If you could count your teeth with the almost effortless help of the tongue, there is usually not the need to employ your fingers to do the job. And often, the tongue does a great job at numbering the obscured molars than the forefinger. Sugar daddies have often been the sugar in the lives of many beautiful young ladies, whose parents take the back seat and rest their fingers while the old daddies prove ready tongues. The girls get away with sleek cars, pricy designer wears and big wads of cash for bearing with the wrinkles. There are also juicy sponsorships for holidays in America and Britain.

These days, however, sugar daddies are sought for a somewhat nobler objective–to help finance university education. I have been flagged down at least five times in a little over a week by young and pretty girls who are brave enough to ‘ride along’ with a stranger old enough to be their dad, or at least a big uncle. Perhaps I have betrayed a ‘Johnny just come’ anxiety, being driven in a large vehicle with a very unusual number plate. And my pot belly would always give me away as an oldie, even if my antiquarian, Gulliver’s Travels spectacles managed to hide the tired bugs under my weary eyes. But I am no stranger in the country of my birth; I visited Ghana just a year ago and used the same roads, and dined at popular restaurants without incident.

What has changed, and very rapidly too within a year, is the huge appetite for university education these days. And it seems the National Accreditation Board doesn’t care how much these new universities charge the poor students. Forking out GH 1,500 a semester for a course at university is a particularly difficult undertaking for many public servants. The high costs cut across most learning and training institutions in the country: A four day seminar on international trade at the most popular administration and management institute near Legon goes for GH 1,200 per participant. That would usually exclude registration fees. Some institutions charge as much as GH 900 per each module of a course. Where there are ten modules, (and usually there are more) the freethinking student is advised, usually by herself and by circumstances around her, to seek alternative sources of funding. Do we still have scholarship schemes in this country? Years ago, the scholarship secretariat only gave awards to those who knew how. With no vacation jobs for hardworking students, students from poor homes would need funding from heaven.

The little girl who made these revelations sat by my side in my car. She had stopped us with a certain determined agitation, as if something was amiss. So, I ordered Sarfo to stop. A soothing, confident voice honeyed some good pleasantries through her polished lips: “Sir, good day. I don’t mean to be a bother, but I was wondering if you would be kind enough to give me a lift to town.” What can the son of man say to a polite, well dressed young woman whose make-up is about making her down in the sun? There, I thought of Gifty, my beloved niece, who is only a few years younger than the young university student whose big, hypnotizing eyes were rolling up and down my torso. A little favour is good for the heart. “Massa, she is not going anywhere; these girls are out for a catch. And they always go for people with expensive cars”, Sarfo impatiently submitted. Sarfo (I hope he is not reading) is usually very considerate, but his comments about women have not been good since his wife ran off with a self-styled pastor. I wouldn’t be part of his crusade of misogyny. “Hop in my daughter”, I said. And she did, rather excitedly, not minding whether her outstretched legs had judassed her underpants.

“Nice shirt you have on there, Sir”, the young woman complimented. “Oh Thank you”. Perhaps the fault was mine that I asked her what she does for a living. The answers that poured forth didn’t exactly sound rehearsed but the presentation was so smooth it wasn’t difficult to imagine a power-point presentation in a Unilever conference room. She is a university student at one of the newly accredited private universities. The fees are expensive. There are even no jobs after paying your way through. Nobody is willing to assist. Parents are not in any great jobs. Then I chipped in : “So how do you young ones manage to pay these exorbitant fees? We didn’t pay a dime in my time?” “Sir, we manage. The lucky ones get sugar daddies to help out. So they are very scarce these days.” There, I could feel a sudden change in Sarfo’s body chemistry–a demeanor that was saying “I told you so, Massa”.

On approaching Nkrumah Circle, I asked the young girl where she intended to alight. “Oh Sir, we could ride along, I was going to see a friend but she just sent a text that she is not home.” Had I forgotten to wear my wedding ring that morning? Since my wife seriously warned of grave repercussions if I ever forget to wear that important marriage covenant, I have been good at keeping my finger within the circle. But I had it on, my left hand strategically positioned on my knee, displaying the ring. Does she not mind riding along with a married man? Do I play a good Samaritan and ‘dash’ her some money and drop her off or I could play the Bush man’s advocate and shove her out? Sarfo would not approve of any careless dash. And to be fair to him, his checks have saved me a few thousands. I played the devil’s advocate: I let her go. She didn’t wave back.

We spent two hours at the office of a newspaper editor in Labone and decided to make our way home, to avoid the evening traffic. This time, we had another guest in the person of a middle aged woman. She had waved us excitedly as we zoomed past her. I had asked Sarfo whether he knew her. “Massa, no. I am used to these money grabbing girls now.” But we would soon hit what seemed like a cul-de sac in a snail-paced traffic. It would have been great if it was a real cul-de-sac, for usually a cul-de-sac allows you to turn back. We could not reverse, being sandwiched between all manner of vehicles. Soon, the girl who waved was by our window, still waving and making gestures that suggested there must have been some kind of acquaintance in the past. Before we would invite her in, she had already gotten hold of the passenger door. Another student with another school fees story. She is studying communications and want to be end with law one day.

Sometimes I can see Sarfo’s point: “Nobody forces anybody to go university. If you cannot afford it, don’t go for it.” But that is Sarfo talking here: He confuses being simplistic with sounding simple. Maybe it is good that young students are forcing themselves to acquire university education. Me must, however, be mindful of quality. Former secretarial schools that only taught typing and steno courses are today accredited universities, teaching students in the same structures. University education should never be treated as a fad or a craze. So, the establishment of university colleges must not also be approached as a business. In the end, a bark is not enough to call a puppy a dog.

Kwesi Tawiah-Benjamin

Writing from South Odorkor Estates, Ghana.

bigfrontiers@ymail.com, quesiquesi@hotmail.co.uk