Joe, a young African student, steps into the chaotic world of a Nigerian boarding school, where every day feels like a test of survival -- you never know what trap awaits.
From his run-ins with the harsh Boarding Master, the unpredictable Principal...
Senior students were accustomed to studying late at night in the hostels. This was because, with exams approaching, the allotted time for night prep was often insufficient to cover the entire syllabus effectively.
Although reading was the primary assignment each night, it was not the only activity; meals were hosted intermittently. And that fateful night was never going to be an exception.
11:00 PM
Joe was studying hard that night in preparation for his forth-coming promotional exams and at the same time, waiting for the BM to retreat to his house for the night.
Joe wasn't the lazy type of student. In the classroom, he was the teacher's favorite, because he was bright. But in the hostel, he was seen by the BM as a law-breaker and notorious student. Isn't it weird how so many versions of you exist in people's minds?
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Having assumed that the BM must have gone to bed, Joe and his friend embarked on a journey, they would live to talk about. As with every other journey of a thousand miles, it began with a step. Both boys needed to get water from the overhead tank.
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Author's note:
I used an AI image generator to create this, and while it's not the perfect illustration of what I had in mind, it does give my non-African readers a glimpse of what a typical Nigerian boarding school looks like. Again, it's not perfect!
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The boys' hostel consisted of 4 parallel rectangular blocks, each spanning about 30 meters in length, and facing each other; and also spaciously separated. The first block (which was Joe's block), was just a few meters from the BM's compound but faced away from it. Therefore, anyone coming from the compound would need to walk around to the front of Joe's block to see whatever was happening there. Essentially, if the BM was at his house, he would not be able to observe the activities at the front of his block. The fronts of the first two blocks faced each other, allowing communication between the two blocks -- only the first two.
The overhead tank in question was located in the side yard of the second block, just a few meters away from it. It had three water taps. However, it should be noted that the overhead tank was visible from the BM's house.
Wanting to be sure if the BM had actually gone to sleep, Joe crept towards the upper end of his block and peeked into the BM's compound. He saw nothing. The BM's compound was completely enveloped in thick darkness. The beams of light emanating from the light bulbs were shielded by the two large mango trees in the compound. And as such, he could not make out any figure seated in the compound – if there were any.
Something shiny caught Joe's attention as he peeked for the second time. He thought it might be the wheel of the BM's Mercedes-Benz. Alas! How wrong he was. He had forgotten that the BM never parked his car in the middle of his compound. His instincts had failed him. Good instincts, they say, are gotten from making mistakes; ordinary people like Joe seldom make mistakes.
Joe signaled to his friend, who was waiting patiently at the other block, as if to tell him that "the coast was clear." They both headed towards the overhead tank – Joe with a cup in his hand and his friend with a bucket, intending to visit the toilet.
After filling his cup with water, Joe turned and headed back to his block. Midway, the unmistakable powerful beam of the BM's flashlight caught him – it was like a spotlight. He froze in his tracks. His friend, still at the tap, suggested they run, perhaps to the backyard and into the bushes – with the idea that it was night, hence, it would be impossible for the old man to recognize them the following morning.
Joe thought it better for them to brace up and just go. Joe wasn't the notorious caliber of student, he was just ill-fated.
"Come here!" the BM shouted.
Joe and his friend trudged towards the BM's compound, moving towards the beam of light as if hypnotized by it. Upon arrival, Joe realized that the BM was not alone; the assistant BM – another fierce-looking old man who shared some traits with the BM – was also there. Next to them stood a hooded figure – one of the security guards.
Joe also realized that the shiny wheel he had seen earlier belonged not to the BM's car but to the assistant BM's motorcycle, popularly known as Bajaj. Only God knew what the three had been discussing at such an ungodly hour.
They lay there like predators, watching every move they made and waiting for the right moment to strike. Joe wondered what could have motivated these old men to concoct such a clever and sinister scheme. They must have seen him right from the moment he peeked; witchcraft, he concluded, must be real!
What was crazier? Their patience. They waited until Joe and his friend had reached the taps and were halfway back before the BM turned on his flashlight.
"Well, played old men," Joe couldn't help but admire.
Joe signaled to his friend that he would do the talking. He explained to the BM that he had felt thirsty while reading and had come to the tap to fetch water, while his friend wanted to use the restroom. In truth, this was a lie - he had actually wanted to soak garri.
"At this time? You're supposed to be in bed by now!" the BM shouted, gesticulating frantically – true to his nature. "In fact, pour that water away!" the BM commanded. Joe complied.
"I think they even wrote in the newsletters that every student should have a bucket and a jerrycan," the BM explained to the security guard, "because they feel they are now seniors there's no need for a jerrycan."
While Joe continued to explain himself to the BM, the assistant BM, who had been sitting on his motorcycle and seemed unconcerned, suddenly jumped down. This unexpected move startled Joe, and without warning, the assistant BM produced a fan-belt from God-knows-where and ordered Joe's friend to prostrate.
As the belt repeatedly struck Joe's friend, Joe wondered when the beating would end – if felt like it would go on forever. Joe looked appalled and visibly trembled. He had approached the trio earlier with the hope of emancipating themselves after explaining the situation to the BM. But he had completely forgotten who this old man was.
Being optimistic wasn't going to help the situation either. Even the mere thought of thinking they would ever get out of a situation like this was vain. It was something they couldn't even fantasize about. There was no light at the end of this tunnel Joe found himself in.
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Joe was now in bed – quivering with indignation. He wondered what he had done to deserve such a beating from the old men. He forfeited both the idea of eating and the idea of reading.
Yet again, they had imposed their authority simply because they were in charge. The thought of being punished unjustly made Joe sob quietly in his bed – it was going to be a long night for him.
