“Good morning, students.”
“Goooood morning, Mr. Jaiyeola,” came the response.
Silence quickly descended on the gathering of at least 200 final year students assembled in the school hall. Mr. Jaiyeola was an easy-going teacher of English Language who was also sectional head for the Final Year stream. He had come to address them.
“I am here to give you some vital information concerning your forthcoming WAEC and NECO examinations. On the 26th of March, we shall begin the registration process. Please inform your parents to make sure the necessary fees are paid. The school has scheduled seminars, compulsory extra classes and quizzes for you all in preparation for the exams. Depending on your choice of subjects, some of you will be writing your first WAEC paper on 26th April …
Amaka suddenly felt cold as Mr. Jaiyeola spoke. ”This is real,” she thought. “At last, the final exams are here and I have little time left to prepare.” Lost in thought, she was barely aware of whatever else the teacher said. His closing words brought her back to the present.
“The examination time table is out. I want all the class reps to go to my office and get a copy. I wish you all good luck. Years from now, there will be doctors, lawyers, engineers, business executives, scientists and other professionals from among you who will do this school proud…”
“And police women,”
That was a voice from the middle of the hall. For a moment, silence fell on the gathering. The students were not sure how Mr. Jaiyeola was going to react to this interjection and they searched his face for a clue. When what looked like a faint smile appeared on his face, they burst into laughter and giggling.
“Did I hear correctly?” he asked no one in particular. “Does any one of you ladies want to join the Police Force?”
“Amaka! Amaka!!” came the spontaneous response from the crowd. Some were pointing in her direction. A few near her were nudging her playfully.
“Is it true, young lady? Do you plan to join law enforcement?”
“Yes sir,” Amaka replied, uneasily.
“Are you aware that policing in Nigeria is not exactly a noble profession?
“I hope to make a difference sir.”
“Well, well! You seem to have given it quite some thought. In which case, I can only wish you well.
“Thank you, sir.”
“But if you ask me, I’d say that a good looking girl with your grades will do well to nurse a more sensible ambition.”
The assembly broke into uncontrollable laughter. Some of her classmates were making faces at her. Amaka felt humiliated but defiant.
Mr. Jaiyeola turned and walked away in his usually measured steps. The assembly erupted in a noisy, excited buzz as the students slowly dispersed.
Amaka got home later that day feeling quite low. But it was more from a sense of being inadequately prepared for the exams ahead than from her encounter with Mr. Jaiyeola at the assembly. It was the story of her life. Ever since she mentioned her dream to become a police officer in class a year or so earlier, she had been the butt of many jokes. But it was as if each time they made fun of her, her resolve became stronger. Sometimes, she secretly hoped she would not regret it someday, but not once had she seriously considered abandoning her dream.
“What’s the problem, Amaka? You don’t look okay.”
That was her father, sitting on his usual chair in the parlor and reading a newspaper. His glasses hung low on the bridge of his nose so that he seemed to peer above them to look at her. She often wondered why her parents and other older people she knew used their reading glasses that way. The thing never sat squarely on their faces. Did it have to do with age?
“Our WAEC exam time table is out, Papa, and I have barely a month to prepare,” she said.
“Don’t worry, my dear. Hard work and dedication will always give you good grades. Believe in yourself and trust God. All will be fine.”
Amaka smiled, thanked her dad and made to run off to her room.
“But do tell me something my dear. Your mother tells me you have interest in going to the Police Academy after school. Is that what you really want? Are you positive that police work is what you want to do all your life?”
Her father was a man who believed a child should pursue his or her own goals and make life decisions independently. Well, almost. He was once a victim of excessive parental interference, he would say, and paid dearly for it. His father wanted him to be a doctor. He said it with his shoulders high as a mountain to whoever cared to listen. No one asked a child what his own dreams were. As one of the few children in his village who went to school in those days, he felt too fortunate and privileged to express a contrary inclination. When he entered the university, he found that his grades dropping rapidly. He had a choice to soldier on according to his father’s wishes or switch to his own secret dream. After the most traumatic year of his young life, he secretly enrolled for the Law program and lost one year. But he has been at peace ever since, he says.
“I believe you can make the right decisions on your own and I hope you will choose what’s best for you.”
“Thank you, Papa,” Amaka said.
She always liked it the way her parents’ characters contrasted. It helped a lot and she was always grateful for her father’s wisdom and gentle lessons. Not like her mother who was always combative and managed to turn most conversations into confrontations.
That night, as Amaka lay on her bed, she wished to fall asleep immediately so that she could wake up early the next morning to do some reading. Early mornings were her favorite time for study. It was usually peaceful and quiet at that time and whatever she read seemed to go straight into her brains and stay there. That is, if public electricity supply was available. It was exactly what she needed at this point in her preparations – for whatever she studied to stay in her brains at least until after the exams. Thereafter, they could evaporate for all she cared.
But sleep deserted her eyes. Thoughts about her impending final exams flooded her mind. Would she do well? What if she didn’t? What would her parents say? Especially her mother, how would she…
She was awakened by sounds from a truck delivering canopies and plastic chairs in the next compound. Amaka cracked her sleepy eyes open and saw that it was already daylight. “There goes the first morning in my revision plan!” she thought. “Is this how I am going to make my papers?” She lay in bed in frustration, refusing to get up.
The truck driver was revving the engine a little more than necessary and his assistant was shouting rather too loudly as he guided the truck to a perfect discharging position at the front of the gate. The clanging sounds of iron rods and plastic chairs being offloaded and dragged roughly along the floor followed. John, the handsome little son of one of their neighbors was having a birthday party later that day. Amaka’s family had been invited, although she doubted if anyone except her mother would make the trip across the fence to honor that invitation. It was not socially appropriate for immediate neighbors to show up in full force when invited to a party. That would be interpreted as “long throat.” Such privilege was reserved for friends and well-wishers who came from afar, usually in their fanciest cars and with their entire families. So, mama was most likely going to walk across in the middle of the party, chat a little with the celebrant’s mum, dance for the cameras, eat a little food, make polite excuses and beat a retreat. That was one of the unspoken and unwritten codes of social etiquette in the city. Neighbors were generally expected to “show face” and thereafter bravely put up with the nuisance of a noisy party next door for the rest of the day. The nuisance included very loud music, guest car strewn all over the streets (including neighbors’ entrances sometimes), as well as smelly and messy cleanup of leftover food and drinks. You were expected to put up with all that wearing a smile, in the full knowledge that next time it might be you causing the nuisance to neighbors. So, it’s all fair and even at the end of the day. What goes around comes around.
Later that Saturday morning, as Amaka went to the next street to buy provisions for her family’s breakfast from Iya Funmi’s Supermarket, she was startled by sounds coming from a nearby bush.
“Stop! Please leave us alone!”
She turned to ascertain where the sound was coming from.
“Please leave us alone,” the voice repeated. Amaka was sure it was the voice of a young boy, maybe 8 or 10 years old. She moved quickly in the direction of the voice across the road. She cleared her way through the thickset with her hands as if parting curtains on a doorway. She stopped and peeped through the vegetation to see what was going on. Four little boys were standing in front of a much fatter and older boy. They were obviously being harassed and asked to give up something. Amaka made up her mind to confront the bully without further thought.
“Leave them alone,” she said, rising from her stooped position and walking into the clearing behind the bush.
“Well, well, well. Look who we have here. A girl with the courage of a lion. Let’s see how you’re going to stop me.”
The fat boy began walking slowly and menacingly towards Amaka. For a moment, Amaka thought of turning and fleeing but quickly changed her mind. The boy was now very close to her, standing at a clear six inches or so taller, and staring down at her. Amaka held his gaze. The little children ran to hide behind a big tree nearby to watch the scene from a safe distance.
The fat boy pushed Amaka so hard that her buttocks almost made contact with the soil as she fell back. She struggled to find her balance as her assailant advanced.
“I will turn your fine face into an ugly mask,” he continued to threaten.
The boy was upon her again. This time, he pushed with much more force. Amaka fell into the bushes flat on her back. She saw the boy approaching for the kill and instinctively pulled the grass with her right hand and flung it smack into his face. The boy screamed in pain and staggered backwards.
“My eyes! My eyes!” he screamed repeatedly.
Sand from the root of the grass had apparently inflicted maximum damage, temporarily blinding the boy.
Amaka rose to her feet quickly, signaling to her little cheering audience to run away and immediately making her own way back to the road. She couldn’t risk a full confrontation with a boy that size. If he regained his sight and got hold of her, she’d be in big trouble, she thought. So, it was wise to retreat now, claim victory and continue on her errand before things got worse. In any case, she had succeeded in freeing the little boys. Instinctively, she took to her heels on the street towards Iya Funmi’s shop.
To be continued…
