The KNUST Diaries - The Aluta Years (8) - The Arrest of Kakraba Cromwell

We were still at home when the announcement came on national radio and television;

“The student leader Kakraba Cromwell has been arrested. This was following collaboration between the Ghana Police and Interpol. Kakraba Cromwell, a final year Computer Science student at the Kwame Nkrumah University of Science and Technology, has been involved in drug trafficking………”

Of course the allegation was not true. We were dealing with a determined government machinery, desperate to destroy this man forever. He had been a thorn in their flesh for far too long. No, he had not been charged with any crime. He was not brought before a judge. That would have been preferable. He would have had the opportunity to defend himself. Instead, he had been held in seclusion and subjected to long periods of sleep deprivation. Anytime he had tried to nod off an alarm bell would sound off in his cell.

Finally, when the poor man’s spirit had been crushed and his mental resolve shattered, when he was so confused he could not get a single line of grammar right, he was paraded before the cameras on national TV. The very thought of it still makes me wince. He was well dressed, but the man sitting there mumbling like an alcoholic or a drug addict was not the usually sharp and witty Kakraba Cromwell we knew. Not by any means. But that was the picture they wanted to paint for the rest of Ghana.

“We have evidence that you were involved in drug trafficking on your last visit to London.” The interviewer asked, rather threateningly

“Eh?”

“In fact Interpol has been pursuing you for a while now. Is that not right?”

”I’m not… mmm”

“And we know you have been on hard drugs yourself” the man asked

“No”

“Mr Cromwell, you have never used drugs? Answer me!”

“Just eh… marijuana”

“We have the names of all the people you smoke with. Could you tell me?”

“Chairman …….eh …Gorbachov”

“Is that his real name!?

“He is eehh…..”

I just walked away. I could not bear to watch this anymore. I later learnt, that in his earlier days in the university, he had dabbled in marijuana but had stopped completely when he had become involved in students politics. I had never seen him smoke anything or even drink alcohol. Chairman Gorbachov never forgave him for this, despite concerted attempts to explain to him KC had definitely not been himself and it was possible that the interview had not been live at all but had been recorded over a long period and the film edited to do the maximum damage to his reputation. And boy did they succeed. People began to wonder what the fuss had all been about.

“If such are the men chosen to lead our future leaders, then I weep for Ghana” One newspaper had commented

When we went back to school, he had still been in prison. There had been a somber mood on campus. There had been a few mumblings about holding demonstrations to protest against the treatment of Kakraba Cromwell, but really, people simply lacked the motivation to do anything more of significance. A couple of minor demonstrations were held and people quickly went back to the comfort of their books. And of course, the feeding grant had been withdrawn. Not long after that, KC was released. There had been no Interpol, no judge, no trial, no jury, no official charge, just irreparable damage to a man’s hard-earned reputation.

He had arrived in school one Sunday afternoon and in true Ghanaian traditional victory celebration style, a white cloth had been placed over his shoulder and white powder sprinkled over his head. Mr Simpson had offered libation to the gods at Always Around, invoking Aboagyewa’s curses on the people responsible for this.

‘May they suffer gonorrhea” he had said, amongst others

KC had then been followed by a handful of students all the way to the eighth floor, Gladys by his side. I saw the hallowed look on his face. I cast my mind back to the confident young man who had stood at the forecourt not long ago waving to all sides of Unity Hall. I knew something was lost and that Kakraba Cromwell would never be the same again.

The least we could do, his friends on the eight floor of the Unity Hall, was to try to lift his spirits. We went round and took contributions from everybody and organized a little party on the floor for him. I was asked to give a little speech on the night but before I could speak, Chairman Gorbachov had gotten up to speak uninvited.

“I am happy to welcome my partner in crime KC……” He didn’t look like he was joking. It left a bad taste in people’s mouth.

I gave an emotional speech relating my encounter with him on the first day. I talked about the way he cared about everyone on the floor. And it was true. He would get up in the morning literally going from one room to the other checking that people were alright or just having a chat. He was a great man but above all, he was a good man. “I promise you, nothing can bring down a man destined for greatness” I concluded to warm applause.

That was the last of students’ politics as we knew it at the time. There would be no major strikes ever again. Kakraba Cromwell, he quietly completed his examinations and found himself a job somewhere in Accra. The man we once thought was going to be president of Ghana, had been sunk into eternal oblivion.