— Fela
Fela The Notorious Student
The next day, Mrs. Afolayan had us read out our summaries before the class. After the second period, we proceeded to Obalende, where we got a bus to St. George’s School, Falomo.
At our arrival, we realized pupils from other schools were already in attendance. The creative session consisted of various presentations that included poems from different African poets.
A week later, Mrs. Afolayan announced to the school that our school had qualified for the semi-finals and that the headmistress was proud of her pupils.
The pupils in my class rejoiced at the news. The gist of the day was about our performance and how we were going to make it to the finals.
However, there was a particular boy in my class whose name was Fela. As much as others rejoiced at our success, Fela never expressed pleasure or celebrated with us.
Fela, the most notorious boy in my class, had a thing against students who performed well in the class. Maybe it was because teachers often compare his character with other students’ portrayals of him as the villain, which I can’t tell. He wasn’t the brightest, nor was he the dullest. He was referred to as a regular student in academics.
Fela was the boy who tore Junior’s report card after taking the first position last term. It was Fela who threw stones at Jane after she won the quiz’s competition held in the school.
It was either Fela for everything bad in the school or no one else. I had always wondered why it never got to my turn until the day I got a taste of his mischievousness.
We were at the morning assembly when Primary 4A class teacher, Mrs. Okafor, asked each of the classes to provide a representative to answer her questions. Each of the classes had done well with their representatives, who gave a brief explanation of what Mrs. Ahmad taught at the assembly the previous week. When she got to my class, she needed someone to briefly discuss the moral topic discussed the previous week. No one was willing to talk, so she pointed at Fela to represent the class. Fela kept turning his head in an anticlockwise motion until she called him out by his name.
Since he couldn’t hide from the crowd, he fingered his dark, curly hair while chewing on his teeth. Mrs. Okafor, clearly irritated at his act, flogged him with her long and tiny cane while at the same time yelling at him. The cane used in whipping him was the type that left the stripes hanging for days, if not weeks.
Thereafter, I was called to explain, which I did brilliantly, according to Mrs. Okafor.
On my way home, I met Fela, who was already at the school gate waiting for me. He gave me a heavy knock on the head that had just been shaved. As if the knock wouldn’t appease his image, he pushed me to the ground to eat the sand I couldn’t eat as a baby.
None of my friends fought back because Fela was a huge boy and a bully to complement his stature.
It wasn’t as if we failed to report him to the teachers in the school. We did, but Fela, after being punished, would repeat the act he was punished for. Since the punishments did nothing to change his character, the victims resorted to endurance.
Immediately after the fifth period ended, Joshua, the timekeeper in Primary 6B, rang the bell hurriedly.
We all wondered why the bell rang rather early. As if the time wasn’t conspicuous enough, he rang it the second time hurriedly, as though there were an emergency.
Also Read CHAPTER TWO Little Beginnings
“Joshua must have missed breakfast and can’t wait to have his food,” Job teased.
“Maybe the class was boring, and he couldn’t wait to leave the classroom,” Christiana suggested.
“Early or not, I’m glad it’s break time,” I replied.
“Stand up and say your prayers,” Mrs. Afolayan said to the class.
Everyone in the class stood up to recite the prayer in order:
“Some have food but cannot eat.”
“Some can eat but have no food.”
“We have food, and we can eat.”
“Glory be to you, O LORD.”
“Bless this food, O Lord, for my sake.”
“Amen.”
“Aunty, come and eat,” we called together.
“Satan, go away,” we concluded.
After the prayers, I and Christiana sat on Job’s desk, while Job sat on the seat long enough to accommodate three butts.
“My mom prepared my favorite. I don’t really know why I enjoy yam and egg sauce more than any other meal,” Job said.
“If you are surprised, I am not,” Christiana answered.
“Well, you’ve got legs like yams, eyes like tomatoes, and a nose like onions,” Christiana said, giggling.
“Bad manners are what we’ve all got,” I uttered.
“Aw,” said Job with jaws dropped.
“Ow, Ow” goes the sound out of Christiana’s mouth as she spat the grains of rice in her mouth.
An attempt to take another spoonful resulted in a spill, which left Job’s table messy.
Still wondering how grains of sand had gotten into Christiana’s food, Job took a healthy bite on his yam dipped in the egg sauce, only for him to jump on his feet to spew the residue of what was left from the cruel chew.
I didn’t bother to check my food, knowing that a creditor who is capable of jailing his debtor could also take his life.
We made our way to Mrs. Afolayan’s table, where she was evidently sleeping.
“Fela”! She yelled
Fela wasn’t in the classroom. He had gone to the football field to play.
“Hey,” she beckoned to Laura, who was seated on the second row with Lilian, her twin.
“Go downstairs and call me Fela.”
“Yes, ma,” answered Laura as she dashed out of the classroom.
Pupils from other classes who heard a half-baked story came with Fela upstairs to witness and cover the complete story.
“Fela, you have come again,” Mrs. Afolayan uttered with a disapproving look.
“I want you to go to Primary 6A and report yourselves to Mr. Adeyanju.”
“Joan, Christiana, and you, Job, carry your food to Mr. Adeyanju’s class and explain yourselves. This is the only time I have to sleep,” Mrs. Afolayan said, yawning.
“Allow your mother to rest, please.”
Mr. Smart, who was busy enjoying Mama Sandra, the food vendor’s spaghetti and meat, shoved his food aside upon seeing the number of students approaching.
“Before I listen to anyone, Fela!” He called, “Move close to my table and ride my bike.”
“Sir,” Fela called, trying to explain himself.
“Shut up!”
Mr. Smart this time was already furious. This was evident in the way his eyes burgeoned.
There was something Mr. Smart found annoying and disrespectful when disciplining students. And that was the act of trying to explain oneself. He never welcomed any means of explanation from a student as long as you’ve been convicted by him or your peers.
“Sir,” Fela called again.
The next thing that happened changed Fela’s life forever. At the mention of the word ‘sir,’ Mr. Smart descended a slap on Fela’s cheek. Though the slap was on one cheek, both cheeks felt the impact. His ears were not excluded, as he suffered from ear issues all through his final year at Lagos Island Primary School.
The atmosphere moved from leisure time to military drilling.
Half the school’s population was already in Primary 6A, waiting to see the climax of Fela’s fate.
By this time, the sleep Mrs. Afolayan clamored for had eluded her. She made her way to Primary 6A. On getting there, she chased the few she could and went straight to where Fela was riding Okada. Fela was all sweaty, with tears rolling out of his eyes.
Few of the students had pity for him, while the majority of those who had experienced his naughty acts thought it served him right.
The bell rang, and everyone realized the break was over.
We went to our various classes, while Fela remained in Mr. Smart’s class the rest of the day.
Mr. Smart instructed Fela to come the following day with either of his parents or remain home if any of them refused to come along with him to the school.
