“Could the witness Mr Kofi Ayivor please come to the stand?”
Taking my hands out of my pockets, I stood as requested. Half intimidated by these men in wigs, yet still excited to have finally stepped into a courtroom. Since I set my heart on becoming a lawyer, I became fixated on everything surrounding Law.
As they went through the details of the case, I barely kept up. I was more intrigued by the pleasantries of court. The politeness of the clerks,
“Yes your honour, No your honour” they chimed.
Then the banter that passed between the barrister and judge as the ‘the right honourable judge’ requested that ‘the right honourable sir’ please,
“Get to point!”. Watching this, were the courtroom novices, who trembled when our names were mentioned. The judge read over the case, peering over his glasses at the small group of us huddled together. My friend Amy, namely, ‘the claimant’ sat looking dishevelled with her nose bandaged. My friend Lisa, another witness of the scene, sat angrily staring at the defendants. And there I was, the only boy of the group looking around the courtroom, inwardly grinning at this scene that was my future.
The judge continued,
“So your statement describes the following, ‘four foreigners (he coughed) assaulted me at the club Fifth Avenue. We were just walking past and they bottled me in the face’’’
As politically incorrect as it was, this was our agreed version of events. We didn’t really want to mention that some idiot pinched one of these ‘foreigners’ derrières, or how my friends tried to stick up for me, as I was wrongfully accused for this untoward action.
No. We were carefully advised to select the facts (preferably the most favourable ones) and stick to them. My dear friend had come off worse (quite worse) from the incident and deserved some type of remuneration. Little did I know that this would be part of the windfall of Personal Injury claims and suing culture that exists today.
Amidst all of this, the least I could do was support who fearlessly defended my honour. I stepped up to the stand and suddenly felt very illuminated and self-conscious. As I was cross-examined, I went from sheepishly stuttering to challenging the defence. It was as though I was a professional member of the court. I vaguely recollect hearing the judge murmur “excuse me young man”, but I was in my element and loving every moment of it. Each time they questioned my account, I answered and gave my own thoughts to further incriminate the defendant.
I walked back to my friends, though I really wanted to speak more. Be the elected one to stride across the grand court in my wig and a gown (no homo!)…
A few years on, I am again called to the stand, this time in a mock courtroom setting for uni…
“Mr Kofi Ayivor please present your case to the court”
I stand with my head high and I am finally able to don the courtroom attire and make an extra special statement this time… one that was stepping towards the future I had envisioned during my first time in court all those years ago.
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