14 years ago today, I was a JSS3 boy in a military school. I remember that day quite clearly. I had “bought job” — military lingo for one getting in trouble. Although I do not quite remember the details of the trouble I had gotten into, I recall making myself scarce all day. Buying job in my secondary school was like Thanos, totally inevitable. From the wicked seniors who seemed to lurk around every corner to the myriad lists of offenses one could commit, it was best to never be seen wandering about. Juniors like me quickly learned to hide effectively, even when there wasn’t any danger apparent. After all, we were to be seen, not heard.
That day, two junior students came to find me. Apparently, my guardian, CPL Oyekola, was searching for me.
I thought nothing of it. Most likely he had received some pocket money from my dad- a forbidden practice but a welcome one, seeing as we got fed soup with oil separated from the leaves. I was in Hercules house, gisting on the lower bunk with DK, my closest friend at the time. I recalled finding Mr. Oyekola on the field behind the classes, watching his oblong head bob up and down as he tried to lift a health ball over his head okocha style. I walked up to him and greeted.
“Haha, Seni..Ba wo ni? Is anybody disturbing you?”
CPL Oyekola always tried to speak Yoruba to me, despite my feeble attempts to explain I didn't know the first “wa.”
“I’m fine sir. Ubong said you were looking for me?”
The man always seemed to have a smile on his face, except when he was asking students to “sit on your head” and caressing their backsides with the flat side of a cutlass. I both feared and liked him.
“Ah, Seni. You have only one ear now o..”
“Sir?”
“They have cut one of your ears. Don’t worry, you will understand soon”
A week later, I attended my mother’s burial.
