“A profession of Slaps and Beatings”

All days are not the same. Yea! Such is the case, and today is no exception…All thanks and praise to “Bra Kwaku”.

Today of all days has made me with ease; shirk off years of bitter memories of having to strain my nerves before getting a common “trotro” to lectures. As was becoming the norm of the day. Again, all thanks and praise to “Bra Kwaku”

I guess you might by now, be wondering who “Bra Kwaku” is. Call him the saviour, you might be right! But for me, he is the “God sent!” ooh no, The Good Samaritan who met me on Ghana’s proudly proud of, “ The Accra-Tema Motorway stretch,” one bright, but sunny morning. When all the plushy cars denied me the pleasure of a ride… he asked, why not? It cost me just a minute or two of a jogging exercise, and, voilà…I was cruising at a temperature out of my initial environment, thanks to his air-condition car.

It was all a solemn ride until he broke the silence with his “Are you a student of the Polytechnic” question. I without letting the question find a place for footing cut him short, “I am a student of the School of Journalism”. For the spontaneity, I found no reason for…his follow up response was a chock to my throat. “Be ready for the beatings and the slaps then.” He retorted. That’s a weird assumption, I out of respect and humility soliloquized.

The minute or two that followed was a burden for me to cognitively prove the logic in his rather weird assumption about the profession I am ready to die for, journalism. Conclusively, I muted, “no profession is risk free”. Even if it’s a profession of slaps and beatings, that’s the unfortunate aspect of the profession, but other professional fields are no exception…all the same, as Comrade Mahatma Gandhi once opined, it’s a service to the masses. Even, idleness… the most risk freest of professions is not without risk.

To once again prove his dogmatic assumption about the Journalism profession, he joyfully told me how he on an occasion quenched her little girl’s desire to take journalism for a profession. It was a surprise to me, though the revelation is the second of experiences in recent times.

“To achieve the fame, take up a duty in one of the rural stations after graduating” he attempted an advice. But who is talking about fame??? Can a profession of slaps and beatings bring any fame???... Then only our demise, can bestow some of us such an honour. In a jurisdiction where excellence unlike mediocrity is celebrated, but at death, the fame will come, but when am on the aisle to my maker. The mind-set apparently, has been, working for the liberation of an enslaved generation with purity of heart. If my saviour did not worship the devil for the world, why must I, a follower of his; play the tune of a certain pay master for fame???

My found Samaritan is multifaceted. He is a perfect reflection of the calibre of people running in and out of the profession. That should not be the issue; but, service to the masses should be the accolade. “Stand for the beatings and slaps”…live the perfect interest of the masses, fame would accompany. Running from the slaps and beatings is like presenting the masses to be swallowed up by the ills of our make-up.     

Fear of the risk should not clamp down our tangibles for venturing into the profession. It should rather arm us to be able to shoulder the “bad” that comes with it.

DZIDULA JUNIOR
www.felixscorner.blogspot.com