– By Obinna Ejide
That moment when everyone in class is meticulously taking down notes from the chalkboard as if they were writing their last will and, suddenly, one mischievous boy whose own notes are often incomprehensible, like the will of God in a man’s life, jerks from his seat as if he had just seen a vision, and then turns his head to the rest of the class and say a word that surges adrenaline inside everyone’s blood and quickens even the slowest person in class to action.
“The last to finish writing is a rat!”
And so a rat race starts, our hands shaking in resonance with our desks, our pens bleeding words that read like incantations from a sorcerer’s book. Because when my father opened my notebook that evening to review, he muttered some words in Igbo I believed only evil spirits could decipher.
“Is this how you use to do in school? Writing rubbish as notes? What class are you even in?
“Primary Two sir.”
“Primary Two and your handwriting is as ugly as a chicken’s shit? Nonsense! … You think you’re doing me – you’re doing yourself!”
I was surprised how he did not wield that weapon of child abuse on me but instead asked me to get a sheet of paper and a pencil. He sat me down and taught me how to write. I can’t really remember how that learning process was, but what I do remember is that afterward everyone fell in love with my handwriting, including her… And that was the genesis of our love story.
I’m so sorry, but someborri haff use scissors to tear away dah love chapter from mah heart, I can’t find it again. I’m sorry.
So…
I loved my science subjects more than any other subject, but father was always more interested in my use of the English Language, wherein my grade was always the lowest. He would query my score each time I came home with that report card that always carried “Well behaved student in class”, even though I was the leader of a small bad gang in class. I am glad he did that, because I had to study the subject as I did other [science] subjects. You know what students, especially science students, normally said about the English Language, things like ‘I don’t read English, not when there is Ababio to crack’. As if the chemistry text was written in Latin…
“The last to finish writing is a fool!”
JSSII. This boy’s name, I cannot remember. But I remember peering into his book as he hurriedly took down the notes, with a smirk on his face like Cristiano Ronaldo’s when he is sure he – and not the little Argentine magician – will be named the World’s Best at the FIFA Ballon D’or awards. He did not realise that he was taking down English notes in his Yoruba notebook. And we were to submit our English notebooks for scoring for a period covering the whole term, immediately after the class. I tried to call his attention to this.
“See, your notebook is not …”
“Leave me alone, I know what I am doing. The last to finish is a fooooooooool!”
Am I being fooled, or is a fool toying with my head? English notes inside a Yoruba notebook?
“Foooooooooooooool! Fooooooooooooooool!” He hailed me, as I submitted my notebook last. I looked at him with the eyes of one stupefied by the foolishness of one man that it became a poison to his mind. I watched our teacher retire into her class with all our notes to start marking, and that was when I replied him in my spirit, with the words my father spoke unto me, on the day I was made whole again, that very day in Primary Two after I was the first to finish writing.
“I know irris nor you darrris doing this to yourself, beht continue. You think you’re doing me – you’re doing yourself!”
***********
Happy Father’s day to all fathers in the world, first to my dad. May your days be long.
Comments