Not
all those who wander are lost;
The
old that is strong does not wither,
Deep
roots are not reached by the frost.”
JRR
TOLKIEN in ‘The Fellowship of the Ring.’
I lost my innocence at eight
when I was in Primary Three and was the Head Pupil, popularly called a Monitor.
The Monitor is an arbitrary role given to that student that does some of the
teacher’s job and earns none of her salary. The Monitor is a beloved of the
teacher, rarely flogged nor reprimanded by a Teacher who considers him ahead of
his peers. That was how it was between me and Mrs. Menkiti until that
particular day that came to redefine guilt for me and became an early precursor
of the warped nature of the society; a society where guilt is subject to
hash-assembled evidences that are as untrustworthy as the Serpent in the Garden
of Eden.
Beloved of the teacher, I
was the only pupil that was permitted to sit on the teacher’s desk and earns a
portion of the food from her flask. It was more than Teacher-Pupil
relationship, she was like a mother and adored me even as much as my mother,
sometimes, through the distorted spectrum of my childhood, I considered her
much more loving than my mother. Thus, I woke up on weekdays excited, while
other pupils my age cry and dread waking up on Monday mornings. I wake up on
Mondays with a song, leaving my first mother for the next and while my
biological mother packs my lunch in my knapsack and tuck my red and white checked
shirts into my khaki shorts and sermonize on various ways to keep neat and
ensure that my school uniforms were not shredded before I come home, I count
the minutes ticking away at the grandfather clock that was hung just above the
television in the sitting room. As soon as she loosens her grasp, I break away
with pace towards my second mother, with a song which is usually a recitation
of the school rhymes that she had taught during morning assemblies or march
past or a comprehension from Edet who lives in Calabar and was twelve years
old.
I end my run inside her arms
which she widens as she does her cheeks when she sees me running towards her
from a distance, my knapsack dangling from side to side while my flask is
clutched tightly in my right hand. After the hug, she pushes me back slightly
and looks me over. Sometimes she finds crumbs of bread or scrambled eggs by the
sides of my mouth, or some dusts in my hair or something she considered
unwanted on my well-pressed shirt and creased short. I will be by her side
while she conducts the assembly and as far as she is concerned, I could do no
wrong. The few instances when I came late, she would simply walk out of the
classroom, abandoning whichever task she was doing then to bail me out.
“Aunty…I need him to go and
buy me something.” She would say to whomever was the disciplinarian for the
day. The Disciplinarian would merely frown and leave Mrs. Menkiti whose
nickname was ‘The Boss’ for her plus-size frame and her commanding presence and
tone; to take me away from the group of kneeling pupils who may not stand up
and enter their class until their skin had tasted the sharp end of a cane or
they had done some sort of labour.
I was so loved by Mrs
Menkiti that she and every other person in the school called me her son and I
in turn called her ‘Mummy’.
But then like every other
epochal tragedy, Love would play a part.
I had a girl I had my eyes
on even then Ujuaku.
Ujuaku was the dream then.
She was beautiful and fair, the colour of ripe mango. Her face was oval, shaped
like an egg. She also came with the full complements of a gap tooth that
increased the wattage of her smile from brilliant when its hidden to dazzling
when it is fully deployed, to the perils of my nascent heart. Her uniqueness
was further accentuated by her slightly bowed legs that no other girl could
manage to pull off. Other girls like Urenna tried to but what they only got was
a queer gait and a funny nickname that mocked their legs which the fellow
pupils agreed was merely shaped like an ‘O’. So they were called ‘Ukwu O’. But
what impressed me most about Ujuaku was her quiet brilliance. In a class of
thirty-eight students, she gave me a run for my money and often came perilously
second, too close for comfort as I had believed then that my very identity
hinged on my intellectual prowess; that was why I was loved by Aunty Menkiti,
that is why Ekpo Monday, the oldest, tallest boy in the class and the
self-designated class bully did not beat me up, that is why Afam bought me Agidi Jellof and Okpa after school hours, that was what made my mother to love me;
losing that would come very close to losing my life.
She was so good that Aunty
Menkiti allowed only the both of us to grade the papers of the rest of the
pupils and only her, herself would grade ours. She edged me in Mathematics but
I recovered often to put clear daylight between the both of us in General
Papers and English.
I also love it when Aunty
called us husband and wife often to the uproarious laughter of the rest of the
class. Ujuaku would smile shyly in that beautiful way that often sent my young
heart racing or hide her face in one of the story books she carried or bend
under her desk while I would often act furious, pretentiously, feigning anger
that was only skin deep. Aunty Menkiti knows that I was pretending for she
goads me in those moments of feigned anger.
“Why are you pretending that
you don’t like her?” I would look away whenever she delves into that line of
conversation. Conceding that I like her is inappropriate for two reasons; firstly
I was only but a pupil whose only encounter with amorousness was through
foreing Hollywood movies where hunky handsome actors with long hairs protected
outrageously beautiful ladies with even longer hairs; or indian, Bollywood
movies where as a matter of rule, a boy must meet a girl, fall in love and
surmount long odds to win her love through long songs in assorted sceneries,
wearing assorted colorful clothes; or Nigerian movies where love is
encapsulated in giving until one is broke and seemed to be recommended for a
rich girl to be enamoured by a poor boy and vice versa. My parents tried their
hardest to stop me from seeing such ‘corruption’ but their efforts were mostly
futile as I would often slink away from home to peer through window curtains at
a neighbour’s television and often witness even worse scenes as the neighbours
were grown-ups who watched more corrupt movies than the ones the shielded me
from through endless and emergent tasks.
Secondly, denying that I do
not like her is inappropriate because it is tantamount to deception, the sort
of convoluted deception that only the tortoise of the Igbo folktales would
attempt and often pull off.
There was Ujuaku and her
beauty and then there was Agude, the beast. He was a beast in every sense of
the word. He was as tall as the oldest Ekpo and was twice as mean. His litany
of crimes included theft, bullying, harassment of girls; with me, he added
blackmail to the list.
He told me he loved Ujuaku;
warned me off all sorts of contacts with her.
“I like Ujuaku so run away
from her.” He said.
I pretended that I had not
heard.
The day after that initial
warning, I came in after the afternoon recreation to discover that my lunch of
beans and vegetables had been thrown away, poured all over the class to the chagrin
of all even Aunty Menkiti herself. She was furious and invited the culprit to
own up so as to receive a softer punishment. According to her, someone had seen
the culprit carrying the food from my knapsack and had given her the identity
of the villain, however, she wants the person to stand up himself or herself.
Her gaze was steely and a deathly silence had covered the class uncomfortably
like a wet blanket. Pupils, including myself anticipated with palpable dread,
the unleashing of The Boss who once flogged the entire school because of
noisemaking. Yet no one stood up. Pupils futilely looked back, front and
around, expecting the culprit who would also act as the unfortunate scapegoat
to volunteer like the sacrificial lamb
After some minutes, Aunty Menkiti
flogged the entire class sparing just me and Ujuaku.
Then came the palaver.
“I told you that I don’t
want to be seeing you and that girl?” Agude fumed at me later one Thursday. His
grouch is that we seem to enjoy each other’s company and would often take the
long, leisurely trek home from school together, luxuriating in each other’s
company while holding hands and generally gossiping about our classmates. In
fact, we rarely left school without each other as I would often wait, as often
as she would for me whenever she was yet to complete her notes or finish her
assignment while we were in school.
Those long walks home,
holding hands and looking at her slightly bowed legs were the epitome of our
affection. In our hearts, certainly in mine, I wondered if we were permitted to
do more, if we can do more. I wonder if I could allow my lips to touch hers
like I often saw in the movies. At those times, she bought me ‘choco milo’ and
biscuits with the money Agude gave her while I sometimes surprise her with a wristband,
a small watch or sunglasses which are gifts I got from home.
During those walks, we were rarely alone.
Agude trailed us from a distance, his tall frame looming threateningly, his
presence was an implicit warning which I had refused to heed until he came
clean and direct that Thursday.
“Why do you want me to leave
her?”
“Because I like her.” He
responded fiercely, his tattered uniforms, torn at the seams, popped open at
the chest owing to damaged front buttons to reveal a threatening, sweaty dark chest
that seemed to have taken a life of its own. He was at least five years older
than my eight and at least twice as tall as I am. His words spoken in a gruff
bass barely threatened as much as his massive frame. He looked like a tense
tiger ready to pounce and tear me to shreds.
“I…Li..like her too” I
muttered weakly, somehow accepting deep within me that I cannot fight him.
Dying for love even then was romantic but I was already as the best student in
class, cognizant of the reality that if I was ever maimed for being
recalcitrant, I was only going to get a sorry while Ujuaku concedes to Agude.
“You still want your teeth
abi?” He came closer to me, looming over me by two meters.
I told him that I still love
my teeth the way they are and he left.
That Thursday was the formal
birth of our conflict. The conflict that would claim my innocence.
I reported our exchange to
our teacher, Aunty Menkiti and she flipped, shouted herself hoarse at Agude and
lastly administered the twelve strokes of cane she had always threatened but
had never used. To my utter dread, Agude took all of those strokes with a
frightening equanimity and with his gaze directed fiercely at me. Vengeance was
evident in those looks because he shot daggers that pierced my morale through
it.
However, he did not talk to
me for the next two weeks but he was always uncomfortably near whenever I was
with Ujuaku. She clinged closer to me during those times and I often wondered
even then if she was trying to offer me some sort of moral support or consciously
trying to compound my woes. She relocated from her seat and came to seat
immediately next to mine. Mrs. Menkiti asked Ekpo to leave that seat for her
that we were going to get married soon. Ujuaku did her happy-shy routine while
I wished that the ground would open and swallow me whole because from behind
me, I could feel Agude’s gaze behind me.
If looks could kill, I
thought.
Then came the time when the looks
killed me.
It was after recreation on a
Monday afternoon when one boy, Ifeanyi Onyia, an albino declared that he was
looking for his flask of food. It was theft and that was the top of Aunty
Menkiti’s Capital Sins list. Whoever was guilty of theft would be stripped to
his underpants and paraded before the class. She has zero-tolerance for theft
and would say as much to anyone who cared to listen.
She told me about the theft
before she spoke to the class and I was already feeling sorry for the
unfortunate soul that would be guilty of that heinous crime.
“A terrible sin has been
committed.” She boomed with a loud voice, her voice reverberating off the walls
of the class.
“A sin this huge has never
been committed in my class and I have detailed the monitor, Uche.” She said
pointing at me “…To ensure that anybody leaves the class”
“Everybody should bring his
or her bag to the front.” I moved to bring my bag to the front but the Teacher
stopped me with a wave.
“Stay at that door.” She said
with a tone of finality. She was not interested in searching her favorite pupil.
Pupils piled their bags in a
random heap while Ifeanyi Onyia stood in front of the heap like a priest before
a sacrifice. I stood beside the door ensuring that no one ran away. Not that anyone would dare try that in The
Boss’s class.
The search started and one
after the other, pupils identified their bags and had the contents spilled haphazardly
all over the floor by a visibly angry Aunty Menkiti, leaving the contents
strewn all over the place to be picked by the confused pupil. I was
half-anticipating the flask to be found in Agude’s bag but nothing was found.
Aunty Menkiti was chagrined
at the end of the search and was already preparing to extend the search to
include other classes when Agude suggested that the monitor’s knapsack be
searched too.
Then the gazes fell on me.
Aunty Menkiti scoffed in disbelief but proceeded ceremonially like a priest
performing an altar rite to my knapsack placed on my seat. Her jaws dropped in
disbelief when she opened the bag and reluctantly, she lifted the yellow flask
like it was the heaviest object she had ever carried.
The entire class shouted and
almost immediately, Ujuaku shifted unconsciously away from me. The rest of the school
started rushing into our class as the pupils chanted ‘thief’ ‘thief’. Dazed, I
was transfixed and for the first time in my life, I felt strength leaving my
body. I could not talk. I was finding it difficult understanding what had
happened.
I could feel the pain in
Aunty Menkiti’s eyes as she came to the conclusion that I had actually stolen a
flask I had not even seen for the first time until then. My classmates drew
back from me. Ujuaku ran to her seat crying, but close to me, Agude’s hand
clamped firm on mine, ensuring that I did not escape.
In my daze, I could feel
them stripping me down to my underpants.
I could hear some excited
singing.
Then I could feel lumps of
paper, books, pen, pencils and broken pieces of chalk hitting me from all
sides.
The teacher made a
declaration promoting Agude to the position of the prefect and asked each of
the students to flog me once for the pains I had put them through. I cried till
I almost bled through the eyes. Ujuaku was too distressed to stand and lash out
at me but she never spoke to me after that.
No one gave me the chance to
explain that I had not stolen the food. The evidence suggested otherwise.
After that incident, I was
called a thief by all the student and Aunty Menkiti looked for every reason to
flog me or mete out any other sort of punishment to me and she often found
some.
School became hell and I was
moved from the front row to the back, where the deviants and students with the
poor grades sat. My Parents were the only ones that believed that I had not
stolen the food, citing my massive distaste of yam porridge.
My mother stated further
that they had done proper investigations before she got married to my father
and was 100% sure that nobody in their immediate lineage was a thief.
“The apple does not fall
very far from a tree.”
For the remainder of the
term I was alone. No one spoke to me but I still ended the term top of the
class.
“It’s such a shame that with
such a good brain you became a thief.” Aunty Menkiti said to me as she handed
over my result to me.
I had turned to leave when I
had her say that “I would make a good politician.”
The next term, I transferred
to another school, sealing my guilt in the eyes of my other former classmates
and lover.
Fifteen years later, I ran
into Agude. He is doing quite well for himself as he was the head of the motor
park touts. He told me that he had confessed after I had left and that Aunty
Menkiti had been looking for me all over the schools then. I asked him how it
worked out with Ujuaku.
“The girl is now married
with two kids. You see how stupid we were then?” He asked rhetorically. I
wanted to tell him that he was the only stupid person then but I reconsidered because
it was not an entirely wise decision to insult the Tout Chief in a Motor Park.
“She asked of you a few
times then.”
It was ironical. I had
thought about killing myself then, as young as I was.
But the episode taught me
something the. I learnt then that not all who are accused are guilty. That not
all who wander are lost and that people should be considered innocent until
they are proven guilty beyond reasonable doubt.
Not the situation that
obtains in Nigeria where upon discovery of an amount, an entire nation will
queue with stones ready to pummel anyone without questions and process which
has resulted to the prisons holding more innocent people than the guilty.
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