If the running tracks of Mfantsipim School defined our athletic excellence, then Jama provided its heartbeat. There could be no golden tracks without the thunderous rhythm of voices, drums, and improvised chants that lifted athletes beyond fatigue and into legends. Jama was more than cheering; it was the emotional engine of competition.
The Masters of Jama
During those years, some individuals stood out as architects of the atmosphere. Among the earliest Jama greats were Precious Allotey, Ray Positive, Achillos, and Octopussy. Their voices carried authority, and their chants could shift the mood of an entire stadium. When they led Jama, the stands were no longer merely spectators—they became an active force behind the athletes on the track.
Ray Positive, in particular, was a towering cultural figure during his time on the hill. He was the chief drummer of the era and a master of rhythm, often playing the Gome drum, whose deep, resonant beat anchored many of our Jama sessions. Whenever Ray Positive took charge, the atmosphere instantly transformed. His energy, theatrical flair, and command of rhythm made him unforgettable.
He even had a signature chant that the whole school knew by heart:
“Ray Po! Ray Po!
Ray Pooositive!
Ray Pooositive!”
The chant would ripple across the stands whenever he stepped forward with the drum, and the crowd would respond in unison, amplifying the excitement of the moment.
As the years progressed, a new generation assumed the mantle: Gbeetsatsu, Kwasi Appiatu-Ankrah, Thomas Quaye (Afaglo), Daniel Donkor (DD), Chento, Jasher, and Barketey, among others. Each brought his own rhythm, improvisation, and leadership to the culture.
Among them, Gbeetsatsu stood apart. He lived Jama, dreamt Jama, and quite literally ate Jama. He was the chief composer of our Jama songs, returning from every vacation with fresh compositions that quickly spread across the student body. Every new term seemed to introduce a new anthem under his leadership.
His influence went beyond composition. When Jama became so central to our sporting identity that we formally formed a Jama Club, Gbeetsatsu naturally became its founding president, while I served as the founding secretary.
On a personal level, he was also my Jama godfather. I fondly called him “Nii Oseku,” and he would respond warmly, “Naa Yoomo.” It became our playful ritual—a small but memorable symbol of the camaraderie that Jama nurtured within the school.
Jama was not simply noise. It was morale, identity, and psychological warfare.
The Roar Before the Race
At athletics meets, Jama did more than energise the stands. It announced the competitors. Every race was heralded by chants that rolled across the field long before the starter’s pistol fired.
When our sprinters approached the track, the chants would begin:
“Carl Lewis! Carl Lewis!” The nickname for our explosive sprinter, Doku.
“Fayaa! Fayaa!” The finest Frank Blankson.
The chants did not stop with Kwabotwe athletes. Even rival stars were acknowledged in the same electrifying way:
“Shooooow Bula! Shoooow Bula!” for the formidable sprinter from Adisco.
“Yaa Baby! Yaa Baby!” for the brilliant curve runner from Augusco.
These chants were more than noise, they were declarations. They recognised excellence, built anticipation, and created an atmosphere where every race felt like a final.
The Race That Raised the Stakes
One unforgettable moment occurred during the 1987/88 Interco athletics meet held at the Mfantsipim Senior Field. In the 100 metres Heat One, Augustine Nketia of St. Augustine’s College, Cape Coast faced our own Doku, affectionately known as Carl Lewis.
The race ended in what could only be described as a photo finish, with Nketia narrowly edging Doku at the line. The result immediately raised the tension and stakes ahead of the final. Conversations spread through the stands and across the campus. Could Doku avenge the defeat? Would Nketia repeat his triumph?
When the final approached, the atmosphere at the Senior Field was electric.
From the Kwabotwe cheering squad rose the deafening chant:
“Carl Lewis! Carl Lewis! Carl Lewis!”
The rhythm of Jama rolled across the field, pushing the tension higher with every beat.
This time, Doku did not disappoint.
In a performance that combined power, focus, and determination, he surged ahead and won the 100 metres final, securing sweet revenge over Nketia.
The moment triggered an explosion of jubilation among the Kwabotwe faithful. The stands erupted. Jama intensified. Students poured onto the edges of the field celebrating the victory.
Long after the race had ended, the excitement lingered in the form of discussions, debates, and playful teasing between Kwabotwe boys and their Augusco brothers.
It was schoolboy rivalry at its finest: competitive, passionate, and unforgettable.
When Spirit Meets Skill
That atmosphere captured the essence of our sporting culture. Talent mattered. Discipline mattered. Preparation mattered. But spirit mattered just as much.
Athletes ran, jumped, and competed on the tracks and fields, but behind them stood an entire school whose voices carried them forward.
The golden tracks of our era were therefore never silent. They echoed with Jama, rivalry, laughter, and belief.
And somewhere within that chorus — by drummers, composers, and faithful chanters — the legends of the track lived on.
- Read also
- Mfantsipim School @ 150 and Creech’s Mfantsipim Diaries: My First Shock
- Mfantsipim School @ 150 and Creech’s Mfantsipim Diaries: My second shock
- Mfantsipim School @ 150 and Creech’s Mfantsipim Diaries: Shock Number Three
- Creech’s Mfantsipim Diaries. My final shock
The writer is Philip Creech-Jones of MOBA 1992 (Mfantsipim Old Boys Association).
