I Don’t Knock on Doors, Trust Me; I Kick Butts!!!
By Kwame Okoampa-Ahoofe, Jr., Ph.D.
Garden City, New York
Dec. 29, 2015
You see, if I felt so sure of my professional and intellectual superiority, as Dr. Trokosi claims to have over yours truly, I would not be thinking of taking a trip to the Community College of “Dropouts” where yours truly teaches in order to see what sort or manner of creature he was. If the SOB is looking for a better job with better conditions of service and a livable paycheck, he had better let this on to his audience and stop jiving and feeling vacuously superior and self-important. The fact of the matter is that I have absolutely no use for the likes of this ghetto comedian.
He is probably looking for the sort of validation – both professional and personal – that he will never get from yours truly. So he had better stay put on the ghetto campus of LIU Brooklyn where he was freshly picked from some backwoods graduate school to ply his jaded trade coaching some equally third-rate graduate students to become as jaded and irrelevant as himself. Well, Dr. Trokosi may not know this – not that I care that much – but I was on radio and television as a teenager before I left Ghana for the United States. I was also one of the handful high school students to be featured in the one-time published students’ version of Ewura Ekua Badu’s Ideal Woman. The latter’s junior version was called Ideal Student. And so I did not learn about the power of the written word just yesterday. I was also editor of The Mountaineer at Okwawu-Nkwatia’s St. Peter’s Secondary School (PERSCO) when I was in Form-Four.
You see, I am not just arriving here in the United States, like Dr. Trokosi, after having supported an Akan-hating and killing Trokosi nationalist political party, and being cheaply provided with a stipend to perform the dirty job of the Trokosi Mafia. I have been here for thirty years; and during this period, I have been on the frontlines of the global African liberation struggle and been awarded an honorary membership of the Mandela-led African National Congress. And so Dr. Trokosi, you have picked a quarrel with the wrong guy. You are not my classmate. Not by any stretch of the imagination.
I had a college degree before you gained admission in a real university. I am also fully aware that you and your Trokosi scam-artists, thieves and murderers have tried to play your dirty and primitive game of professional liquidation times without number here at my school, but it hasn’t worked. It will never work because I have a far bigger “soul” and mightier “spirit” – “Duende” – where you and your hatchet men have only the shadows of cardboards on your rotten meat of human flesh. I don’t like fat boys, so clear off my sight!
Well, Dr. Trokosi also exhibits his blistering inferiority complex by presuming to cavalierly bunch me up with something called “Northern Ewes.” You see, he desperately craves to pin down the stuff of which I am made. He had better be careful of what he wishes for, or he may soon start running in the New York City Marathon stark naked through the streets of Brooklyn. I am also very convinced that I shall retch and vomit the moment I catch sight of this boar of a Trokosi bumpkin. Stranger, just stay in your lane; and don’t ever attempt to pull ranks with me. I have turned down an invitation to train Ph.D.s. You want to know where? Go F… your Agbeli-Kaklo frying mama! Tell us, when did you get your doctorate? And what have you really done with it to presume to dare me to a belated, and a benighted, contest of cranial puissance? Just stay in your lane and mind your own business, little fatso. That is exactly how Mawu made it and wants it.
By the way, I did not read your tripe pathetically passed off and “Analysis.” I have better ways of spending my leisure hours. I don’t know about you – not that I care a whit – but I am a student of philosophy and a Ford Foundation Undergraduate Fellow/Scholar of City College of the City University of New York, and a very good one at that. I have also been a favorite student of the immortalized Prof. Chinua Achebe (may God eternally rest his soul). I left you behind, professionally and intellectually, some twenty years ago and have absolutely no need to engage a Qaddafy-butt-licking-toddler like you in any academic exercise well beyond your ken, anyway.
And by the way, what is all this poppycock about your being “togged up” for my joust? The last time I checked this patently archaic expression was in use in the 1770s. So why all this nonsense about me lacing my write-ups (the Ghanaian expression, I suppose) with archaisms? Anyway, I remember from nearly thirty years ago, at City College, that Dr. Samuel Johnson lived in the 18th century. If I remember correctly, the great phenomenological debater of Bishop George Berkley lived between 1709 to 1784, not the 19th or the 20th century, as you have been lying to your unsuspecting graduate students at LIU Brooklyn for quite some time now. And by the way, my graduate African History Seminar students of Indiana State University, Terre Haute, some twenty years ago knew far better than this.
What caliber of graduate students do you presume to teach, by the way? And if you really want to know: I really did not read that swill you gauchely spilled out there, foolishly claiming to have been echo-leftovers of my knocks on your door. I am glad you have finally moved out of the fetid outhouse you once shared with your fellow Trokosi travelers into the master bedroom of the old slave mansion. Good for you! But you better steer clear of me. No, I don’t do Akpeteshie, though I know the art of distilling it like the back of my hand. I am running out of time so say “Hi” to “Ganja” Mahama for me. And, oh, also Francis Kpegah, your idol; and Lord Rawlings-Abotui. Trust me, Akufo-Addo is coming to the Jubilee-Flagstaff House, like it or not. Wh…aaat? You intend to burn the sea? Come on, be my guest!
*The dear reader may visit my blog at: Ghanaffairs@gmail.com