Source: newsthemegh.com/By Manasseh Azure Awuni
By design, I wasn’t supposed to be a student of Professor Modestus Fosu, a man who personifies the first two syllables of his first name.
I was a degree student, and he taught at the diploma level at the Ghana Institute of Journalism (GIJ). In my final year, however, his class was my main attraction, long before I became familiar with the academic jargon of “auditing”.
Professor Fosu taught English, a course that was not part of the syllabus of the degree programme. Being a journalism student who would graduate and ply my trade in English, I needed the two major tools of the trade—content and language—in my reporting. Whoever thought degree students were grounded enough in language and did not need English as a course made a grave error. If there was any marked difference between the degree and diploma students, it was the pride of some degree students.
Some degree students felt superior to the diploma students and would miss no opportunity to speak about them with condescension. But I had friends on both sides and knew better.
In Level 400, I was also the Student Representative Council (SRC) President of GIJ, a position with additional duties. That didn’t stop me from auditing a course. I would end my lectures and join the evening session of the Diploma 2 class and study English in Modestus Fosu’s class.
My request to teachers of my favourite subject to take their class did not begin with Professor Modestus Fosu. In Krachi Senior High School, Mr. Charles Collins Boafo was my English teacher and friend. In 2004, when I finished my mock examination and was waiting to sit the WASSSCE, I requested to join the Form 2 students, who were writing their end-of-term English Language paper.
He permitted me, and I wrote the English paper as part of my preparation for the final exams. (I was the senior school prefect and wrote with my juniors. Some of my final-year colleagues refused to write our mock exam. They treated mock papers from the first-class senior high schools with seriousness, and our own with disdain. And many of them failed).
Professor Fosu’s class was lively. I participated in the grammar lessons and the exercises. I shared the embarrassing moments of being told that a certain construction we had been using since birth was. I don’t remember all the rules of grammar he taught, but when I see “dangling modifier” I recognise it. And still struggle with some.
I write this piece not because of the class I took about 14 years ago. It’s because of the interest Professor Fosu has taken in my career since I graduated and left GIJ. He has continued to be my teacher, monitoring my progress and calling to commend or gently rebuke me. Sometimes, he disagrees with my writing, especially when I sound too harsh. I sometimes disagree with him too.
It’s gratifying to note that a decade and a half after graduation, my teacher is interested in my career and would call me to order when he feels I’ve crossed the boundaries of acceptable journalistic conduct. Whenever I need him to do something for me, such as writing a reference, he does it as if it were part of his paid duty.
He edited the “novel” I wrote before I graduated from GIJ. He was one of those who reviewed my investigative journalism manual. And when I need a letter of recommendation for any academic pursuit, he does it with gladness. I’m the type that waits until the last minute to pile pressure.
Teachers like Professor Fosu are among the rarest treasures we need in our development as humans. They are the signposts to our progress even if we hardly notice them. I have benefitted from him and others, such as Dr. Tim Quashigah, through whom I got a career-enhancing internship at GBC after Level 100. When I wrote my first play in senior high school, I went back to my junior high school drama teacher, Mr. George Achibra, and he graciously agreed to come and direct it. We won the competition. And that was the turning point for my interest in writing.
I am indebted to them and all the teachers who taught me in Krachi LA Primary School, Henkel Memorial JSS, Krachi Secondary School, GIJ and the University of Ghana’s Department of Communication Studies. I have resisted the temptation to mention names in all these institutions for the obvious fear of omitting some.
This piece is meant to celebrate the teachers who continue to be our teachers for the rest of our lives, those teachers who would keep our contacts and reach out, from time to time, to praise or rebuke us. I mean those teachers who monitor our progress as though we were a constant feature on their key performance indices. Some of them, like Professor Fosu, may not have taught us directly or even worked in a school we attended. But their interest in our development keeps us awake and alert on life’s course. They are the father and mother figures that help keep us from bending or breaking in the diversionary winds that blow at every turn.
We generally spend more time with our teachers than our parents. They guide us in the innocence of our adolescence and prepare us for the turbulence of life. Some go beyond the requirements of their jobs and assume the role of parents or elder siblings. They may not get enough credit, but many of us have reached the desired goals of our lives because one teacher went a mile further to make us smile when life’s tears drenched us.
Dear reader, who is that teacher who has been more than a teacher to you? Show appreciation by naming them in the comment box and sharing your experience.
PHOTO CAPTION: Prof. Fosu and Manasseh at the 50th anniversary launch of the University of Ghana’s Department of Communication Studies in 2023.