They hung around together, the boys from the school up on the hill, School was over. They were expecting the result. One or two got teaching jobs at St. Alban’s College. It is one of the post-war secondary schools that sprang up in the city because serious people felt the educational need of the country, and possessed a sharp nose for smelling quick money. Boys from up country who were eager to learn, whose parents had a little money, but who could not get into the big school like Achimota and Mfantsipim in Cape Coast, rushed to the new schools, secured lodgings with distance relatives , and bought for a relatively cheap amount some sort of education. His friend Sammy was the history master from Form one to Five and was also put in charge of sports in the distant hope that the school would one day get its own playing field near the mental hospital. There were six hundred students who were all day boys; classes were held in Dr. Dodu’s house. The house was originally built by a man of wealth and a large family. The bedrooms, of which they were eight, were turned into classrooms; toilets were knocked into pantries to provide additional classrooms for the ever growing population of the school. Mr. Anokye, a retired pharmacist, owned the school. He laid great emphasis on science, being a science man himself. He wrote a small-rimmed pair of glasses which made him looks like one of those little black cats on Christmas cards. He had a small voice which squeaked with akpeteshie and a breath a breath like the smell of gun powder. He had spent many years at Kole Bu Hospital where he drank the methylated spirit meant to be supplied to laboratory assistants. He was dedicated to learning, in scholar in many ways. He knew Archimedes’ principle. Whenever he shouted, during terminal examinations, his battle cry of Eureka! Eureka! Then he had caught someone cheating, someone looking over his mate’s answer sheet. Mr. Anokye came from a long line of scholars. He claimed his grandfather went to England with Reverend T.A Barnes, D. D., who was the Anglican Bishop of Cape Coast Diocese from 1896 to 1909. He was dedicated to his work. He interviewed Sammy himself, questioned him about his parentage and religious background, listened to him carefully, and decided to appoint him on a salary or six pounds per month pending the outcome of his Cambridge School Certificate examination. He questioned him closely on history, especially the Glorious Revolution, and Oliver Cromwell.

The earthly paradises of Bali and of the South Sea Islands, and the gentle, non-acquisitive civilization of Burma, have been aptly described and romanticized. One can add to then the Nicobar Islands, where a small population lived happily on a very low cultural level. But perhaps the most remarkable and the least known of these earthly paradise is the small kingdom of Hunza in the Himalayas, which was recently visited and enthusiastically described by the journalist, Noel Barber (Daily Mail, 5, 6, 8 June 1962). A fair-skinned population of 18,000, they lived in a fertile and almost inaccessible valley not far from the Sinking boarder, 8,000 feet up. A legend has it that they are the descendants of the three deserters from the army of Alexander the Great, who here with Persian wives which makes one inclined to believe that pacifism may be hereditary , because these people had no war in 2,000 years. They have no money, no crime and no diseases, they rarely die before ninety. Their psychosomatic control is almost unbelievable, childbirth is painless, and toothache, a joke; they keep their numbers stationary without contraceptives, and without abortion, but by sheer abstinence, though Noel; Barber saw the newborn son of a chuckling father aged eighty-nine. Their diet which consists of mostly apricot and raw vegetables may have something to do with their unshakable serenity. It makes one gasp with surprise that human nature can be like this. One is reminded of Huxley’s Island, but unlike the Palanese, the Hunza people have no art, only serenity!