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.

Days passed fast for Ntanya and Teresa. They could hardly notice the land getting brown all over kachawanga again, since neither of them noticed any more the sun come up and go down. Ntanya would work very hard in the field hauling in the last harvest and Teresa would stay at home washing, cooking and waiting, waiting for him to come home. She would cook his meal with extra care and when there was little meat she would only give bits to the children and not even touch it herself but use only the smell to get her food down and reserve the whole chunk for her husband. When Ntanya would come home with sweat on his brows she would put the wooden tray on a stool for him and sit down by him watching him eat with great satisfaction: every bolus that went down Ntanya’s throat would also go down her own throat. When Ntanya would insist on sharing the food with her she would always say she had eaten already no matter how hungry she might be. Ntanya would then eat and drink to his satisfaction and rest a while in the sun after saying ‘Thank you mother’

Mathematics is the language in which the Book of Nature is written: Mathematics is the queen of the Sciences. It is universally agreed that Mathematics is the backbone of Science and Technology. For without Mathematics the engineer is but an artist or sculptor. He can build his bridge, attest to its from and beauty, but without Mathematics he cannot guarantee its reliability to serve the purpose for which it is built. Mathematics is indeed the science of sciences. It is also art of all arts. It is right, legitimate and defensible to consider Mathematics as an Art. The poet, the musician, the artist and the Mathematician have a lot in common. Fundamental to all their studies and works is their common interest in the logical study of related concepts and objects from patterns which will produce beauty, harmony and order. Thus the poet arranges words to produce a pattern called poetry: the musician arranges sounds to produce a pattern called music, the artist arranges colours to produce pattern called painting and the Mathematician arranges abstract ideas into a pattern, using symbols, to produce equations. Each of these patterns- the poem, the music, the painting and the equation must stand up to the test of some order, harmony and beauty. So if Mathematics is not an art what is art?