Saturday, 3 November 2007


RAPTURE WAS DEVASTATING. Tall, lean, dark. He’d drift into the Junior Block when hunger bellowed. I bet his hunger was as long as he was tall, and wild. And he never came alone; he was always armed with a paint bucket, his idea of a plate, ready to sweep away FOOD. He’d drift in, noiselessly, with a hideous sneer on the face. Eyes sharp as a needle, seeking boys for prey.

Sanni and friends were in the Locker Room yapping all they could. Sanni, wanting to eat, had withdrawn his tins of Bournvita, milk and box of sugar, all new, unjacked, from the safety of his locker and was about jacking them goodies. And Rapture wafted past. He was unnoticed amidst all the yapping. The yapping continued. The fact that he, a whole Rapture, could have gone past them without some sign of recognition or trepidation, as the case might have been, surprised him, and stirred him. He stopped. Pulled a reverse. The yapping stopped. And he made for Sanni.
"Do you own all these?"


"I’m hungry. I need food. Put your elder brother’s portion here."

Rapture handed him the cover of the sugar box. And Sanni proceeded to put six cubes of sugar, six spoons, or thereabout, each of milk and Bournvita into the box. There was still in the room. More still between Sanni and his predator. Then, Rapture took the almost 4/4 full tins of milk, Bournvita, and the box of sugar, St. Louis sugar o, and emptied them all, one after the other, into his bucket plate and was wafting out as silently as he’d come. Everybody was dumbstruck, even Sanni, who was the first to recover and immediately began yelling "I’ll go and report! I’ll go and report!"

Rapture turned, made for the empty sugar box, tore the large square middle out, drew a biro out of his pocket, scribbled his biodata and handed Sanni the complimentary card, with a calm statement, "Go and report." Sanni was flabbergasted and it took a long time to recover from this second salvo. He couldn’t report. He was scared. Those seniors had an unrelenting penchant for torture even after they’d been punished by a master. Since you’d live with them everyday and not with a master, it was almost logical not to report some sinister cases.

Friends just laughed and laughed, laughed at Sanni. Sanni was a headstrong chap and had boasted he’d take no nonsense from any senior, prior then. His dad was a police. I doubt if he even reported that case of first degree pilfery to his cop dad. If it had befallen any one of the boys, no probs, but Sanni . . . it was amusing.

Rapture was an SSS3 student. One of those who lived in the House they called White.

Now, imagine another incident like this. Where a boy is torn between the Devil and the Red Sea and doesn’t know what to do. What would you do?

The boy was yards between Mr Mohammed and one other wicked senior. The master called the boy, and the senior called the boy.

The master called the boy. The senior called, anti-called the boy.

The boy was confused. The master called, "Come here," he hadn’t sighted the senior, "come here, now." The senior sniggered at the boy and said, "If you go, hn." The boy didn’t move, his legs were shaking.

The man was surprised until he saw the senior "Hahn, Adekunle, I’m calling someone and you are preventing him from coming. Ki lo ma n se eyin omo won i." I think he then said "Oya, you, Adekunle, come here yourself." Adekunle did not listen o, he just gamboled away, disrespectfully. "Adekunle!" yelled Mr Mohammed "Adekunle, where are you going to?"

The fellow didn’t mind, he gamboled away. . . I left the College in ‘ninety nine before my graduation. Gained admission in two thousand and one. Actually two. Strike. I recall seeing some seniors, wicked ones too, I was now ahead of. Who says seniority might not be pangolo itself. I’ve not said it is.

. . . Gbenga ‘Sesan went to my school o.

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