A Sad Story and Eulogy

Recently a very sad thing happened in Menji. I decided to write about it here for my own benefit. I have been dwelling on it for far too long, and I think just getting it all out there - writing it - will help me recover. Since pretty much the only people who read my blog are close friends and family members, you are the people who always help me recover anyway. It is sad though, so frankly, you don't have to read this one.

In the evening last Thursday, I was sort of just hanging around my room, cleaning up a little. It was dark out by that time. A little later, one of my students came to the door, panting and said, "Madam, come to the school, there has been a moto accident." Ghanaians refer to motorcycles as 'motos'. We got the assistant headmaster from next door, and started down the path. "It's Mr. Boachie," the student said, "He's just lying there in the road," at which point we started running.

In front of the school near the volleyball court was parked a semi-like truck. The truck had been there along the side of the road all day, probably ran out of gas or something. I ran around the end of the truck and came upon a twisted, mangled hunk of metal; a thing vaguely recognizable as a motorcycle. Ten feet in front of that was a group of fifteen or so students in a circle, wailing, screaming, crying. I pushed my way through them, and knelt by Mr. Boachie. I checked his carotid pulse. Nothing. I looked down and the ground all around me was wet and dark. I fell backwards out of the group and vomited in a bush.

Emmanuel, the student government president and the only one in the group who still had his shit together, came over to me. He asked me, "Is there was any chance?" I said no. Ema proceeded to explain, "He was leaving town on his motor bike. The moto didn't have a light, and he wasn't wearing a helmet. The road light near the big truck was also out. He didn't see the the truck and couldn't swerve in time. He hit the truck and was thrown there."

A little while later, a the school truck came to take Mr. Boachie away. A little while after that, I took a few of the students to get some buckets of water. We cleaned up the road.

So there it is. I have never seen or experienced anything vaguely similar to this. I don't think it is the concept of death that I struggle with. Mom said everybody has a time, and I agree with that. I think the hard thing was having looked death straight in the face. Not a friend, not even a person, but death.

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I want to write a little about Mr. Charles Boachie now.

I think to appreciate his personality, you should first understand his stature. It only adds to his character. Mr. Boachie was a small man, maybe 5'6" on a good day, and narrow of build. But he was by no means skinny. He was certainly strong enough to hold his own.  Standing next to Mr. Boachie, we could not be more different looking. Deep brown skin - light tan skin.  Buzz cut black hair - Long blonde hair. Broad shoulders - Narrow shoulders. Short muscular arms - Long skinny arms. Noticeably short - Noticeably tall. Little wide feet - Long narrow feet. 

 Thinking back, I always thought that big wooden armchair at the head of the table in staff common room was a little too big for him. It makes me laugh to imagine his feet dangling there at the head of the table. But I have to give credit where credit is due - he owned that spot.

Mr. Boachie was a mid-fifties bachelor. And I think it was because of his status as a bachelor, that he permanently retained some youthful playfulness. In other words, he was always a little bit immature. And it was definitely one of my favorite things about him. One day in the staff common room, he was talking about premarital sex. The pros / the cons / all the usual debatables. Then he looked right at me (I always sit just to his right) with a cocked eyebrow, a crocked smile and said, "Would Miss Betsy buy property without first exploring the land a bit to approve of the scenery? Hmmmm?" I laughed, blushed, swatted his arm, and exclaimed, "Mr. Boachie, you troublemaker!!!" Then another teacher at the end of the table loudly stated, "Well, I certainly would NOT!" And we all just fell apart in laughter.

Can't you just imagine his face at that moment? Small, round, bright brown eyes glinting with mischief. A permanently raised eyebrow to suggest an oncoming joke. A small, slightly up-turned nose. A wide, slightly crocked smile, turned up at the corners like a cartoon, revealing a row of perfect white chicklet teeth. A broad strong jaw.

I'll miss Mr. Boachie. He was always funny and always kind.

I'll end with this... One afternoon, we were sitting in the staff common room, when Mr. Boachie got up and proclaimed, "I am going to teach the Form 1 students hygiene and sanitation," and walked off with a box of chalk. He teaches social studies, which here is more like a life lessons class. A bit later, I walked past his classroom to hear him exclaim, "How ridiculous, of course you wipe from front to back!!! ....Oh, my dear Betsy! Won't you come in and add some intelligence to our discussion?"

Ohhhh, Mr. Boachie. Good bye.

Mr. Boachie is there in the middle with the school accountants.