Meeting, greeting and feasting in middle age

It has been a busy weekend in Kumasi. Yes, you have guessed right, funeral engagements dominated my weekend. 

Perhaps the ‘crown jewel’ of the black and red weekend was the funeral of the wife of the first old boy headmaster of Opoku Ware School, Mr Dapaah Berko (a.k.a Daps), who also headed the school for a record 16 years. 

Sunday lunch

But beyond the gloom of funerals, my weekend ended on a great note. One of my classmates, Prince, had earlier arrived in town from the UK and invited us his mates to join him for sumptuous late lunch on Sunday before his return.

I was not to miss this for anything, and by 4pm we were rolling.

The fact of being in Lent restricted the liquids that entered some throats to water and malt (even iced tea made an appearance!), but that did not stop the lubrication of other throats with stronger stuff. 

Some painfully implored Prince to make sure that the next time his invitation falls pre- or post-Lent, to which he agreed.

As the afternoon wore on and we laughed and reminisced over our time back in school, teased each other, recalled some of our departed friends and discussed life, aging, pensions and the general vicissitudes of life, it occurred to me that at a certain age, perhaps some of life’s little pleasures included the simple ones of pure, unadulterated, ego-free friendships that even transcend brotherhood and going back many years ago.

Looking back

Forty-five years ago this year, precisely in October 1980, we entered Opoku Ware School together. We were the AF group.

We were an eclectic mix from diverse and wildly different backgrounds, the sons of doctors, lawyers, merchants, accountants, market traders, plumbers, carpenters- the lot.  

Some of us had lived in the cities and large towns all our lives and had attended posh primary schools, whilst others had come from places where good roads, electricity and running water were luxuries and classes took place under a tree or windowless, roofless classrooms.

Our parents were married and they were divorced or never married. Some never knew their fathers and some of us never knew either parent. We were Ashantis and Fantes and Gas and Ewes and Nzemas, as we were tall, short, big, skinny, talkative and reserved.  

Whether by accident or design, we had been thrown together in the school as greenhorns, at the mercy of our seniors. We were expected to bond with each other, to grow together, to hope together, study together and love each other as brothers.  

Some joined us in Form 2, and in 1985, 40 years ago, we left Form 5, with others joining us from other schools for our sixth form.

We all had dreams, but of course, like the biblical story of the sower, the seeds behaved differently as time went on. Inevitably, some have passed on. 

Vintage years

It struck us that some of us have already hit pensionable age, with the youngest of our group only four years way from the line.

Quite a few have secured their ‘pension babies’. Some of us are grandfathers.

Bellies are sagging, hairlines are receding and the gait is not as fast or as steady as it used to be, even with those who had a busy sporting life in school. 

Today, instead of attending each other’s weddings as we would have done in years gone by, we attend the funerals of each other’s parents. Instead of discussing our career ambitions, we discuss our pension plans.

Instead of wild partying, we are more likely to discuss ailments of middle age and possible remedies and a few favourite grumpy gripes relating to modernity.

One mate recounted how he left a restaurant in a huff because he was asked to scan the QR code for the menu, when he expected a menu card.

Personally, I hate e-books, preferring to smell and feel the pages as I turn them over when reading. Many of us are bewildered by rapidly growing technology.

Of course, deep down,  even with our pet gripes, we insist on not seeing ourselves as some cloth-wearing family elders but young men at heart, with some naughtiness thrown in here and there as and when the situation calls for it, even if nature tells us not to be ridiculous.

After all, sixty is not really that old, is it? I mean, it is not as if we are shuffling around on walking sticks.

Perhaps, we are living the best years of our lives, nestled rather comfortably between the active, adrenalin-driven youthful years of building careers and family, and the late post-pension years with all its physical and other challenges that bring you into confrontation with your frailty and mortality as you watch life whizz by.

As one of my mates remarked, we are in a period of consolidation, just taking things easy and revelling in the simple things of life, like meeting, greeting and eating, with some good drinks particularly outside Lent.

As I wrap up this piece on Monday morning, I look forward to another lunch invitation from another classmate, Philip, who is also in town from the UK.

Once again, some of us will congregate to break bread and have a good time.

Meanwhile, we are working hard towards the celebration of our 40th anniversary of leaving Opoku Ware School.

Now, that will be a global ‘meet, greet, eat and drink’ affair on a mega scale. Of course, by then, Lent will be long gone.

Rodney Nkrumah-Boateng.
E-mail: rodboat@yahoo.com