Before we got enrolled, as expectant freshers, in the last quarter of 1979, Government Secondary School, Owerri, was recovering from the shock of an unprecedented students’ unrest. Investigations had already been concluded by the State Education Board by the time we settled down for our studies. But the echoes of the riot buzzed persistently in the air.
We were told, beyond ear shots, that the erstwhile principal, Mr. Nwokonko, was a great enforcer of discipline; but students reacted spontaneously when he confiscated their apparel in the cricket pitch, and incinerated them, claiming they constituted an eyesore!
Such was the foggy scenario that overshadowed the school, as we struggled to be enculturated in the unique milieu of the great citadel that was situated on a vast expanse of land. The school authority saw us as tabula rasa, and rubber stamped our presumed innocence with infectious enthusiasm. We were counselled to embrace the norms of civility and aspire to be worthy ambassadors of the highly sought-after prestigious school. We never envisaged that teenage fault lines would later intoxicate us and even threaten to stultify our credentials. The ambience of the school was suitable for academic pursuit, intellectual growth, and spiritual enlightenment. There were numerous hostels, and many students craved to live in the boarding houses. We relished the scenic beauty of the great school, the vast cricket pitch, the football pitches, and the greenery. We were, particularly excited that we shared a common boundary with Federal Government Girls College. The girls were affectionately called umu fedee. It was as though they were handpicked by blindfolded umpires who fancied only tall and beautiful girls. Probably, the girls’ infectious aura blinded us to the reality that some of them were actually no candidates for beauty pageants.
The body language of some senior students suggested, unpretentiously, that we were not in a kindergarten playground where cones of chocolate ice cream were dispensed with ease. We were derided and labelled with names that shocked our sensibilities. We suddenly realized that the dairy products our parents packaged for us did not actually belong to us. They were meant to be shared or in the worst-case scenario, carted away by some senior students. One had no option but to share the stuff, albeit reluctantly. The strange countenance of the senior students made us recoil in trepidation. We were given codes of conduct mandating us to obtain permission before accessing the classrooms of senior students. We were told that senior students must be addressed with reverence, by adding a suffix: ‘PLEASE,’ after mentioning their names. Most of us found the protocol amazing.
But what shocked us most was the meagre rations we got in the refectory. Surprisingly, the senior students got ‘double rations. Our inclinations made us believe that life in school was all about ‘survival of the smartest,’ as we contended with the ‘culture shock.’ We consciously minted our mantra of epic survival: Undue protocol and social etiquette were enemies of those who were desperate to survive in an unpredictable terrain.
Some senior students passed double plates on the dinning table, and that accounted for the ‘big’ rations they enjoyed. We learnt fast and relished playing the pranks. We enjoyed our meals when we were not caught, but got punished when we were caught. Cutleries and plates vanished on daily basis, and it was a big crime to eat with one’s ‘phalanges’, or fingers. There was a day, loaves of bread were not delivered for breakfast, and we went to the Assembly Hall on empty stomach. Every word the principal, Mr. Ugboaja, uttered that ill-fated morning was greeted by protestations: Oso! Oso! Oso! Oso! He quickly learnt that Oso was the parlance for meals, and he acted decisively. The next day, we got two loaves of bread each for that audacious echo of protest in the assembly hall.
The boarding house was well regimented. We woke up at 5:30 am, did the morning chores, especially ‘the ablution’, before saying the morning prayers and singing inspiring songs in The Ancient and Modern Hymn Book. Junior lights-out was 9:30pm, while senior lights-out was 10:30pm. ‘B’ House held the record as the cleanest house. But ‘A’ House and School House, were the best in sports, especially football tournaments.
The prefects wielded a lot of influence and ensured the early morning assembly was well organized. Everyone was expected to be impeccably dressed. After the routine announcements by the principal, the prefects would mount the podium to echo warnings to the students to abide by the school’s rules and regulations. Most of the prefects spoke impeccable English, while a handful ‘made’ some mistakes, known as ‘kpum’ in the school’s parlance.
We started to derail almost immediately from the established norms. A member of our class was caught drafting an amazingly engrossing love letter to his girlfriend during a French class. The French teacher grabbed the letter and read it openly in the class. Everywhere buzzed with excitement. The news filtered into the staffroom that was then located in one of the classrooms in the block housing Class 1 students’ classrooms. The teachers were uncomfortable in the staff room due to lack of space and occasional rumbles from the classrooms.
‘C’ House had to be proscribed, and the staff room moved to a bigger block housing the proscribed ‘C’ House. It was a good decision, as the new staff room was close to the principal’s office. By the time we got to Class 3, the ubiquitous fault lines of teenage fantasy had already blinded us. We wished away the school’s etiquette charted to be part of our lives. We would stroll down to the fence of Federal Girls at night and chat with the amazingly beautiful girls. The girls spoke impeccable Queen’s English, and some of us were excited by their fluency. Some of us matched them toe to toe in spoken English. But a few others who did not measure up to their expectations mopped up all the copies of James Hardley Chase at Ama JK post office to enhance their command of English Language.
The nocturnal posturing at the fence forced the authorities of Federal Girls to wall the school. We were all depressed when the walling project started.
Surely, we had lost our innocence. It was no longer news that some of us attended parties at Octagon Night Club and White House. No one could explain how this snippet of indiscipline crept in and nearly scuttled our ambition in a school that was reputed for its enforcement of discipline.
The ‘most infamous exploit’ of our class of 1979-1984, was the unbelievable pulling down of the walled fence of Federal Girls, prompting the military governor to issue an ultimatum to the principal to fish out the culprits. Although, some of us derailed, we managed to retrace our steps as a result of the persistent interventions of the Guidance & Counsellor teacher, Mr. Utams, and the selfless house masters and mistresses. They saw us as their biological kids, and never abandoned us to the perils of youthful exuberance. We shall remain indebted to these highly trained and selfless professionals for giving everything to make us what we are today.
Once, the School Certificate examination timetable was issued, we embarked on sober reflections, realizing that we were accountable to God and our parents who had invested so much resources in our education. We competed among ourselves by solving past question papers. The interventions of our teachers saved us, and our exuberance did not derail our ambition as retracing our steps from precipice did the magic. In the end, most of us did brilliantly well in our school certificate examinations.
ERASMUS NDULUE, was the former Head of Department of Health, Safety, Environment and Security in an Oil Services company in Lagos.