….AND WHATSOEVER ADAM CALLED IT…IT WAS THE NAME
Culture they say is dynamic. People shape cultural tendencies and the dynamism propelled by tradition. If that is what it is, then whose beliefs must give way for the new? The wonder of new discoveries especially technology braves traditions that may create arguments and divisions in a hitherto an atmosphere of peace. The same goes for music. Every new instrument effect changes generations by influencing what they hear, and no one can secure the ‘old’ sounds. So therefore, it makes no sense to attempt to repudiate, that which has formed roots. It goes without saying every thought and every discovery by an organism must fade to gray. This is why Expensive machines are idle, for a newer technology costs less, mobile versions, lighter and faster as well as better in the discharge of duties.
Technology therefore, is supposed to help solve problems, by applying science to discover, to unravel and manifest the sought after. As simple as it may seem, the “fresh arrivals” those who missed certain inventions when in vogue and now deemed obsolete are experiencing the “new” and the original of their era. The Internet for example was part of Divine creation in the Garden of Eden for later discovery in my opinion, envisioned for centuries to come as a new normal to hallow. A great invention formed to shrink distances in communication between us to make us rational beings exercising our mental reasoning to help ourselves. So therefore, the Garden of Eden held myriads of secrets, a Divine testing ground to brand the human, gravitate towards the Spiritual image of the Creator. Every area of existence has something newly and scientifically ready for discovery or invention, the more we scan the shortcomings of a particular environment we encounter the covered to be uncovered. However, those in certain areas have advantages that sets them apart and brings vilification to the disadvantaged. There are those who got it first, but used it for enslavement.
Here’s a typical example of Technology gone awry and to the characters in the following story, marveled and in dire need of understanding of how it works, the city folks are the receivers and the countryside are the “awestruck.”
I do vividly remember Afua in flight panting, with the strong desire to reach the favored one, so called for he was getting an education. The modest home where they lived also served as the residence of the Chief Linguist the renowned firebrand. He never let his guard down as he followed the traditions, making sure of adherence to its principles and preservation and that made him the only accredited Prosecutor in town. However, Afua was looking for someone else. The boy she had had to accompany daily to school, after which she would join other female relatives in the farm. She would have loved education if she had the chance…
The town boasted of Market day brisk activities. A farming community that cared and mourned with neighbors as well as rejoiced in the “Let the good times roll” atmosphere that befitted both the sanguine and the Nonchalant.
As Afua puffed out a liberated air, right in front of her stood KWAKU, the chosen and the future hope for the family… the only one getting educated, and the person she sought. Ten years older, and customarily one of the Aunties, her belief in her nephew had grown day by day for the School ‘Masters,’ said he was very clever at all subjects and had never vacated the first position he occupied in class; and by the look of things he was not going to do so any time now. Exam results had gone his way at the top a regular occurrence that got mundane. However, KWAKU was shy to admit to the household of his academic brilliance; for, he shunned the praises of men and his classmates were the undisputed talebearers to saturate the area and the troposphere as they released the exam outcomes to KWAKU’s Mom. “Don’t touch my educated, and do my Scholars no harm”
The secrecy of Kwaku’s undefined silence on his exam results had to do with his mom’s weeklong praise anthems that made him uncomfortable. He would therefore speak but once about Terminal reports saying; “I passed and I’m promoted to the next class.” In addition, when Mom wanted more news and therefore would prod him to come out with the actual position he made he would just shelf the report avoiding it all. “Did you really pass the exams?” His mother would enquire. A pause and a long silence would always follow. Moreover, that is when Mom would eventually admit, question time was up.
On one occasion returning home from the playground, he observed his mom was all smiles and in the mood to pamper and cuddle, which was such a strange phenomenon that KWAKU had to take a seat on the step to avoid fainting. Mom only resorted to such antics at the end of every school term. “Take a rest my one and only lawyer” his Mom tried to spoil him with words. KWAKU was perplexed and even more so when Grandma’s voice chipped in “not a lawyer rather a doctor.” The boy was even more puzzled. “KWAKU come to Grandma.” Grandma self-assuredly beckoned. Afua meanwhile was privy nearly to everything that went on in the big family of seven sisters that had migrated from the East with their spouses and children.
Now, Afua could not wait to get KWAKU alone to herself. “KWAKU” Afua gestured that he followed her. In lower tones, she said, “Your classmate Kojo came looking for you.” Afua mischievously gossiped and did not have to wait for long before “Aaaah!” KWAKU screamed. He turned around only to hear Mom happily belting out one of her favorite Presby songs “Yesu wo nkyen na m3 tena” (Jesus by Thee I reside) and she sang with glee. KWAKU knew his exam results laid bare, and the culprit… KOJO!
Madam Fatima was a proud mother to KWAKU. Herself uneducated sold fish at the Market. She had contributed to her son’s ingenuity for feeding fish to him, as revealed at an attempted “Mass Education” studies that she once had enrolled. She had learned that “fish is a revitalizer of the mind” so therefore armed with such information she never stopped cooing about her awareness.
Afua was breathless. She pulled KWAKU to the side and exhaled with a yawn. “I have seen something, KWAKU.” “What?” KWAKU wondered.
“Well, I am coming from the main street, I see a large gathering, I get closer and see a machine, this particular one is not like the Gramophone I talked about and not a Wireless. This one” she seemed shocked, excited, and emotionally charged. “This one speaks when you speak. Yes, it will also speak back the same things you said and with your voice.” KWAKU, the scholar was incredulous. “This cannot be. It is a trick or magic” KWAKU had spoken his opinion and let the uneducated accept. Nevertheless, Afua insisted, “Follow me to the main street. The machine belongs to Kofi Amoamah”
KOFI AMOAMAH – THE FUGITIVE
He was a declared vagabond. He labored from dawn until dusk earning just enough for the day. He was good-looking but not strikingly enough all because of lack of money and absence of dignity. He was part of the gang that would work on farms in exchange for corn, cassava, plantain, or fruits like; oranges, Pineapples and avocado pears. He had no good reputation and was one of the downtrodden youths in the community. One thing that set him apart really was his penchant for women and had the right words to win them a kind of a gigolo.
He made the biggest mistake of his life when he befriended the daughter of a rich man, Martha. Tall and quite graceful Martha had a year to complete her education when Kofi AMOAMAH made her pregnant. When the rich man heard it, he immediately called for his arrest.
Kofi Amoamah absconded for two years, his whereabouts unknown until the rumors started circulating he had won the national lottery, the jackpot. The speculation had been rife in the community; answers and confirmation needed, for that would be a fabulous story, a fairytale.
On one market day, the Train Station had jam-packed with all kinds of foodstuff, silverwares, and hawkers and buyers mingled with each other. A mini motorcade appeared with an entourage of the fresh millionaire, lottery winner, Kofi Amoamah, the self-declared president of the Youth. Give way, give way; you poverty-stricken lot!” the elders playing games of draughts, OWARE and cards had their meets and peace interrupted and intruded upon as the noisy display and the fanfare of the hoodlums-now-turned- moneybags disrespectfully approached the vicinity.
Afua witnessed the scene and ran to observe and to report. She had taken up a position at the front row. She could recount everything that happened, including insults meted out on the elderly.
The Fugitive had returned, but none could cause his arrest. Martha’s parents emotionally accorded him their unflinching support for marriage to their daughter. The ceremony arranged, a newly acquired Taxicab bearing the name “Martha” openly displayed to the envy of damsels who had refused Kofi Amoamah and his advances.
Now, KWAKU accompanied Afua to Main Street, where the elderly were. “You old fools insulted and called me names; now I am back to warn you; if you cross me, you will die by my vehicle. Let it get into your ears. Stay away, far from me, and respect me, for money answereth all things!” That had been the machine speaking all those words by the voice of Kofi AMOAMAH. KWAKU heard it, observed it, and marveled by it as he witnessed two reels turned and turned and turned. What he had just seen dazed, and in confusion, he exhaled and asked Afua, “What is the next to show?” Afua grimaced. She looked down to the floor as if trying to call into remembrance a hidden episode.
“Well, KWAKU.” Afua began. Have you seen the machine that when they are playing football in Accra, you can ‘see’ the football match on this machine over here?” Afua asked. “Ha, ha, ha Afua.” KWAKU laughed. “That could never be true. Are you telling me that I can watch a football match played from Accra Park in my house and that a machine will let us see it, Afua this is absurd, an impossibility?”
“Ok, follow me, KWAKU!”
