaking vernacular.
I was tempted to laugh at his seeming ignorance of what vernacular was but that would mean ridiculing a teacher. My friend said we were speaking Twi, not vernacular. This tutor now had his time to laugh. He explained to us that vernacular was simply a language that was unique to a particular group of people. I asked if English was a vernacular to the people whose language it was and he answered in the affirmative.
To digress a bit: Ms. Elizabeth Suhre, an American Peace Corps volunteer taught me English for three years. Then I began to see flaws in the English I was taught in basic school. It was during one of my holidays to my hometown that I discovered some of those who taught me were pupil teachers. Mr. Akakpo was one, but I give him credit for whipping my interest in French. He schooled partly in Togo and, because I was close to him, he introduced me to the language.
In Ewe class in secondary school it was a different thing altogether. I can say, without any iota of contradiction that Ewe is easily the most difficult language to learn in Ghana. Grammar aside, Ewe Literature and Poetry are as tough as nails. How Professors Kofi Awoonor and Kofi Anyidoho excelled, and were dexterous in both Ewe and English amazes me.
When I became a teacher I was supposed to punish pupils who spoke vernacular. I never did. First, I had dropped the foreign name I was given at baptismal because I had an identity as an African. How was I to punish someone for speaking their own language? I even encouraged some parents of my charges to take out the foreign names they gave to their children. Very few did.
Today, our education gurus have realised that a child introduced to his own language till he goes to school at four is better able to do well in second languages. This is something some of us loudmouths have been saying long ago. But I believe many of our schools still forbid the use of vernacular as a medium of communication among students and pupils. This must change. I have encountered people who speak their mother tongue like Patois. Meanwhile, they have no mastery of the English language either.
Parents have also cultivated the bad habit of speaking only English to their children at home, thus depriving the young ones of appreciating the beauty of their own language and culture. I have encountered the beauty of Ghanaian parents speaking only their language with their children in countries like the US, the UK, Germany, Belgium, France and others. These children do better in the languages of their host countries at school.
Some of us make jest of other people’s language for whatever reason. I wonder if this attitude is borne out of ignorance, a lack of enlightenment or both;or from just plain tribal bigotry? This is so pervasive in some areas, to the extent that others have been cowed into inferiority complex.
I recollect my employer back in Takoradi was always furious whenever I spoke Ewe to my colleagues who were Ewe. According to him, it smacked of disrespect to others, especially since we could speak Fante. He found nothing wrong when I spoke to others in English. I was unfazed by his disdain for the language. I have a friend from the Upper East Region who suffered same thing at her workplace. I told her never to give up speaking her language to her compatriots.
Sadly, some of our politicians know no better. Paradoxically, as representatives of the people, these politicians mirror the very society they represent instead of serving as agents of positive change.
I do not quite understand why we have disrespected our own languages for so long. Is it an issue of being more Catholic than the Pope? It is sad to know that some of us feel shy of our own languages or of where we even hail from. I am a proud, unrepentant native of Anyako. I speak Anlo Ewe proudly, though I speak three other Ghanaian languages. What pride do you have in where you hail from? That’s my question to you, dear reader.
Writer’s email address:
akofa45@yahoo.com
By Dr. Akofa K. Segbefia
Features
Tears of Ghanaman, home and abroad
The typical native of Sikaman is by nature a hospitable creature, a social animal with a big heart, a soul full of the milk of earthly goodness, and a spirit too loving for its own comfort.
Ghanaman hosts a foreign pal and he spends a fortune to make him very happy and comfortable-good food, clean booze, excellent accommodation and a woman for the night.
Sometimes the pal leaves without saying a “thank you but Ghanaman is not offended. He’d host another idiot even more splendidly. His nature is warm, his spirit benevolent. That is the typical Ghanaian and no wonder that many African-Americans say, “If you haven’t visited Ghana. Then you’ve not come to Africa.
You can even enter the country without a passport and a visa and you’ll be welcomed with a pot of palm wine.
If Ghanaman wants to go abroad, especially to an European country or the United States, it is often after an ordeal.
He has to doze in a queue at dawn at the embassy for days and if he is lucky to get through to being interviewed, he is confronted by someone who claims he or she has the power of discerning truth from lie.
In short Ghanaman must undergo a lie-detector test and has to answer questions that are either nonsensical or have no relevance to the trip at hand. When Joseph Kwame Korkorti wanted a visa to an European country, the attache studied Korkorti’s nose for a while and pronounced judgment.
“The way I see you, you won’t return to Ghana if I allow you to go. Korkorti nearly dislocated her jaw; Kwasiasem akwaakwa. In any case what had Korkorti’s nose got to do with the trip?
If Ghanaman, after several attempts, manages to get the visa and lands in the whiteman’s land, he is seen as another monkey uptown, a new arrival of a degenerate ape coming to invade civilized society. He is sneered at, mocked at and avoided like a plague. Some landlords abroad will not hire their rooms to blacks because they feel their presence in itself is bad business.
When a Sikaman publisher landed overseas and was riding in a public bus, an urchin who had the impudence and notoriety of a dead cockroach told his colleagues he was sure the black man had a tail which he was hiding in his pair of trousers. He didn’t end there. He said he was in fact going to pull out the tail for everyone to see.
True to his word he went and put his hand into the backside of the bewildered publisher, intent on grabbing his imaginary tail and pulling it out. It took a lot of patience on the part of the publisher to avert murder. He practically pinned the white miscreant on the floor by the neck and only let go when others intervene. Next time too…
The way we treat our foreign guests in comparison with the way they treat us is polar contrasting-two disparate extremes, one totally incomparable to the other. They hound us for immigration papers, deport us for overstaying and skinheads either target homes to perpetrate mayhem or attack black immigrants to gratify their racial madness
When these same people come here we accept them even more hospitably than our own kin. They enter without visas, overstay, impregnate our women and run away.
About half of foreigners in this country do not have valid resident permits and was not a bother until recently when fire was put under the buttocks of the Immigration Service
In fact, until recently I never knew Sikaman had an Immigration Service. The problem is that although their staff look resplendent in their green outfit, you never really see them anywhere. You’d think they are hidden from the public eye.
The first time I saw a group of them walking somewhere, I nearly mistook them for some sixth-form going to the library. Their ladies are pretty though.
So after all, Sikaman has an Immigration Service which I hear is now alert 24 hours a day tracking down illegal aliens and making sure they bound the exit via Kotoka International. A pat on their shoulder.
I am glad the Interior Ministry has also realised that the country has been too slack about who goes out or comes into Sikaman.
Now the Ministry has warned foreigners not to take the country’s commitment to its obligations under the various conditions as a sign of weakness or a source for the abuse of her hospitality.
“Ghana will not tolerate any such abuse,” Nii Okaija Adamafio, the Interior Minister said, baring his teeth and twitching his little moustache. He was inaugurating the Ghana Refugee and Immigration Service Boards.
He said some foreigners come in as tourists, investors, consultants, skilled workers or refugees. Others come as ‘charlatans, adventurers or plain criminals. “
Yes, there are many criminals among them. Our courts have tried a good number of them for fraud and misconduct.
It is time we welcome only those who would come and invest or tour and go back peacefully and not those whose criminal intentions are well-hidden but get exposed in due course of time.
This article was first published on Saturday March 14, 1998
Join our WhatsApp Channel now!
https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029VbBElzjInlqHhl1aTU27
Features
Decisions have consequences
In this world, it is always important to recognise that every action or decision taken, has consequences.
It can result in something good or bad, depending on the quality of the decision, that is, the factors that were taken into account in the decision making.
The problem with a bad decision is that, in some instances, there is no opportunity to correct the result even though you have regretted the decision, which resulted in the unpleasant outcome.
This is what a friend of mine refers to as having regretted an unregretable regret. After church last Sunday, I was watching a programme on TV and a young lady was sharing with the host, how a bad decision she took, had affected her life immensely and adversely.
She narrated how she met a Caucasian and she got married to him. The white man arranged for her to join him after the marriage and processes were initiated for her to join her husband in UK. It took a while for the requisite documentation to be procured and during this period, she took a decision that has haunted her till date.
According to her narration, she met a man, a Ghanaian, who she started dating, even though she was a married woman.
After a while her documents were ready and so she left to join her husband abroad without breaking off the unholy relationship with the man from Ghana.
After she got to UK, this man from Ghana, kept pressuring her to leave the white man and return to him in Ghana. The white man at some point became a bit suspicious and asked about who she has been talking on the phone with for long spells, and she lied to him that it was her cousin.
Then comes the shocker. After the man from Ghana had sweet talked her continuously for a while, she decided to leave her husband and return to Ghana after only three weeks abroad.
She said, she asked the guy to swear to her that he would take care of both her and her mother and the guy swore to take good care of her and her mother as well as rent a 3-bedroom flat for her. She then took the decision to leave her husband and return to Ghana.
She told her mum that she was returning to Ghana to marry the guy in Ghana. According to her, her mother vigorously disagreed with her decision and wept.
She further added that her mum told her brother and they told her that they were going to tell her husband about her intentions.
According to her, she threatened that if they called her husband to inform him, then she would commit suicide, an idea given to her by the boyfriend in Ghana.
Her mum and brother afraid of what she might do, agreed not to tell her husband. She then told her husband that she was returning to Ghana to attend her Grandmother’s funeral.
The husband could not understand why she wanted to go back to Ghana after only three weeks stay so she had to lie that in their tradition, grandchildren are required to be present when the grandmother dies and is to be buried.
She returned to Ghana; the flat turns into a chamber and hall accommodation, the promise to take care of her mother does not materialise and generally she ends up furnishing the accommodation herself. All the promises given her by her boyfriend, turned out to be just mere words.
A phone the husband gave her, she left behind in UK out of guilty conscience knowing she was never coming back to UK.
Through that phone and social media, the husband found out about his boyfriend and that was the end of her marriage.
Meanwhile, things have gone awry here in Ghana and she had regretted and at a point in her narration, was trying desperately to hold back tears. Decisions indeed have consequences.
NB: ‘CHANGE KOTOKA INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT TO KOFI BAAKO INTERNATIONAL AIRPORT’
Join our WhatsApp Channel now!
https://whatsapp.com/channel/0029VbBElzjInlqHhl1aTU27
