SCHOOL OF MASTER SPEAKERS: SMS vs. UGMS

It was a long trip to Accra. For those of us who were going there for the first time, the tall and beautiful buildings and the variety of brand new cars in vogue were a site to behold. For those too who were accustomed to the sights and sounds and specifically the traffic congestion of Accra, it was business as usual.

One thing that I am certain of is this, that the trip of a select few from the fourth year class to cheer the SMS contingent on, at the competition organised on the topic, "Mental Health should be made a priority in a developing country like Ghana", was a truly exhilarating, stress releasing experience, inspite of all the obstacles that were encountered en route to our destination.

Most of us planned that in order not to experience a break in our daily dose of academic work, we would study deep into the night preceding the trip so that we would sleep in the bus. I personally smuggled an Oxford handbook onto the bus, hiding it in the pocket of my “boubou”, so that I didn’t have to carry a bag to attract attention. Well, boy was I surprised to see that, some of my friends were hanging big back packs filled with among other things, books. Others ostensible brandished the 8^th edition of Robbins and at this point I was depressed. That was intimidating, albeit transiently.

Some of us jumped the gun and started reading. Others could not ward of the sleep signals knocking on the doors of their eyes. Either way, everybody made a conscious effort to maximise the use of the time at our disposal. There was little talk during this period.

At last, the time came, when our rickety bus could no longer hide its structural defects. Shock absorbers as I know them are to dampen the number of oscillations the springs of a vehicle transmit, so that even if the vehicle moves on a rough terrain, the passengers are little affected. From the smooth asphalted road, we moved onto a very bad road, whose surface was rough with everted edges and had a brown dusty colour. Rather than have the shock absorbers absorb the shock, we the innocent occupants were doing just that. We were tossed in the air, turned in our seat, rocked from side to side as our driver with utmost care, attempted to minimise the impact of the rough road.

For most part of the journey, with the benefit of hindsight, most of the guys on board stood up, when they thought they could no longer take it- the shocks that were transmitted from the terrible road. Without sounding political, I soliloquized, “Should this not be a priority road, which should never have been overlooked at any point in the past?” Then it dawned on me that, maybe a competition should be organised again but this time with the topic,” The Accra-Kumasi road should be made a priority in a developing country like Ghana” and maybe policy makers would learn to prioritize.

There were unconfirmed reports of some of us suffering cerebral concussion, others complained of the potential for us to develop pneumoconiosis , and the list went on and on. One savvy discovery that emerged on our return trip was that, our school bus should be contraindicated for any pregnant woman in her third trimester on a trip to Accra. And quoting from Francis Akwetey, ‘ better safe than sorry’, for the turbulence that the bus generates is capable of initiating premature contractions.

At Linda d’Or, Ninja was one of the few brave ones who decided to patronise the rest stop’s fast food service. Much to his dismay, he bought one meal’s rice at an amount that if doubled could buy a 5kg bag of rice. Well, I only pray he survives the rest of the semester. The road went from good to bad again and we had to endure hours of dust been poured on our well ironed apparels. In short it was a very dusty experience.

We reached the Capital city and our hearts were glad. Soon some of us realised that in Accra, you are not at your destination until you have arrived at your destination. But for the experience of Julius Patamia and his precise geographical eye of Accra, our journey could easily have become more convoluted. We arrived at our destination, minutes before 12pm, and with utmost urgency, our dietary requirements had to be attended to, for some of us had abstained from food for a very long time (could it have been because of the failed promise of our class president?).

With the MC’s sister spontaneously striking friendship with one of us (an aspirant), she became inextricable tied to the SMS team. One of us too had to make a call to meet a cousin. But why was nobody convinced with this relationship status?

At approximately 13:30 GMT, the programme started with a few short speeches. The dignitaries however were in short supply. The GTV cameras were transmitting live signals. Our colleagues from Korle-Bu hardly hard any students in the audience. Nurses from Pantang, were many. The programme did not suffer any technical hitches.

In the end, SMS was victorious! Oh no, why did I not keep you in suspense a while longer? I am sure you will still want to know how the victory came, won’t you?

The victory was sweet, but it did not come easy. After UGMS’s principal speaker so eloquently expounded his point, it became clear that for SMS to carry the day, our principal speaker had to exude with brilliance. Indeed, the applause that rocked the beautifully furnished soundproof, auditorium after UGMS’s first delivery, was testament to the fact that, the bar had been raised a few notches. But SMS gladly threw down the gauntlet.

‘Flexxy’, (Yaw Asamoah’s sobriquet), walked majestically,swaying a bit from side to side(as part of his Flexxy gait) and looking composed, calm, cool and collected. He wore an expensive ash suit, with a touch of finesse. His shoe was pristinely black and I thought to myself that he had spent at least an hour to get such a finish. His hair was neatly brushed and he mounted the podium with confidence.

‘Mr. Chairman…’, he started. With a mesmerising baritone, a well rehearsed speech, extemporised almost midway into his presentation, with appropriate gestures to match and one or two American accents to entertain the very Ghanaian audience, we were left without a shred of doubt that SMS had proven a worthy match. At the end of Flexxy’s presentation, the tumultuous cheer that reverberated throughout the hall, spoke volumes about our chances.

Our faith was however was left a bit shaky after the second speaker, one Adu Darko, (sounds like someone in MBChB 1) spoke so eruditely on the topic of discussion. His tone matched the statements he made. His gestures too were impressive and his grandiloquence was not in doubt. But, he too largely read from the script, as if to give the impression that he was not conversant with the points he wanted to make. He gave me and of course the judges as I surmise, a run for our money.

Then it was the turn of what you’ll call the tie-breaker. Ewuradjoa Ben Crentsil, EBC, as I like to call her, was the final speaker. In my mind, in her hands lay the power to make the victor or the vanquished. She too was elegantly dressed and her steps seemed to match our heart beats- audible and brisk!

Her delivery was the icing on the SMS cake. If she had faltered, I had little doubt that our worthy opponents from UGMS would have carried the day, but she didn’t, and why would she have, when she knew that our travail in our rickety bus could only be compensated for with victory- sweet, sweet victory. A word of advice to Hearts of Oak and Asante Kotoko’s fans, if they are reading this; not playing at home is not synonymous with losing or drawing, because with enough preparation, victory is always assured. In our case, victory was unanimous.

After posing for shots, and with less than no time to fraternise, we quickly made for our bus, with our light-weight fast foods with canned malt. Unlike was advertised, we did not have the glut of food, we looked forward to. D- Blaze’s father was kind enough, to top up our depleting food stock and in a gesture of good will and service, another aspirant quenched our thirst with a bag of sachet water, and after drinking my fill, I was now truly sedated. Knowing what lay ahead of us, I had to start my journey to “slumberland” so that I would have had some sleep before we got to the bad part of the road, which betrayed our bus’s cerebellar dysfunction- (pendular) jerks, terrible tremors and loss of postural sense.

I end, dedicating this poem to SMS’s winning team-

“Forward on we shall march

Crushing all with a single touch

Right hand gripped a flaming torch

The land of our adversaries we shall scorch

Blazing the trail, we ride on to fame

Our rivals brushed aside, we tame

Our fortress? The Most High God

Forebearance we preach so we’re never distraught

Though road rough, terrain undulating competition keen

The zeal to fight, insatiable taste for glory

Shall spur us on to tell the story

That we’re here to win”

SALAM, I’M OUT

NAY(Abukari yakubu natogmah)

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The writer has no intention of maligning anybody mentioned in this article. It’s for the fun of reading that some names had to be mentioned, and nothing else.