WHEN WE FINALLY GO HOME... WHAT WILL WE LEAVE BEHIND? (Episode Twenty-two) The Final Lesson Before the Reunion Begins-By J. A. Ansah
Every great gathering leaves behind two stories.
One is told by the cameras.
The other is told by the caretaker.
One becomes a photo album.
The other becomes a reputation.
Long after the final group photograph...
Long after the last spoonful of jollof has courageously defended itself...
Long after the DJ has packed away the speakers...
Long after the hugs, handshakes and "safe journey" messages have begun flooding WhatsApp...
Someone will quietly walk around the venue.
They will inspect the green lawns.
They will straighten the chairs.
They will visit the washrooms.
They will collect abandoned bottles.
They will rescue lonely disposable cups hiding beneath tables.
They may even discover tissues that somehow believed they had acquired permanent residency under chairs.
And perhaps, if history repeats itself elsewhere, they may stumble upon one adventurous chicken bone conducting independent constitutional reforms behind a flower pot.
Then, without microphones or applause, they will write the final report of the day.
"Those people were either truly educated... or they merely possessed certificates."
Dear KOSA '04 family, that is the final examination.
Not the BECE.
Not the WASSCE.
Not university examinations.
Not professional interviews.
Not promotion assessments.
This examination has only one question:
When we finally go home... what will we leave behind?
Education is a fascinating thing.
It can produce surgeons capable of replacing a human heart, yet unable to locate a rubbish bin five metres away.
It can produce engineers who build magnificent bridges across mighty rivers yet somehow fail to transport an empty bottle from their chair to the nearest waste container.
It can produce professors who quote Aristotle flawlessly while leaving disposable cups exactly where Aristotle himself would have tripped over them.
Civilisation has never been measured merely by what people know.
It is measured by what they quietly do when nobody is watching.
For decades, Ghana has wrestled with sanitation challenges that have attracted uncomfortable international attention. Historical WHO/UNICEF reports once placed our country among the world's poorest-performing nations in sanitation coverage, while regional assessments ranked Ghana close to the bottom in West Africa. Although encouraging progress has been made in several areas, environmental sanitation and waste management remain among our greatest national responsibilities.
Yet statistics never throw rubbish.
People do.
Countries do not litter.
Citizens do.
Governments do not abandon bottles beneath chairs.
Individuals do.
Every clean compound begins with one responsible person.
Every dirty environment begins with another.
For one beautiful Saturday, KOSA '04 becomes a miniature Ghana.
If we can manage our own waste...
Respect shared facilities...
Protect the beauty of the venue...
And leave the place cleaner than we found it...
Then perhaps the national transformation we continually hope for has quietly begun—with us.
Now permit us to discuss one of humanity's least glamorous, yet most democratic institutions.
The toilet.
Rich people need it.
Poor people need it.
Doctors.
Nurses.
Lawyers.
Teachers.
Pastors.
Professors.
Engineers.
Chief Executive Officers.
Even motivational speakers eventually stop motivating and begin searching.
There is absolutely no shame in asking where the washroom is.
Experienced guests know this.
They ask almost immediately after arrival.
Before greeting twenty classmates.
Before locating the buffet.
Before discussing national politics.
Before promising to "eat small."
Because biology has never respected academic qualifications.
A full bladder recognises neither master's degree nor professorship.
Please save yourself unnecessary heroism.
Ask early.
Ask confidently.
Nobody will laugh.
Indeed, many people secretly wish they had asked first.
While we are still discussing practical wisdom...
Every bottle has a destination.
Every tissue has a home.
Every disposable plate dreams of retiring peacefully inside a waste bin.
Please do not frustrate their career ambitions.
Zoomlion and the wind have politely declined the appointment as anybody's personal sanitation officers.
Let us not hide disposable cups beneath chairs as though future archaeologists deserve exciting discoveries.
Let us not balance bottles behind loudspeakers hoping they disappear by divine intervention.
Let us not introduce chicken bones to ornamental flowers.
The flowers have already endured enough.
The venue has welcomed us generously.
Let us honour that hospitality.
The green lawns deserve only gentle footsteps.
The children's playground deserves joyful laughter.
The cabanas deserve rich conversations and renewed friendships.
The sitting areas deserve stories that will be retold for years.
The hall deserves dignity.
The washrooms deserve exactly the same respect we expect visitors to show in our own homes.
Every chair deserves to complete the day where it began.
Every cleaner deserves to smile after we have departed.
This reunion is not merely about celebration.
It is about character.
Greet generously.
Smile sincerely.
Respect queues.
Offer assistance before it is requested.
Watch over the children.
Help anyone who appears lost.
If someone struggles to remember your name, introduce yourself warmly.
More than two decades have passed.
Faces have matured.
Hair has considered early retirement.
Waistlines have successfully expanded their territories.
Memory occasionally requests technical support.
Kindness, however, never grows old.
Enjoy the food.
Celebrate the music.
Dance with enthusiasm.
Laugh until your cheeks complain.
Take photographs.
Capture beautiful videos.
But every now and then, lower the phone.
Some memories deserve your eyes before they deserve your camera.
When refreshments are available, enjoy them responsibly.
We came to remember classmates.
Not to become tomorrow morning's trending WhatsApp entertainment.
If someone accidentally spills a drink, help rather than ridicule.
If someone sits alone, invite them into the conversation.
One warm conversation may become the greatest gift they receive this year.
Before leaving, kindly conduct one final inspection.
Please confirm that you are returning home with:
✔ Your spouse (if you arrived with one).
✔ Your children (especially after they discover the playground).
✔ Your spectacles.
✔ Your mobile phone.
✔ Your vehicle keys.
✔ Your dignity.
✔ And preferably... without someone else's cooler, flask or food container.
If a chair has faithfully supported you throughout the programme, reward its loyalty by returning it to where it belongs.
Even chairs appreciate closure.
The reputation of KOSA '04 will not be determined by the elegance of our attire.
Nor by the number of selfies we post.
Nor even by how delicious the food tastes.
It will be determined by something far more enduring.
Our conduct.
Years from now, very few people will remember who collected the first plate of jollof.
Nobody will accurately remember who danced first.
Arguments may continue forever about who laughed the loudest.
But imagine the caretaker quietly telling another group:
"In all my years working here, there was one reunion I shall never forget. They respected this place as though it belonged to them. They cleaned after themselves. They treated one another with kindness. They left behind no embarrassment—only beautiful memories."
My dear KOSA 04 colleagues,
That would be an applause no loudspeaker could ever produce.
That would be a trophy no committee could ever present.
That would be education in its highest form.
As we gather at 10:00 a.m., may none of us lose our way—physically or morally.
Coming from Accra or Tema on the Akosombo Road, the venue is on the right, on the road leading to Sajuna, sharing a wall with it.
Coming from the Adomi Bridge, turn left towards Accra. The venue is only a short distance beyond the railway overpass.
If at any point you require assistance, kindly ask for William, the caretaker, or contact our President, Makafui Azasu, our Publicity Secretary, Brenda Agbo, any executive member or any colleague. There will always be someone ready to help because that is what family does.
Above all, may Almighty God, who has graciously preserved us through the years, grant each one of us life, good health, safe journeys, joyful fellowship, wisdom in our conduct and a peaceful return home. May He bless every hand that has worked tirelessly to organise this reunion. May He protect every family represented. May He crown our gathering with unity, laughter, love and unforgettable memories.
And when the music finally ends...
May the caretaker struggle with only one problem:
Deciding whether we truly used the venue...
Or merely visited to spread joy.
May we leave behind no litter.
No damaged facilities.
No unpleasant stories.
No unnecessary embarrassment.
Only footprints upon the lawns...
Echoes of laughter beneath the cabanas...
Gratitude in the hearts of the staff...
Friendships renewed...
Hope restored...
And memories so beautiful that even those who could not attend will smile each time they hear the words KOSA '04.
Years from now, people may forget what we ate.
They may forget what we wore.
They may even forget who danced the hardest.
But may they never forget how beautifully KOSA '04 treated people... and how respectfully we treated a place that welcomed us.
That is the kind of reunion that never truly ends.
May God bless KOSA '04. May God bless every classmate and family represented. And may God bless Ghana. Amen.
End of Episode Twenty-two.
