Santa was obviously not excited about the idea, and so Kwaku felt the need for them to at least talk - about his experience, and hoped that it would shed some light of understanding. The first thing he felt the need to do was to tell the story of how he came to be. 'This is one thing we often take for granted in Ghanaian culture', he thought to himself. This meant first of all, reintroducing himself professionally to his client in case there were any mishaps. 'I observe how children's brain function affect their behaviour at different stages of their growth and experiment with didactical and Steiner objects in the learning environment and then lay a foundation in composition, while establishing the fundamental aspects of music, art, science, design and technology, creative writing, performance as a key for development of their creativity.'
By this time, the confirmation he needed to be sure that she was ready to talk was written all over her face in one word - bewilderment! U-ooh, did Kwaku just make Christmas too yellow for Santa? 'It kind of looks good on her', he thought. Kwaku spilt out all the words of his introduction so closely together, it was impossible for her to get anything in and instead, her rouge lips just twisted and turned. In case anyone questioned the relevance of the two Europeans he often mentioned, whose work in the early twentieth century contributed to the education of the child, he had just the perfect response for them, 'I would only agree with you, if you could come up with a single modern alternative to theirs before the rampant spread of Montessori schools all over Ghana.' Kwaku's challenge was one that could only be solved by a detailed study of how Dr. Montessori used self-correcting objects to educate the child about the real world around them, and of how fantasy and imagination worked at the heart of Steiner's system.
'What do you mean?'
'What I mean is -’
He pauses and briskly makes his way over to the wall. His index finger doodles around the alphabets and stops at the letter, 'S'. 'They may have had different approaches,' he said, 'Yet, whether a caricature of our planet as bulbous little droppings falling out the behind of this skunk, to imply that it is engulfed in pollution, or whether a tiny kitchenette set designed from wood which the child assembles or disassembles, to pass information about models of responsible behaviour in society, both are without doubt enlightening him or her about the world around them - what their gifts of frank incense, gold and mire truly are composed of, for which reason the whole being - mind, soul, intellect is educated.'
As Kwaku made away from the wall to his seat, something dark hurriedly moved all of a sudden in the corners of the room, and only had it intruded into his field of vision did he care to inquire what it was that went on behind him. He turned around, still speaking, 'this is in stark opposition to an education that only equips a child with a skill so that they can find a - .'
His last words muted by the sheer sight of the damage the glass on the small frame, which Majorie tried to hang back up had suffered. It turned out Kwaku had inadvertently nudged it in its place next to the wallpaper in his attempt at returning to his seat. Majorie didn't waste time at all when she spotted it coming down and dived from behind her desk to save it. Her moving shadow formed by the abundance of daylight pouring in from the wide window was the dark thing that trickled into Kwaku's vision.
'I'm very sorry about that Majorie.'
'You should be Kwaku, because this is the piece of paper that got me my dream job'.
Having yet not turned to even look at him, her attention was fully fixed on the frame, still tending to it while she responded.
'I will fix this only if you wouldn't mind'
'No! My certificate is not getting out of here'.
As if Kwaku cared about a piece of paper the size of an A-four sheet that states no more than just names and signatures and not what a person really can do or make. He only wanted the opportunity to add to his problem solving experience and his job creation status.
'Unfortunately this is the order of the day in Ghana' he thought, 'We all want or want for our children an education that will make them hot on the job market but nobody thinks about who creates the jobs, - nobody is asking for an education, 'that will make me or my children create jobs or become creators.' The truth is, an education that only gives you skills so that you can administer what others have created is not true education, even if it's education at all. It limits you in many respects, regarding those whose education put things in perspective for them, taking into consideration the world around. You may be able to beat them with certain experiences, but never insight, and it is only a matter of time that they out-developed you due to a solid foundation that helps their self-development which is even a benefit in itself for their very lives.'
As he thought about these things, he couldn't help being fascinated by the idea of getting Yaw the job opportunity of fixing Majorie's broken frame for his Christmas present.
Not that Yaw was a glazier, but after one Friday evening at church, when serious prayers had been said in Tongues, Pastor Kumah instructed the congregation to, 'Turn to the person next to you and declare any job you want and you will have it!' Kwaku happened to be right there by Yaw's side, and could not be mistaken that he heard him loud and clear proclaiming, 'I want to solve all problems of mankind as a job!’ Kwaku was so moved that he made a promise in his heart to yield himself to being a contributor to the fulfillment of Yaw's dream. Therefore he took the initiative to get to know him immediately Pastor Kumah dispersed the congregation.
'Many don't know how important the church is, that irrespective of how worse things get in the world, many of its members still conceive such great confessions about their destiny in life - even in the face of adversity'. Kwaku churned out.
'How true!'
'I'm Kwaku,’ extending a handshake.
'My name is Yaw', responding with a brotherly hug, and spotting a smile almost the look-alike of Pastor Kumah's, when he is at the brink of, 'Turn to the person next to you...', part of the church meeting, - as if he wore the brightest sun for a zucchetto.
They talked about everything and nothing that day. Yaw put across certain unarguably fascinating, 'observations', - he calls them; something in relation with his toilet-window and eternity. 'Some things seem eternal,' he expressed, 'like the little window above my toilet seat, that I stare through every morning and night, yet hardly took notice of the big hole in the netting.' When the conversation reached that level, Kwaku thought finally, he had met an honest person with whom he could share the contents of his, 'Future Wife' letter.
'Did you really write a letter to your future wife?' asked Yaw.
'Yes I did.'
'So what house address did you mail it to?'
'I will let you know soon afterwards I've disclosed the content to you', answered Kwaku laughing.
'Dear Future Wife,' Kwaku starts to read from his church notebook:
'You know I'm a visionary, and so if I choose to spend the rest of my life with you, then it is to fulfill my purpose in Christ, and also my dream as a mogul in the creative arts - not partners with their own agenda. For when that destiny is fulfilled, you will be fulfilled. Like I always say, when I'm worth billions of dollars, you are worth billions of dollars too! You either believe in my dream or you don't. Future Wife, do you really want to know your role in my life? You are that helper or supporter and mate with whom I shall execute the plan for my vision. Finally, I would like to say to you my dear Future Wife, love must be practical! Someone who loves you is not one who only buys you things, but one who keeps you on the path of your vision. As a result my dear Future Wife, I'm all ears for your vision, and all hearts to reciprocate your dedication. With Love. K.'
No sooner had Kwaku finished reading his letter to Yaw, did the sound of Pastor Kumah’s voice slip out of the opening in the doorway, ‘For the lack of knowledge, people perish…’
Just as fast as the sounds escaped, did a flock of kids running around recklessly wielding brightly lit-up firecrackers beleaguer them, and when they impetuously turned in the direction of the door to make their way back into the auditorium, Kwaku clashed into one of the children and dropped his notebook. That child neither dropped his firecracker nor did fall, instead the rest of his counterparts gleefully trampled over Kwaku’s notebook as they raced along in pursuit of their wild friend.
‘Are they aware this is going to explode?’ asked Yaw.
Although he had wanted to bring up what he witnessed the last time while he went to meet Majorie, Kwaku could not respond right away.
One thing seemed obvious to everyone in the congregation. However Yaw could not pin it down on whether it was the fact that the charismatic Pastor Kumah dressed as Santa clause for church that day, or that something strange made the whole idea look so ridiculous. Yaw wasn’t convinced if he was seeing the same thing as others, except the uneasiness on their faces which he could not deny, Kwaku not being an exception.
‘Oh my God, this isn’t working’. Contemplated Yaw, while an unusual feeling that something was about to go wrong made his stomach churn.
‘Focus,’ Pastor Kumah belted out from his podium, ‘a focused mind, will and inner strength, are the marks of one who is full of knowledge and practical wisdom.’ This was the climax for Yaw, when those powerful words of Pastor Kumah still did awfully little to turn his attention away from the distraction.
Kwaku turned into the close and marveled when he saw the image of his gate far away. He was hurrying to get a break not only to figure out the situation with his fantasies, but also to get away from the heat outside.
‘My fortress’, he whispered fondly.
The egrets flying and landing on his walls made it even loftier and brought back a memory of his morning routines when he is heavily laden with the thought that his angels are becoming plenteous, as he meditatively swept up his front yard.
‘I don’t need to live with anybody else’, He recollects himself saying in contention, ‘my angels are becoming plenteous and that’s why I need a space even bigger than this’.
And then when he realizes there’s nobody else physically there but him, he would burst out laughing. He collected every thin white feather that he found on the ground as well as those caught within the prickle of the dry-palm-frond broom. Greeted at the entrance into his yard by a sudden plentiful stream of mosquitoes, sent a clear message to Kwaku who had visited him today. They escaped when the foot of the gate pierced and tore apart a black plastic bag that was trapped in it.
‘You’re creating a lot of trash’ He said.
The visitor had just then shoved-in the last morsel with the plastic spoon and so didn't retort immediately.
‘When you’re done, kindly find a proper place to dispose off the rest of the plastic ware’, counseled Kwaku.
‘Why are you so worried, do you want to save the world?’
‘No, the earth will save itself, but have you thought about how we came to have lots of these things here that it’s now so difficult to get rid of?’
‘Well I haven’t come here for that. You know why I’m here’. Jesse said lightheartedly.
Kwaku smiled back at him and gently thrust a notebook over to his end of the desk saying, ‘Please sign here with dates’.
