Campus. Lower hill. A sequestered place far from the tumults and the hustle and bustle of academic life.
Professor Ellison and Professor Dalimon were sitting beneath a shady tree on campus conversing. The air was cool and serene and the creaking crescendo of the outspread boughs and the soft lulling chirrups of the birds gave the place an idyllic ambience and the two distinguished men an ideal place to rest and converse.
Professor Ellison was holding a recent collection of his poems published by edifice publications. He looked fulfilled and had an air of austere accomplishment. Professor Dalimon on the other hand looked gloomy, morose, and meditative. He has two novels to his credit and other philosophical essays published by campus press and elsewhere. The two novels are in fact his
Autobiography. His characters are mostly doctors and professors and like himself, are gloomy, morose, and meditative.
Professor Ellison shifted the focus of the heightened conversation to that of literature. Professor Dalimon was immensely pleased that his good friend had finally stepped on the imaginative terrain.
.
“Most of the students are getting interested in creative writing. Professor Ellison said delightedly; with a rather faint, quaking voice. His eyes glinted with mythic proportion and his gestures and manner of speaking showed clearly that he was not an orator but had learnt a great deal about rhetoric. His counterpart did not utter a word, and so, he continued.
“Julius is such a wonderful boy, a genius I should really say. He is trying to bring something out trying to explore with infant heart the volatile conscience of the literary tradition. A young experimentalist. Judging from his scant yet powerful output, I can say with much confidence that he is a promising lad and we must expect much from him.
Professor Dalimon recalled the time he first met Julius and corroborated to what Professor Ellison said.
“I have seen some of his stories which he actually refers to as mere sketches. It was terrible.
“Really?” Professor Ellison said in astonishment.
]
“Oh yes, I mean he is very good.” Said professor Dalimon.
“Have you read his short story to the drama studio?”
“No”
“Ah you have to read it. It’s a powerful portrayal of the relationship between a professor and a poet. It was published by Legon tower.
“Your boy is really ambitious.” Said professor Dalimon.
“But timid and soft spoken.” Said Professor Ellison. He paused briefly and then continued. Most of the students think that because we have published poetry and novels. We are supercilious and unapproachable. They tend to shudder and find it extremely difficult to show us what they have written. They have the notion that we will sneer at their effort and say it is not good. I find that attitude appalling. I always tell them. Come on boys and girls, we are not divine, we began just like you. We struggled to master iambic pentameter. We once wrote horrifying verses. Do not fear, bring what you have. Our nascent literature needs vigorous minds, fertile imagination, radical avant-gardes who would assist in the work. What is important is the will power
Courage and determination.
After this lengthy poetic outburst, Prof Ellison was preparing another surprising literary coup when Prof Dalimon quite inspired chipped in solemnly.
“They seemed to be frightened and bewildered by the whole process. Prof Dalimon said in a persuasive tone, pulsed briefly, and then continued.
“One of them told me bluntly that, in this country, creative writing does not avail because people are not interested in what comes out of the mind. The disillusioned student said that he had seen numerous collections descend the depth of obscurity and oblivion. He said that in this country, majority of the people are unable to read and write. He suppressed the word illiterates, but I noticed the sarcasm. He was apt to realize that because of this appalling problem of illiteracy and ignorance, when you put your precious thoughts on paper, it is like hiding it in a crypt. Because in an ignorant environment, who cares to read what you have written. When you sacrifice for your lifetime to bring something out of your mind in a book form, it is only some fragmentary elites somewhere who will gloss over it if it is a must for them to buy for their children to supplement their education. I told him we Ghanaians don’t appreciate what is beautiful and has validity. But fleeting illusion, transient materialism. I told him to continue writing. If they will not accept him today, in the future they will come to realize his vision. I told him it is a universal problem, only that in Ghana, it is chronic. I always write with the mentality that I have something in mind and I want to say it. I have seen corruption and moral decadence, cant and hypocrisy, and awful degradation of my people and was compelled to expose it. That was all. Prof Dalimon said in a tone of finality.
They sat in silence. They were thoroughly saturated with each other’s speech. They know very well that to indulge in creative writing is to plunge into the depth of despair. Nevertheless, they did not despair; they were committed to the pursuit of the work. Though the reception given to their works in the beginning was lukewarm, they are now universally acknowledged
Professor Ellison. The fact that people are not willing to read our works should not deter us from pursuing what is good and noble, a stumbling block in our literary career. If two people would listen to me today and appreciate what I have written, it means I have got two disciples and the two will also transmit it to four more and it go on like that and gradually, my message would cause a revolution. A writer, a prophet must face the reality of being a futurist.
Suddenly, Professor Ellison saw Julius approaching them. He was a young level two hundred student who had interest in writing short stories. He walked briskly, with a file in his left hand. He reached the professors in no time.
“Julius, what a surprise! We were talking about you just now.” said Professor Ellison vehemently.
“Good afternoon professor Ellison and professor Dalimon” Julius greeted.
“Good afternoon, they answered.
Dalimon. “You are welcome.” “Thank you sir” Julius said timidly.
“Continue eh? Pains and agony and suffering, dire adversity has its own kind of blessing.” Said prof. Ellison and Julius bowed in obeisance.
Then Julius turned to Professor Ellison and said. “Sir, please someone is after you. “
“I guess he is an old man”? He asked involuntarily.
“yes, sir!” Julius answered
He turned to his friend and uttered.” That may be Mr. brown.”
They walked in silence. Julius celibately walking behind them with his hands at his back clutching his file tightly. Pro. Ellison turned his back and parted Julius gently on the shoulders and said.
“Julius, why do you like setting your stories in campus?
“Because it is an intellectual lagoon” Julius answered smiling. Then said. “I think l am haunted by campus. The solemn buildings, mysterious and awe-inspiring. It gnaws. My heart
“Quite interesting” said Professor Ellison. And then asked.
“Is it self –assured experimentation?
“A kind of genre, campus setting. Soaring above the red roof tiles to have a clear view, a deeper insight. Plunging into the heart of the matter, understanding it and exposing it so that what ought to be done for it to get better would be apparent.
In Tingitingi and campus exclusive, l did the same thing, and especially Tingitingi there was a character with these fundamental questions gnawing at his conscience’s quote”
How things are going on l am beginning to see the grim reality. This institution is not flowing with milk and honey, manna does not fall on campus. l admit, without doubt that it is the premier university, but it is fraught with insurmountable problems, and to despair would be baseless.
Semesters interspersed with strike actions, demonstrations and protests.
Boycotts, vandalism, thuggery and manic agitations.
Student’s over-crowded in one room, people using dubious means to get admission. Notorious students using vile and dubious means to garner undeserved marks and results. There is no light, no water, no sanity on campus. To plunge into campus is to plunge in to rumpus. The remarks of intellectuals and educationists which incite and imprecate the venom of undermining the psyche of few brilliants students. Something dangerous is happening somewhere, something terrifying is taking place somewhere, something evil is lurking in the darkness. The intellectual lagoon is now a muddy, filthy bog. The apostasy of the so called boisterous and vivacious fraternity is simply unbearable. Immorality, depravity, perversity are the pivot lowering Legon towers to the lowermost echelons of hell. The chaos and anarchy prevailing on campus is inimical and detrimental to the already fallen image of the premier university. The dire deeds of some students of darkness are darkening the learning towers. But l don’t, think that when you come here with a smiling countenance, you would go with a morose, disappointed countenance. When we come here, we see clearly the inherent problems, and may grow harsh and vociferous about it but what about after we have graduated successfully; and are doing something rewarding and fulfilling. Do we remember the institution that made us who we are? Do we remember the problems of the premier university?
After this lengthy quotation from his short story. Tingitingi Julius paused and then said “By setting the story on campus I can explore so many themes, especially education and it associated problems”.
“Wonderful” said prof. Dalimon. They walked in silence. When they reached central cafeteria Julius smiled and told prof. Ellison that he had just finished his recent short story entitle “central cafeteria.
“A prolific universal genius professor Ellison said joking and asked Julius: “Do you have it here in your file”
“Yes,” Julius answered and brought the script briskly from his file. “Here you are, he said” giving the script to prof. Ellison. He received the script anxiously and started devouring the content. He was baffled by a Page with the caption meditation. He asked Julius if it is part of the story, and Julius said no. But being a curious person. He read it silently.
“Campus is strange, mysterious. l knew I had plunged into uncertainty when l got admission into this institution. I knew that if l work hard, the future would be fulfilling, but Professor Ellison had really opened a new chapter in my life, he had nurtured me, l was intrigued by his philosophical outburst. He has made me conscious of so many things- l have understood so many things which were hither to confounding” Professor Ellison smile after reading the “meditation” of his boy which obviously was a exalting his virtue. He opened the next page and saw the story. He read it silently but was forced to read it aloud when he reached what would be termed as the climax.
“Professor” poeticyllus novellas looked harrowing and ghastly he was sitting alone in his library, in front of him was uncountable manuscript. He stood up with an air of bitter unfulfillment and brought all his manuscripts out side and took a match. Professor portcullis novellas had written so many pomes and novels, but were unpublished. Failure seemed at him in the face. He took a match stick and said sorrowfully. “Books and the man I sing”. Yes they would sing about me. They would sing what is writing. Sitting somewhere alone, conversing with you, what is the meaning of this? I have labored for so many years and here are my works”. He said and lighted the match. The fire consumed the paper with a hellish fury.
“This is a strange story” said Professor Ellison in astonishment. “And I am a surprised by the coincidence. We were discussing the same topic when you came to call us.
Then he asked Julius, “you sunk into the quagmire of despair and was haunted by the they-would not-read. My-work-incubus.”
“Partially, but now, as the story portrays, l am triumphant and l know that it is my destiny to write, it is inescapable.” Julius said.
“Good.” Professor Ellison said and shook Julius’ hand. They walked away.
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