Brigette Dzogbenuku: My Earliest Experience of Independence Day
I'm an army brat, Abongo girl, soldier pikin! Proudly so… My best memories of Independence Day are shrouded in the discipline and sanctity, if you like, of the parades of the military in various parts of the country.
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My earliest memory, however, is not of marching contingents and army bands; it is of me, at about four-and-a-half (the half matters at that age) years old, insisting to my father that my nursery school was part of the parade of schools at the (if I recall) Airborne Forces parade grounds in Tamale.
You see, the previous day we were told to come to school in our white socks and clean uniforms, which we did! This was after several days of practice within the nursery school walls. On the said day of white socks and clean uniforms, 6th March, must have been 1974, we took our several days of practice onto the grand stage of the primary school park. We marched past a military officer and gave him the salute. To me, at that age, that was the dress rehearsal and “tomorrow we would go and march with the big boys and girls!”
That evening when my siblings were ironing their uniforms and polishing their shoes in preparation for the big day, I told my father we, nursery school kids, were also part of the Independence Day march. He doubted it, but I insisted and he acquiesced.
The next morning, we all got dressed - crisply ironed uniforms, clean white socks, well-polished Achimota sandals. The older ones, who had a bus to catch, headed off to their school bus stop and Papa offered to drop me off there so as not to slow the others down.
When we got there, none of my nursery school mates or teachers was around. I still was not deterred. I was quite sure there was something amiss – maybe they had not as yet shown up.
“Well, that is not where we were supposed to be. We were supposed to meet at the primary school, where we rehearsed”, I told Papa.
There also, there was no one to see. Now this was getting quite worrisome.
I can't clearly recall, but it would seem that my poor father found one of our teachers, who then confirmed that indeed, what was to me, our dress rehearsal on the previous day, was the real thing - our version of the Independence Day march past.
To say I was crestfallen, would be an understatement! I had prepared and was quite sure we all were going to put up a show! The older children would be amazed!
Well, those dreams of mine were dashed.
I remember slowly walking back to Papa’s car and being driven home. My nicely pressed school uniform and neat white socks would be saved for the next school day...and I would wait longingly at home for the others to return and tell me about how much fun they had and how badly some schools performed.
As an adult, I watch little school kids marching, and I swear, my nursery school group were better coordinated than that! Certainly, we could not have put that poor officer, who took the salute on the primary school park in 1974, through that!