Bato Knocks Out Dr. KumaAboagye!
Let me be honest with you upfront. No exchange of blows occurred between BatholomewAsareKuma (Bato) and Dr. KumaAboagye, as a literal reading of the above headline would suggest. But don’t let the truth disappoint you, don’t be debilitated. Read on, you’ll be done in just 5 minutes or less, and you’ll be happy you did, I promise you on the little honor left in me. The following story about the two gentlemen happened long ago, in 1979 when we were still students of Opoku Ware, and you probably remember it if you were in form 3E back then.
But before Iaunching into the details, let me present a portrait of Bato from students’ perspective at the time. This should not only help to refresh your memories or enjoyment of the story, but to understand – and even sympathize – with Bato, from your new altitude as parents. As an added benefit, it will put the experience in context for a wider circle of readers, particularly younger generation of Akatakyie, in case this narrative spills beyond this platform to another one. Either way, we’ll end up with a win-win situation because we would’ve killed two birds with one stone, as the familiar bromide goes.
So let me start by whisking you back in time with the following song:
Bee eeh tee oo bow fiaa
Bee eeh tee oo bow fiaa
B – A – T – O, bow fiaa
B – A – T – O, eeh bow fiaa.
If you’re back in the spirit, I grant you permission to sing it again; you’ve got nothing to fear even if you don’t enjoy the protection of a group of students.
It’s hard to point to its origin, but the above song, composed by a creative group of students, is an oblique reference to Bato’s distinctive coiffure – the stiff mass of black hair that projected an inch or two in front of his forehead like a sharp pointed stiletto. The insinuation caught on like wildfire, making its way into the sacred album played at inter-college athletic competitions.
The dark-skinned, medium build man whose alias is a contraction of his first name was appointed Senior Housemaster sometime in 1977/78.
Right from the day of his appointment, Bato gained the reputation of a pharaoh, a tough disciplinarian and taskmaster who never grew tired of punishing rule breakers. He was not only seen as supremely paternalistic and inflexible, but as a fearsome führer who needed to be avoided at all cost to feel safe on campus.
At 6.30 each morning the bell tower would summon students to the foyer; Bato would appear on the rostrum with Osebo, Owura and the retinue of academic staff – all thorns in the flesh of students; he would make announcements, call out school numbers of troublemakers and nonconformists, and dish out punishments. Even on uneventful days, the firm, authoritative voice that conveyed his orders sent kilovolts of electricity down our spines.
Perhaps, a comment from an old student provides the finishing touch to this portrait. “Even as an inspector in the police service today, I’m still afraid of that man,” he admitted.
So given his “acerbic” reputation, we in form 3E became naturally alarmed when it emerged that he would be our new biology teacher. Even though he tried to allay our fears during our first class encounter, saying “forget that I am the Senior Housemaster when you enter this class,” his insinuations were loud and clear: woe to you if you don’t review your notes before my class.
It was under this climate that Patrick KumaAboagye’s epic encounter with Bato took place.
On that fateful day, Bato arrived in class dressed in a long sleeve white polyester shirt, a snug fit for his heavy trunk. He had no tie on, but that wasn’t an issue because none of the other teachers wore a tie to class.
He started off his lecture in a confident baritone voice, writing hastily on the board at the sametime and with his left hand firmly in his pocket. His biceps shook with authority as he worked across the board from left to right and back again. Behind him we sat in graveyard silence.
Finally, he dropped his chalk and straightened up, watching as it rolled lazily across the terrazzo floor. For a moment he stood motionless, as if lost in thought, but soon he recovered from his reverie and shook chalk dust from his hands as if it was some virus.
Then he turned to face the class. The dreaded Q & A moment was up once more, and silence – and angst – heightened across the room. Nobody needed telling that ignorant responses to his questions would draw fire and brimstone.
Often at moments like this, Nicolas Boakye (Akillime) would launch a preemptive strike with his own question. Boakye was Bato’s favorite student because he always read ahead of the class and studied his notes very well. His questions would kickstart some esoteric exchanges with Bato, leaving the rest of us completely befuddled. Bato would nod powerfully during those exchanges, often punctuating the repartee with “very good, veery good, veeery, veeery good.” Before long the class would end, Bato would leave, and calm would return – well, until next Tuesday.
But unlike previous occasions, Boakye sat quietly this time round, leaving us wondering whether he’d struck some wicked deal wihBato. As the seconds ticked by, Bato’s eyes narrowed, darting suspiciously across the classroom like those of a dragon, his left hand still buried in his pocket.
“Dear Father,” I prayed, fearing he would throw a question at me, “if it is possible, let this cup pass from me; yet not as you will, but as I will.”
For whatever reasons, Bato had an uncanny ability for singling out students who hadn’t prepared for his class and for asking tricky and penetrating questions. As fate would have it, his question went straight to Patrick KumaAboagye.
Patrick’s appearance seemed to have invited Bato’s attention. He wore the prescribed school uniform, but he was bedizened by a colorful tie and looked rather fanciful and bizarre. As Patrick stood up, Bato surveyed him from head to toe. He looked at his unkempt hair; his colorful tie matched against stained khaki shorts without a belt; the pair of legs covered with scars earned through street soccer and disobedience; and to his absolute horror, his sandals! Tie matched with sandals!
The question caught him off guard; Patrick flunked; Bato went bonkers; things fell apart.
“You see, you are in tie. When even the Senior Housemaster is not in tie, you are in tie. Yes, the Assistant Headmaster is not in tie, yet you are in tie. And you can’t answer this simple biology question.”
“You see,” he went on with disgust on his face, “instead of taking your studies seriously, you prefer to behave like big men do, putting on a tie, when you haven’t paid the price.”
“Yes, you are in tie, yet you can’t even answer a simple biology question,” Bato thundered again with fury – and fire.
Thankfully, gracious and merciful time came to the rescue and the lesson ended. Bato stomped out of the class, leaving KumaAboagye trashed, trounced, battered and bleeding on the floor, and left for dead.
Forty years have gone by since the above incident. Memories have remained, but opinions and attitudes have changed. We’ve all grown many times wiser than we were back in ’79. We know now that Bato meant well.
Today, Dr. Patrick KumaAboagye is the Director-General of the Ghana Health Service, and the national spearhead against a pandemic that has claimed over half a million lives around the globe.
Patrick, wear your tie now. You’ve earned the right to. Bato is smiling at you from the other side.
By Kat. Ing. Patrick A Yeboah (AB61)