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The Notorious Gang
Junior secondary school, JSS 1, was entirely a different level. Although I still had my hair shaved regularly, in a way, I felt accomplished. My uniform wasn’t a long, sweeping gown, nor was there a weird-looking belt attached to it.
This time I got to wear a skirt and a blouse tucked in properly. Junior students were given a cream-colored blouse and a gray skirt. With our uniforms came a grey beret and a pair of brown sandals known as ‘Simbi goes to school,’ bought from the market.
Not only were our uniforms attractive, they were well worn by the students. Though we had a handful of those who weren’t neat, nevertheless, the better parts outweighed the lesser ones.
Some of the girls had well-fitted uniforms. This was possible due to the fact that after collecting their uniforms from the school, they went on to slim-fit them at their various tailors’ shops. Someone like me who was lanky had no reason whatsoever to make any adjustments. Mine wasn’t fitted, yet it appeared nice on me.
The boys were nonchalant about their outfits, as they got more attention from the girls when they were not properly dressed.
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The notorious gang were keen on wearing black socks, though it was against the school’s rules.
I had some of my primary school classmates transferred to Falomo. Even though we never really bonded at Lagos Island Primary School, we created a bond in Falomo.
We had six classes allocated to JSS1 due to the population of the students. JSS 1 had over a hundred students. Just so we weren’t choked, we were assigned to various classes. The classes were arranged alphabetically. I was assigned to JSS1 E.
JSS1 E consisted of older students, with some having mustaches and beards that were trimmed regularly.
The junior students had a different space allocated for their assemblies. We never gathered together with our seniors for assemblies.
Not only were our uniforms distinct, but our spaces and teachers were too.
A certain day after the break period ended, a student from JSS3 took permission from her class captain to go borrow a duster from one of the senior classes. Instead of seeking permission from one of the seniors in the class before taking the duster, she went inside directly, picked a duster, and took a stroll out of the class. She did this because she had an older brother in one of the senior classes.
The class captain of the class where she took the duster called her and told her to return the duster. She refused, and she walked away.
The seniors were furious, as this was unheard of. They were more furious because juniors would hear about the insubordination and act in the same manner towards them.
At the end of the school day, the school was in an uproar.
One of the seniors went into JSS 3C, where the girl was, slapped her, and told her that she would be dealt with at the school’s bus stop.
The threat was relayed to the girl’s brother, who in turn threatened the senior, who slapped his sister.
“Attention, everyone,” the junior principal called after we all made our way to the assembly ground for the emergency gathering.
“I have come to know that some of you are thugs disguised as students. As for your information, I have informed the police, and they’re already waiting at the school bus stop to witness the event.”
Seeing that he had caught the students’ attention, he went on with his address. This time in a thunderous voice.
The junior principal was a round and stout-looking man in his late forties who had a very good appearance. He had a staunch belief in good morals and was transferred from Ajegunle Secondary School to Falomo Secondary School to help develop its students. His records in handling notorious schools spoke for him. He had also received accolades from the state and federal governments.
“The last time this institution engaged in a brawl with a student from another school, it turned bloody. The life of a dear student was lost.”
“This is a warning to you all. If you love and cherish your lives, once you hear the closing bell, pick up your bags and go to your houses.”
“I know we have goats among you. But I plead with you. For the sake of your parents, go home!”
The principal’s words sounded like blasphemy to my ears.
Could my mother be aware that the school was as bad as this and still send me to attend?
I pondered various questions.
While we rushed back to the classroom to pack our bags in order to get to the bus stop early, I stumbled on the stairs.
The junior school was a two-story building with luxurious paintings adorned with an extravagant garden.
“Sorry, Joan,” came the voice from behind.
“Thank you, Peter,” I replied.
Despite the rush at the stairs, Peter cared to pay attention to the fall.
I walked into my class, packed my books neatly into my bag, and waited for the bell to ring.
Thirty minutes later, the timekeeper walked into the hallway and rang the bell with the last strength left for the day.
Students hastily walked out of their classrooms.
The junior principal peered through his window and nodded his head in accordance with each step taken by the students.
The JSS1 students were the first set of people to hastily rush out. Those in JSS3 were reluctant, particularly waiting to see the outcome of the threat.
“I heard it’s nothing new for students in this school to fight,” Peter said as he walked up to me.
“Once we have been promoted to another class, we’ll get used to it,” he said again, trying to initiate a conversation.
“Do you have any siblings in the senior class?” Peter asked
Beginning to feel delayed by his discussion, I walked hurriedly.
“Leave me alone”! I shouted thereafter.
“I cherish my life if you do not cherish yours.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Joan,” he said as he turned back towards the stairs.
While I hurried in the company of other students, I wondered why Peter wasn’t bothered by everything the junior principal said to us.
By the time I arrived at the bus stop, two police vehicles were on standby, waiting to arrest the situation on the ground.
The vehicles were intimidating to the students, as most of us ran into them.
The policemen who hung around the environment had dark glasses on and wore a frightful look.
However, on each vehicle reads a bold sticker:The police are your friend.’ The policeman is my friend, yet he wears a gun around his neck. The policeman is my friend, yet he isn’t smiling. A friend doesn’t wear a gun around his neck. A friend smiles, not frowns.
I kept mumbling the words until I crossed the road.
My heart stopped panting at the sight of my mother’s shop.
Before I could cross to where my mother’s shop was, Mama Pious spotted me and beckoned me to come close.
“Good afternoon, ma,” I said.
“Welcome,” she said.
“How was school today?”
“Fine, ma,” I answered.
“Fine! With the vehicles going up and down, you mean just fine?” She said it with widened eyes.
“Ah!” I shouted.
“I see you’re tired,” she said.
“Yes,”
“When your son Pious returns from school, go ahead and ask him what happened at school,” I said, walking to where my mother’s shop was.
I didn’t know if I ought to see myself as being rude or confident at that moment. But somehow, I felt relieved.
Tima was the only one at the shop.
Mother and my siblings had gone to Idumota to buy some goods to supply her customer at Iyanapaja.
The thought of telling my mother what occurred at school waved through my mind. I didn’t want her troubled. Not even now that she was saving for Justina and Jordan’s studies. I didn’t want the burden of changing my school to come in.
Later at night, Uncle Mike came to the bar. As usual, he ordered his favorite brand of beer. He requested two bottles of malt for the lady who came with him.
I took his order to him while he gave me N500 and insisted I keep the change.
“Meet my friend,” Uncle Mike said to the lady.
“How old are you?” she asked.
“I’m ten,” I told her, smiling.
“You’re smart!” she replied.
“Mike’s only attracted to smart ladies,” she said, returning my smile.
“Keep being smart, and you’re sure to become the Margaret Thatcher of Africa.”
“Thank you, Aunty,” I said, even though I had no idea who Margaret Thatcher was.
The pepper soup arrived two hours later, and Uncle Mike was served with his friend.
He spent a longer time with us that evening than he did often.
The bike man arrived at 11:30 p.m. and conveyed us to Okesuna.
“Anything you wish to tell me?” My mother asked me
My mind wandered to and fro. I didn’t know if it was what happened at the school I should talk about or the way I spoke back at Mama Pious. Perhaps Uncle Mike’s friend should be discussed.
None was worth telling this woman, who had spent all day doing nothing but work hard to make her children successful.
“Nothing, mother, absolutely nothing,” I said, smiling.
“Good night, then,” She said.
