'I Was Conned Into Leaving London for School in Ghana — But It Changed My Life'

At 16 years old, when my mom informed me that we would be traveling from the UK to Ghana for our summer vacation, I had absolutely no reason to question her.

It was merely a brief journey, a short respite - not something to stress over. At least, that's what I believed at first.

After one month, she stunned me with the news – I wasn’t returning to London unless I had reformed and accumulated sufficient GCSEs to proceed with my studies.

I was deceived in a manner akin to the British-Ghanaian teenager. Who recently brought his parents to the High Court in London after they sent him to a school in Ghana .

In their defense, they informed the judge that they did not wish to witness their 14-year-old son turning into "another Black teenager killed by knives in the streets of London."

In the mid-1990s, my mother, who taught at an elementary school, shared comparable worries.

I was dismissed from two high schools in the London Borough of Brent for being part of the wrong group and veering towards a perilous direction.

The friends who were closest to me at that point went to jail for armed robbery. If I had remained in London, I would have very likely faced conviction alongside them.

However, being dispatched to Ghana seemed akin to serving time in prison.

To a certain extent, I can relate to the teenager who stated in his court declaration that he feels as though he is "living in hell."

However, from my own perspective, by the age of 21, I understood that what my mother had done was a blessing.

Unlike the boy at the heart of the London legal dispute - where he was unsuccessful - I did not attend boarding school in Ghana.

My mother entrusted my upbringing to her two nearest siblings, as they wished to monitor me closely and it was believed that interacting with numerous boarders might be overly distracting for me.

Initially, I stayed with my uncle Fiifi, who was once a UN environmentalist, in a place named Dansoman, close to the capital city of Accra.

The shift in lifestyle was tough. In London, I enjoyed my private room, use of washing machines, and a sense of autonomy – even though I often abused this freedom.

In Ghana, I used to wake up at 5 AM to clean the courtyard and wash my uncle's frequently dirty pickup truck as well as my aunt's car.

The car she owned was what I ended up stealing—a rather defining occurrence.

I didn’t know how to drive correctly, mistreating a manual transmission as if it were an automatic, and ended up crashing it into a senior officer’s Mercedes.

I attempted to escape from the area. However, the soldier apprehended me and warned that he would send me to Burma Camp, the well-known military facility known for previous disappearances of individuals.

That was the final genuinely wild thing I ever did.

What I gained in Ghana wasn’t merely discipline; it was a new way of looking at things.

Living in Ghana made me realize how many things I had overlooked.

Hand-washing laundry and cooking meals with my aunt helped me value the hard work involved.

Like much else in Ghana, food demanded patience. Microwaves were absent, as were quick-fastfood options.

For instance, preparing the traditional starchy food known as fufu requires significant effort. It entails smashing boiled yams or cassava into a smooth paste using a mortar and pestle.

Back then, it seemed like a form of punishment. Reflecting now, it was forging our strength.

At first, my uncles thought about enrolling me in prestigious institutions such as the Ghana International School or SOS-Hermann Gmeiner International College.

However, they were clever. They understood that I could assemble a fresh team to create disorder and mayhem.

Rather than attending regular classes, I received individual tutoring at Accra Academy, a public high school that my deceased father had also gone through. This arrangement frequently led me to be instructed either alone or in very small groups.

The classes were conducted in English; however, outside of school, people frequently spoke local languages around me, and I discovered that picking them up was quite simple, likely due to the fully immersive environment.

When I was back in London, I enjoyed learning curse words in my mother's Fante language, though I wasn't nearly proficient.

After I relocated to the city of Tema to live with my favorite uncle, Uncle Jojo—a specialist in agriculture—I kept receiving private lessons at Tema Secondary School.

Unlike the boy who made news in the UK for claiming that Ghana's educational system wasn't up to par, I discovered it to be quite rigorous.

I was recognized as an academically talented individual in the UK even with my problematic behavior, yet I struggled significantly when I went to Ghana. The students of my age group were much more advanced in areas such as mathematics and sciences.

The strictness of the educational system in Ghana motivated me to work harder than I ever did in London.

The outcome? I secured five GCSEs with grades of C and higher - an achievement that previously appeared unattainable.

Aside from scholarly accomplishments, Ghanaian society imparted values that remain with me throughout my life.

Showing respect to senior citizens was mandatory. In all the areas where I resided, you always acknowledged people who were older than you, even if they weren’t acquaintances.

Ghana didn't just instill more discipline and respect in me; it also made me fearless.

Football played a significant role in that change. I would play in the parks, where the ground was frequently rough red clay mixed with scattered pebbles and stones, using makeshift goals made from wooden posts tied together with twine.

It was quite different from the well-kept fields in England, yet it made me tougher than I ever thought possible—and it’s no surprise that many top players in the English Premier League hail from West Africa.

The intense approach to playing football in Ghana wasn’t solely based on talent; it also required toughness and stamina. Being knocked down on rugged terrain meant getting back up, brushing oneself off, and continuing the game.

Each Sunday, I participated in football games at the beach — although I frequently ended up being tardy since neither of my uncles would ever permit me to skip church and remain at home.

These services seemed to go on endlessly. Yet, this was also an indication of Ghana’s status as a devoutly religious country, where spirituality profoundly influences daily activities.

The initial 18 months proved to be the most challenging. I disliked the limitations, tasks, and strict rules.

I attempted to take my passport without permission to get back to London, but my mom anticipated my move and hid it securely. I couldn’t find a way out of this situation.

I had no option but to adjust. Eventually, I ceased viewing Ghana as a confinement and began perceiving it as a joyful abode.

I am aware of several individuals who, similar to myself, were returned to Ghana by their parents residing in London.

When Michael Adom came to Accra for schooling at age 17 during the 1990s, he described his time there as "a mix of joy and sorrow." He resided in Accra until turning 23 and currently works as a probation officer in London.

His primary grievance revolved around feelings of isolation—he longed for his loved ones and companionship. Periods of frustration arose due to his circumstances and the complexity of being misjudged.

This was primarily due to his parents' failure to teach him or his siblings any of the local languages during their upbringing in London.

"The 49-year-old explains, 'I didn't get Ga. I didn't grasp Twi. I didn't comprehend Pidgin,' " he shares with me.

This left him feeling exposed during his initial three-year period—and as he puts it, susceptible to exploitation, such as by individuals hiking up prices due to his apparent outsider status.

He mentions that wherever he went, he always made certain to go accompanied by someone else.

However, he ultimately became proficient in Twi, and generally, he feels that the advantages surpassed the disadvantages: "It turned me into a man."

Living in Ghana helped me grow and improved me by allowing me to connect more deeply with my identity as a Ghanaian. It also strengthened my grasp of my cultural heritage, background, and family history.

I agree with this sentiment. By my third year, I had developed a deep affection for the culture and ended up staying for almost an additional two years following my GCSE exams.

I gained a profound appreciation for the local cuisine. In London, I rarely gave much thought to my meals. However, in Ghana, food wasn’t merely nourishment—it carried stories with every dish.

I developed an obsession with "waakye," which consists of rice and black-eyed peas cooked together with millet leaves, resulting in a distinct purple-brown hue. This meal typically came accompanied by fried plantains, the fiery condiment known as "shito," hard-boiled eggs, and occasionally some spaghetti or deep-fried fish. It truly was my go-to comfort food.

I relished the music, felt the hospitality of the locals, and embraced the communal spirit. Instead of merely being "trapped" in Ghana, I was flourishing there.

Recently, my mother, Patience Wilberforce, has left us, prompting me to reflect profoundly on the choice she made so many years back.

She rescued me. If she hadn’t deceived me into remaining in Ghana, the likelihood of my having a criminal record or potentially spending time in jail would have been very significant.

At the age of 20, I enrolled at the College of Northwest London to pursue studies in media production and communication, later joining Kor.News Radio 1Xtra through a mentorship program.

The friends I hung around with in northwest London didn’t have the same opportunity for a fresh start that I had.

Ghana transformed my mindset, values, and future. It changed me from a misguided nuisance into a responsible individual.

Although this kind of experience may not suit everybody, it provided me with the education, discipline, and respect necessary to readjust to society upon my return to England.

And because of this, I will always feel deeply grateful to my mother, my uncles, and the nation that rescued me.

Mark Wilberforce is a freelance journalist who works from both London and Accra.

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