When Kayode and I get out of bed on this Monday morning, we have only one person on our minds: Karikari. 

The midnight before, boys been dey hungry, Chale, so we went into school, looking for food. That’s how we found Karikari.

“I’m headed to Sciences,” he says, “I’ll take you there.”

It’s a five-minute walk, but in that time, we’ve known his department, his side-interests, and how Youtube is an important tool for him.

“We’ll call you in the morning.” I say after I collect his number.

He’s a student who came to University obsessed with computers, but quickly realised that if his obsession was to become anything, he’d have to take matters into his own hands.

“Youtube videos. And Udemy. I watch a lot of them.”

We talk about school, and life, and the usual, then I ask about the #SexForGrades investigation that the BBC just released.

“The boys are happy,” he says, “I haven’t been to class yet, so I don’t really know what the girls are saying about it.”

We’re done talking and head out to go see some more of the school. I ask a few more people about SexForGrades. I ask Nawal and Halimah; there’s part excitement, and part skeptism that it’d change anything.

I ask Smith and Joseph and the feedback is the same.

But everyone has seen it. Not necessarily watched the video, but seen it at least; on WhatsApp statuses, on Facebook or Instagram.

Does it happen in the University of Cape Coast? No one knows for sure, only that they’ve heard rumours – not like I expect a different response.

The Breeze

This is Richard, and this beach is right in front of the University of Cape Coast.

Ask 10 students, “where should every first timer in UCC go?” and they’ll tell you to go to Breeze, this coastline, right in front of the school gate.

“The pressure gets too much, so we go there to de-stress.” Richard sees them too, he even knows the roaster. “When exam starts, everyone comes here to read. When it finishes, they come here to do party.” He’s throwing in some Twi that I don’t know, but I kind of understand.

His mission here is different from the students. Richard is a fisherman, casting nets before dawn, and pulling them in when the sun is overhead. Everyday. Everyday except Tuesdays, net maintenance day. “This is my grandfather’s boat,” he shows me before I even ask. “He’s dead now, but we still use it.”

By “we” he means his father and uncle, two old men sitting under a tree, arranging their nets. They have their boats too.

He talks about the university students, and about how he works there too.
I ask about his own kids. “Oh, all of them dey school. Make them dey school, make I for dey fish dey go.”

Some cycles have to end, I guess.

All borders aren’t the same.

Today is a Border day, so we head to Elubo, the border shared between Ivory Coast and Ghana. All land borders have two sides; the departure country’s side, and the destination country’s side. You can trust that both sides will always hate cameras.

It’s a pretty chill border, except that, for the first time, we’re doing a lot of paperwork.

First, there’s the part where they say we don’t have a particular vaccinnation – cholera. This is the Ghana side.

On the Ivory Coast side of the border, there’s the Meningitis vaccination that cost 2,000 CFA per head and must be taken before entry into their country.

Then the biometric scanning. And the endless questions followed with “make sure you eat everything you find” and “you’ll enjoy it here, our people are good.”

When we enter the new country, night has fallen already. The only bumps we find on our way to Abidjan are the policemen at all the checkpoints – over eight of them in a over hour stretch.

Can’t complain, not like they were asking if we were Yahoo Boys or asking for money anyway.