Before Ghana became Ghana: I vouch for the accuracy of everything that I have been writing in this series. Those really were the good old days. (Under the Neem Tree).

It is difficult, almost impossible, to convey to those who were born only after Ghana had achieved its independence in March 1957, what a near paradise the country was before their time. They will either think one is idealising the situation, or that one has been overpowered by nostalgia.

I vouch for the accuracy of everything that I have been writing in this series. You may find it difficult to believe, for instance, that when I first arrived at Kyebi in 1951 to attend the government senior school, the united Africa company (UAC) had a fully stocked shop there, where one could buy almost anything one wanted.

Even at Asiakwa, which is smaller than Kyebi, there was a united Trading company (UTC) shop, also quite well stocked. It sold fantastic things--like "Doctor" shirts which were so beautifully white that people didn't want to buy them, for fear that they wouldn't be able to keep the shirts so white after they had washed them. Even when one applied "Delstree Blue"--which when judiciously mixed with water, helps whites to remain white--a "Doctor" shirt would tell you that new was best! I think it cost one pound and five shillings--which was a fortune in those days.

At Kyebi, however, the best shop wasn't the UAC at all, but one owned by an Aowin guy whom everyone called Kwadwo Binnihor. He was called "Binnihor" because he was a wily bloke who sold goods above the controlled price. A price list was pasted on the door of the shop, but if you read it and asked to buy one of the more desirable things, he would say, "Binnihor" ("there isn't any!") So the Kyebi people gave him that name. And it stuck.

Corned beef, tinned mackerel (Tinapa) and sardines were, for some reason, the delicacies that we school boys longed after the most. Quaker Oats and cabin biscuits also featured in our list of great desirables.

But unless Kwadwo Binnihor knew you, he wouldn't sell you any. He kept them under the counter, and it was only if he knew you and believed that you would accept a price of, say, two shillings and sixpence for a tin of corned beef, instead of the official price of one shilling and seven pence, that he would offer you one to buy. Otherwise, "Binnihor!"

But he had a chink in his armour: he had a son who was at government school with us. His name was Okine. Do I need to tell you that he was the most popular boy in the school? All you needed to do, if you managed to make him your friend, was to walk past the shop and see whether Binnihor was there, or whether he had left the shop to Okine to mind.

If Okine was there alone, he would sell things to you at the controlled price. He might even let you credit one or two things and pay for them if ever you got any money.

The greatest game was to arrange with Okine beforehand and go to shop there even when Binnihor was also around. Okine would pretend that you weren't known to him, and announce a price to you that he knew Binnihor would approve of.

But when you paid, you paid him less than he had asked for, and Okine would deftly mix the money you had given him with what was already in the till at such a speed that Binnihor wouldn't be any the wiser.

If you were lucky, Okine would even give you change! Because Binnihor was a profiteer, those of us who were Okine's pals thought he was fair game when we played such tricks on him.

Kyebi had some heroic figures at the time. One of those I admired most was Yaw Takyi, son of the late Nana Sir Ofori Atta. He was quite a young man at the time, but all of us young kids called him "Akora Yaw" (Old Man Yaw.) He was handsome and very well built. He had large eyes, and his muscles stood out, both on the arms and the legs. I personally never saw him fight, but everyone said he was an absolute pillar of strength.

In spite of his strength, Akora Yaw was the gentlest guy you could come into contact with. He called me "Mister Duodu", whereas even my classmates who were much younger than him called me "Duodu"--full stop. So kind was he that at one stage, he allowed me the use of his own room in the Okyenhene's palace, which he wasn't using himself.

One of the best things out of that was that I discovered, among his books, a novel called Blackshirt which transported me into clouds of delight. The writer, Bruce Graeme, had an easy, flowing style which made for very easy reading and I read it several times. It was full of thrilling situations vividly brought to life.

Later I discovered another Kyebi friend, Kofi Kwao, was also a Blackshirt addict. He had other volumes in the series and I devoured them with absolute relish. Akora Yaw was in charge of the UGCC propaganda car that covered the Akyem Abuakwa district.

It was a delightful Opel Rekord and he drove it quite fast--which was another plus for him, as far as I was concerned. Yet although he was such a fast driver, he never had an accident, as far as I knew. Oh, yeah: Yaw Takyi was quite a superman.