Features
Of rat catcher, ambitions

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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
Features
The audit of the years: Why old age does not reward sacrifice- Part 1
We are raised on a foundational myth: that sacrifice is a currency, and time is a bank that honors it. From youth, we are fed the romantic notion that self-denial is an investment.
We are told that if we starve our own ambitions to feed the collective, if we endure silent strains, postpone our vitality, and mortgage our peace for the security of others or the demands of an unrelenting system, the ledger will eventually balance.
We are led to believe that old age is a benevolent auditor-a quiet season where the universe presents a receipt for our endurance and hands back comfort, reverence, and ease.
It does not.
Old age is not a rewards ceremony; it is a reckoning. And the bitterest truth of longevity is that aging does not care how much you gave up. It cares only how you are built to withstand the descent.
The myth of deferred living
To sacrifice is to treat the present as a disposable bridge to a destination that rarely resembles the brochure. In the architecture of a lifetime, the human body and mind operate under strict biological and emotional laws.
Every time you override your limits, swallow your voice, or defer your joy for a hypothetical tomorrow, you are not saving credit-you are accumulating debt in tissue, joint, and spirit.
When people reach advanced age, the societal narrative expects them to bask in a golden twilight of quiet dignity earned through decades of self-effacement. But look closer at the reality of unrewarded sacrifice.
The worn-out joints do not ache with the romantic resonance of a noble history; they ache simply because they were overspent on things that ultimately did not require or appreciate the cost.
The silence kept to keep the peace turns into an isolation that no one bothers to breach.
Time does not compound the value of a sacrificed life. It merely exposes the vacancy left behind.
The biological and psychological toll
From a systemic standpoint, chronic self-denial is a high-stress pathology. The nervous system remembers every time you ignored its signals in favor of duty.
Structural Breakdown: Chronic tension-whether physical or emotional-alters posture, compresses the spine, and locks the body into defensive, braced patterns that harden over decades.
The Emotional Ledger: Emotional suppression leaves a residue that compounds into bitterness or detachment. When the external roles that demanded your sacrifice (the relentless career, the draining obligation, the unreciprocated loyalty) finally fall away, what remains is not a triumphant hero, but a depleted vessel wondering where the trade-off went.
The universe has no sentimental attachment to your martyrdom. Biology does not check your resume to see how many weekends you surrendered. It responds strictly to mechanics, alignment, and nourishment. If you spent your life running on empty to fuel everyone else’s engine, your own chassis simply wears out sooner, leaving you stranded on the roadside of your own history.
Reclaiming sovereignty before the audit
If old age refuses to honor sacrifice, then the only intelligent response is to stop offering it. Sovereignty cannot be postponed until retirement; it must be practiced in the present tense.
Sovereign living requires a radical shift in how we value our energy:
Cease the silent ledger: Stop keeping a mental tally of what you endure for others, expecting a delayed payout. If a duty requires your self-destruction, it is a bad investment. Cut the losses now.
Honor the vessel first: No system, institution, or relationship is worth the structural integrity of your body and mind. Alignment and self-preservation are not selfish; they are the baseline requirements for a functional existence.
Redefine legacy: True legacy is not built on how much you endured, but on how fully you inhabited your own autonomy. People are remembered not for how quietly they suffered, but for the distinct, uncompromised shape of their truth.
The years will pass whether you spend them as a perpetual offering or as an autonomous agent. The calendar does not pity the martyr. Strip away the romanticism of endless endurance, reclaim your boundaries, and demand that your life pay dividends now-because the future owes nothing to those who spent it all on a receipt that nobody is going to cash.
By Robert Ekow Grimmond-Thompson
Features
Palaver of the Sikaman media and the future

WITH the advent of multi-party democracy, press freedom was born again. And soon after, Ghanaian journalists started speaking in tongues. Small groups of people, infected with the idea of a free press, got together and sought finance to produce newspapers.
The newspaper craze was also contagious and overnight, the newsstands became laden with newspapers of various sizes, colours, shades, emotions and, of course, notoriety.
Readers of newspapers became confused. With purchasing power constraints to consider, they didn’t know which papers to buy. Moreover, it was difficult to know immediately which papers were worth reading and which were mere garbage.
Soon, the sheep were separated from the goats. Some papers which got no saleable news and survived on lies and speculations were eventually boycotted. When they couldn’t break even, they quietly left the stands. Others were hopelessly sub-standard in content, language and layout. For some time, they survived on artificial respiration but lapsed into coma. Others simply disappeared after paying damages for libel.
Today, the fittest have survived, notable among them the Ghanaian Chronicle, Independent, Free Press, Ghana Palaver, Democrat, Public Agenda, Statesman, P & P and Insight. They are slugging it out on the stands and only time will tell which of them would survive the beginning of the next millennium.
On the electronic front, radio stations have come operating Frequency Modulation (FM) units. Short Wave (SW) being too expensive to venture into, the result is JOY 99.7 FM, GOLD, ATLANTIC, CHOICE FM and other private regional, town and cottage FM stations that dot various parts of the country.
These have brought about variety and jobs. So have the television stations. Ghana Television (GTV) is facing competition from TV3 and Metro TV. Competition brings about in efficiency, and for once we can all see that GTV is performing better after being divested of the monopoly it enjoyed.
Journalists who man the newspapers, radio and television stations together form the Ghana Journalists Association (GJA), an association which, until recent years, existed only in name. It is now feverishly preparing to celebrate its Golden Jubilee, an occasion I believe will give more meaning to the Association and anchor it firmly for good as a closely-knit union of Ghanaian media practitioners.
PRINT MEDIA
Print journalism has really come a long way, plodding on like the proverbial snail, hoping to achieve the ultimate. It has had to contend with vicissitudes of fortunes as one political era succeeded another.
Of interest is also the fact that from the cut-and-paste method, press outfits now employ desktop publishing techniques with PageMaker components, making the job easy and speedy. From for four-page newspapers we can now boast of are 30 pages and more, radio stations are on air 24 hours a day.
The development of the media is one thing people have taken note of, and in years to come, the fourth estate of the realm will be well-equipped to collect and dispense information more efficiently, more accurately, and more speedily.
There is another side to it. The media is likely to develop into a monster, the way it has developed to harass Lady Diana, the Princess of Wales, to her death; the way it has made Bill Clinton very uncomfortable by making a showpiece of his private sex life, and hundreds of others.
Indeed, until her death, the Princess had no privacy. She couldn’t sneeze without it being reported somewhere in a newspaper, complete with pictures in colour. At one stage, she lamented being a celebrity and asked the press to leave her alone to lead her life without world attention. She died while speeding away from pressmen who were furiously chasing her (and her boyfriend) on motorcycles.
If the press develops in Sikaman to the extent that it can in future drive someone to his or her death, cause heart attacks, and destroy families and leaders, can be tolerated as it has been in the United States and Europe?
Some of us think that becoming copycats of alien values and foreign systems is causing more harm than good to our society. For instance, it would be very unfortunate if the Ghanaian media developed to the negative extent that it can publish pictures nude girls as some British tabloids do.
The African culture is a decent one and should not be tainted with the wholesale acceptance of everything western. In Europe there are magazines for homosexuals and lesbians, glorifying their acts and promoting their perverted ideals.
The homosexual culture is gradually seeping into African countries, Sikaman inclusive. Should we, therefore, expect to see a homosexual magazine on our newsstands one day?
If the European and American press can harass celebrities, presidents and top shots to the point of discomfort and even death, should the African press copy same if our culture is palpably different in form and orientation, history and tradition?
What I would like to see of a future Ghanaian media is a development-oriented press system seeking to promote the ideals of societal progress, economic growth, agricultural development, political unity, social cohesion and technological advancement.
And what I’d hate to see is the kind of media that is overly interested in wanting to know what the president eats for breakfast, which women he has spoken to of late, and when he is likely to sneeze without covering his nose with a handkerchief.
What I’d also hate to see is a media that seeks to play one tribe against the other, take to pornography or pry into the private lives of people not for any other purpose than to sell newspapers that only thrive on the obscene.
I’ve heard some editors say, “If you don’t write and insult Rawlings your paper won’t sell.” What kind of mentality is that?
The African press must develop, but it must do so in a positive way and not in the negative and destructive sense.
This article was first published on Saturday August 29, 1998








