The KNUST Diaries -The Aluta Years (5) - Examination Stupid!!

What kind of human being wastes so much time just for the opportunity to spend six years with these tight-assed motherfuckers called medical students? I despised my mates from the very first day. They took themselves too seriously. A few were too full of themselves. I loathed the mockery in their eyes, the little patronizing gestures;

“We all know why we are here!” I had heard one proclaim angrily; and what had they been arguing about? Something to do with what time we could come and cut up dead bodies or something as stupid as that.

I decided within the very first few weeks that this was not for me. I had found myself in an environment, where everyone else seemed cleverer than me. I just did not fit in. I must admit I often felt a pang of jealousy. I had always been the kind of guy who was quiet in class, but this time, I began to lose completely, the ability to contribute to any discussion whatsoever, for fear of humiliating myself. I hated lecturers who tried to force everyone to contribute in class. I would simply stay away from their lectures. As my mates saw less and less of me,they began to joke, that they had forgotten I was in that class.

“Charley how be?” Zak, the quiet mixed race guy in my class approached me as we entered the Unity Hall after lectures one afternoon.

He had later admitted to me, that he had seen me from his balcony with Kakra C and all those African Hall girls and had thought; wow, this guy is in my class, he would be a good friend to have. He had jokingly expressed later, what a disappointment I had been to him.

“Which room are you in?” he had asked

“428” I said

“I’ll pop in sometime”

And that is how it had started, my friendship with Zak. He had been as good as his word. He had come up and invited me for a drink in the little bar we had, next to the Dinning Hall. On the way we had passed by his room on the second floor. I only then realized how lucky I had been to be on the eighth floor. Life in the “trenches” was tough. Zak for instance shared a room with two other first years. There was no furniture at all in the room. Not a single bed. They all had little mattresses they would sleep on and roll up in the morning. Despite the still impressive environment at the time, the deterioration in the KNUST was far deeper than I had ever imagined.

He had attended Mfantsipim School. They nicknamed him Zakoto.

“You’ve heard that song, Zakoto” he asked

“Koto ma me nhwe wo to……” I started singing. It meant, literally, bend down and let me look at your bottom.

“Zakoto Zakoto baby” He joined in. “Yeah, when I was a first year in Mfantsipim, one of the seniors had taught me this song and forced me to sing it before everyone else. They probably thought it was funny this little “white” boy was singing a song like that.”

He had been born in Germany to a German mother and a Ghanaian father. His father had once been a lecturer in the KNUST and they had indeed returned to the university campus from Germany when he was a little boy. Growing up as a mixed race boy, by his own admission, had not been without its challenges but his dad had done a good job, thoroughly indoctrinating him so he saw himself more as a proud tribal warrior than a German.

I liked this guy. He was honest, said it as it was and there were no airs or graces about him. I also told him about myself. I confided in him the difficulty I was having fitting into anything Medicine. I told him about my music and how I hoped to pursue a career with that rather than Medicine. He didn’t look that impressed.

“Take it day by day and let’s see how it goes” he had advised

Much to Modibo’s chagrin, Zac all but moved into our room on the eighth floor to escape the horrors down below. We started to study together, though that would also not be without its challenges. For all he needed to do was read a book once or twice to be ready for exams. I had to read it, and again and yet again, and make notes, and read the notes, twice or three times and he still would do far better than me, the twerp! He was ever present at lectures and took very good notes in excellent handwriting which he would give to me to copy. And he was always there to lend me support, explaining bits I did not understand to me. I do not know whether I would have coped, had I not met this guy.

There was often a distinct transformation in the KNUST atmosphere as examinations approached. Even the "Always Around" became unoccupied as people started to burn the midnight oil. At about 1am somebody would stand on their balcony in Unity Hall, when the atmosphere was quiet and serene, and shout at the top of their voice;

"Guys go and sleep so I can also sleep. If you don't sleep, I wont sleep"

"Kwaaasiaaa!" People would respond almost in unison.

Then there would be a short period after that when the noise levels would go up as people conversed a bit and then silence.

I approached the first year exam with trepidation. In our first year class were six guys who had been repeated from the previous year and so the tension in the environment was palpable. I felt particularly nervous, considering what would become of me if I was repeated in first year medical school, at a time I did not have a musical contract yet. I probably did not sleep more than a few hours in the last couple of weeks. Zak had gratefully taken over my bed, snoring away while I laboured in the night. I would try to wake him up every now and again to ask him this or that.

"Charley, put off the light make we sleep!" he would sleepily blurt

"Kwaaasia!" I would say

In the Medical School, we always got our results before going home on holidays. In fact, our results were always released a day or so after our final paper. I did not have the courage to go and wait around the department for the results as everyone else did. They would stand around the block as the bosses gleefully held the meeting where they decided the fate of everybody; who deserved a distinction, who needed to be be dismissed, who ought to be repeated and who had to be given a chance to rewrite the exam during the holiday. As they waited, they would watch as the refreshment trolley, with soft drinks and kebabs and pastries would be drawn in to refresh the hungry bosses as they decided our fate.

There would be the odd rumour, for instance, that the reason why there had been a delay was because nobody had passed Anatomy or something silly like that. Every now and again they would see somebody approaching with some papers from the general direction of the meeting rooom. They would crane their necks to see what it was and hiss in disappointment as the person passed by to get into his car. By now the examination questions would have been thoroughly discussed with some “Mr Know All” believing his answers were akin to the marking scheme.

And then there would be the moment when the results finally arrived, and people would shout and hug each other in wild celebrations, taking no notice of the guy round the corner for whom these results meant the end of a medical career. I could not cope with all that nonsense. Zak had gone. On his way back, I had heard him right from about the fifth floor when he had started shouting out for me at the top of his voice as he laboured up the stairs. I had rushed out to see my friend as I had never seen him before, all flushed from excitement and exhaustion;

“You are through!” he said