TRIBUTE TO PROF KING OF PC In Obuasi, after commiserating with a friend whod lost his dad, my mind drifted to another death from a year or so ago: that of my Economics teacher from Prempeh College, Prof King. I still do not know his actual name(most students dont) but his presence in my (or our) life(ves) has being that of the subject he taught. I recall his Book No Tell Lie, he telling us stories of how former students of his many years after leaving school would come back, being fantabulously rich, to hand him brown envelopes. (His relish for talking about brown envelopes makes me believe they were the high points of his teaching career). More profoundly, I recall him telling me because of my stature, Id do well to join the military. He even started calling me Bombardier. (Imagine that! For a reserved young man such as myself who does not appreciate the cacophonous boom emitted from carbide-and-water infusion by the sons of Aboagyewaa (Unity Hall -Conti) and daughters of Father John (University Hall - Katanga). He taught International Relations too (he stoked a fire that had been lit from listening to BBC News at 5pm with my grandfather), with his news updates from Al-jazeera and BBC whenever he felt the class was overloaded with all those diagrams on monopolies, elasticity, oligarchies and profits. I dont think he knew the sort of impact he had on my life. He was the teacher who drum down our ears, first, that we will not all have to go to the University to make it- that we can throw our money into the bush, in reference to investment in pawpaw, mango and cocoa. For those who attended his Econs extra classes, free of charge, because they had gone to see him in chambers with the stories of home. Stories we students were well familiar with! Stories of lack! It was only Prof King who understood. It makes me think. It makes me think of all the other teachers- especially those who did not teach me directly but whose lives preached silent, yet powerful sermons which enlarged my perspective: The Geog teacher who spoke of his education in both Geography and Economics and how that makes one more broadminded. I dont think he knew I was listening as I pretended to have my head buried in a novel. But I learnt a lesson in versatility and critical thinking that day. The French teacher who told us how he couldnt have survived in Legon as a student without help from his Volta Hall colleagues- a lesson on survival and expectations. Prof King, wherever you are, be rest assured we shall look for your children, and find them! We shall look for your wife, that good woman whose fufu Mikdad enjoyed pounding and eating; we shall never forget your role in building us. Though the road ahead lies far, seemingly uncertain; the God who brought you to our classrooms to touch us in the way you did, will provide us the way to success that guarantees you, and now your children brown envelopes. You were not a teacher, you were a father and a counsellor and a mentor. I end this (as MM critiques I am wont to do) with the words from MHB 896: Praise we the glorious names we know, And they whose names have perished, Lost, in the haze of long ago, In silent love be cherished. In honour of the many giants who may not be of grand repute but on whose shoulders we stand today to receive acclaim. I doff my hat and my heart to you! Derrick Osei-Poku, Pearson House- 4A3. PREMPEH COLLEGE Class of 2011.
Posted on: Sun, 31 Aug 2014 13:26:17 +0000