Archi- torture

On receiving my admission letter, I decided to find out more about the generous offer I had been given. On my way to the Department of Architecture, KNUST, from the shuttle rank, I stopped at the first unique building  on my left, thinking it was the department that produces most of the nations building designers. I made my way to the courtyard ignoring the sign post which would have pointed out my ignorance. At the courtyard, which was flanked with lecture rooms and offices, I met a young lady in a nerd-like pair of spectacles who pointed out my obliviousness and directed me to the right quarters. Though disappointed, I still took condolence in the fact that I was a novice in this new environment which was going to nurture me into an architect for the next six years.

I headed towards the directed path now taking notice of even the smallest erected plank I see. Though the first block of the college looked interesting and quite unique with an air of modernism all around it, I was a bit disappointed and wished Cinderella’s Godmother was around to make these blocks look like the extra ordinary one I had first seen. But all the same, the neat row of a variety of trees at the car park and the premises of the college gave the environment a cool and welcoming atmosphere which complemented the blocks.

There were just a few people around and five cars taking shelter and escaping the intense heat from the sun, under the canopies of trees. The first person I happened to interact with was a young gentleman probably in his early twenties and a fresh graduate from the Department of Building Technology, which is one of the departments in the college.  His experience from living in the same room with three architecture students for the past 4 years made it interesting and informative talking to him. We engaged in a lengthy conversation.

Curious of the answer I was going to receive from him, I asked Paul ,“what do you think about architecture?”. The first word that came out from his vocal cavity, I guess with no regard to whatever was going on in the frontal lobe of my cerebrum, was “Archi-torture”. I shrank on hearing that word wishing the ground would split open and swallow me and at the same time cursing myself for choosing that course. Gathering enough

momentum and making sure the disheartening word would not spell fear on my face, I boldly asked him why he used that word. Because he was fully aware of the fact that I was a novice about to pursue a course

that might not nurture me into the world of Zingaro and Abalade Glover as I had dreamt about on the hill of Kakumdu.

With a silly smile on his face, Paul answered, “That is how we describe it over here. You will understand it in some few months. Call me after 4 yrs and tell me if what I’m saying is true or not. Do not be worried just do your best.”  He continued to advice me on the do's and don’ts of the college and as a matter of fact the university, not forgetting all the things he had seen and heard from his roommates. After which I thanked him, exchanged numbers and departed.

Though I talked to some architecture students who used convincing words to describe the course, the word “Archi- torture” rang through my mind on my way home, and trust me it still does.

Though I have not called Paul, I agree with what he said about the course involving a lot of sleepless nights, money, break ups and downs, physical, psychological, mental and emotions turmoil, tears, loss of acquaintances and relations etc.

I believe one’s dedication, sacrifice, commitment, love and patience towards architecture will make it look either torturous or not to the outsider.