That names of teachers may live in us

He taught literature. His support for the popular manifestation of student creativity, resilience and exertion over pan-Africanism – as expressed in the MOCK OAU SUMMIT – was shown in regular supplies of the magazine The African Communist which carried reports of battles and diplomatic activities by liberation movements, especially the ANC, SWAPO and FRELIMO. His […]

He taught literature. His support for the popular manifestation of student creativity, resilience and exertion over pan-Africanism – as expressed in the MOCK OAU SUMMIT – was shown in regular supplies of the magazine The African Communist which carried reports of battles and diplomatic activities by liberation movements, especially the ANC, SWAPO and FRELIMO. His ready laughter hid a resolve to end European oppressors holding up their hands to cover the sun in Africa.
Jenks Okwori came to my notice in the ABU’s Drama Village. I was a reporter for Africa Woman magazine covering female students studying drama. Jenks was ‘’Mr Akoko’’ (pepper) pitted against a wife who would never let nonsense blow nonsense at her. Ms Mkyeri Antsa was his match; hinting at winds of women’s liberation tickling Sahel’s harmattan dust. One of Okwori’s weapons on and off stage was a short but often pitched laughter. It was never clear if he was laughing for you or at you.
He aided my teaching effort by crossing disciplinary borders. With Salihu Bappa, John Illah, Peter Badejo, he taught elementary skill to students acting roles of African Heads of State.  Badejo– a modern dance magician – would later be awarded a knighthood by Queen Elizabeth in far away London. I recall Okwori telling students to learn how to communicate with their faces by imagining the most stinking non-political smell they had ever greeted. In later years, he would live like an aristocrat among deeply pauperized academics. Using drama to propagate campaigns against HIV AIDS; election thuggery and other dollar-targeted evils, paid off handsomely. The last time I walked around my derelict jeep, he drove by in a well-washed Mercedes car. I suspect that  the scene teased a little chuckled out of him.
In gratitude to Mbulelo and Jenks, I have recalled some exceptional teachers. My Primary 7 teacher, Mr Okurut, taught me a puzzle in Algebra by kicking a minus (negative) sign from one side of an equal sign; landing on the other side to become a plus (positive) sign. The sight of his leg flying in the air and his teeth biting his lower lip in the strain of that vigorous kick, made a Mathematician out of me – for that one day.
Professor Ali Mazrui taught me some humility and tolerance. I was in charge of conducting tutorials for his Introduction to African Politics course. He would punctuate his lecture with the question: ‘Are we together so far?’’. Hands would shoot up to seek clarifications. If none went up, mine would. It would be to accuse him of being silent on a vital part of the story. With a cheeky glint in his eyes, he would dribble past my protest. I would hold my peace, and respect for him. He had, after all, taught me during my final undergraduate year.
 Most remarkable about his teaching was a rare flare for splitting a word or a phrase in two and shooting out a spark in a meaning or line of argument. He never uttered the word ‘’dialectics’’ – an object hosting a force inside it which could split it apart. He simply practised it in his teaching. It sent thrills among students. He also had a boom; thrill in his voice, and often celebratory laughter as ‘the palm oil with which his words were eaten’ (to quote Chinua Achebe). He was a teacher we enjoyed challenging.
Dr Lawrence Ekpebu came to Makerere University campus fresh from Harvard University. The name ‘’Harvard’’ rang no bell for us. The British had decreed that American degree were inferior. One day, he invited Professor Max Bellof from Oxford University to talk to us about a new ‘’European Economic Community’’. Bellof was an old professor, and made Ekpebu look boyish. I asked Max Bellof if the new European unity would affect Africa as negatively as the 1884 Conference of Berlin which carved the continent for European tribes to eat. Bellof reacted with a rare ferocity. His moustache shook. Our class went into silent shock and disbelief. We did not realise that intellectual discourse can be full of fury. Dr Lawrence Ekpebu adopted an assertive voice to restrain Bellof’s rage. He defended me. My head started swelling. He had asserted that there in an African version of international relations theorising.
Professor Cheik Anta Diop, a nuclear scientist, gave me three-hour tutorials each in 1980 and 1981. I had read his daring book: Negro Origins of Civilisation at the University of Wisconsin, Madison. As students in Paris, Leopold Senghor and Aime Cesaire shared with him their passion for creating knowledge about Africa to combat European intellectual racism. Diop tested for melanin in skins of Egyptian mummies. Nuclear research affirmed decisively that the Egyptian Pharaohs – who invented Geometry and Algebra to build Giza pyramids; conducted surgery; created political and religious philosophy – were black Africans. Egypt of the black Pharaohs did this when Europeans were barbarians. He was triumphant. The Organisation of African Unity honoured him in 1966.
As our salute to teachers we say: Aluta Continua!