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eluctantly I descended the staircase; I wouldn’t have but I had to. I had begged to be let off but he didn’t budge. There was a bland unrelenting look on his face and he kept stroking the countable strands of hair that hung from his flat chest. He was tall, dark and lanky. A prominent Afro adorned his big head and he chewed on a suspicious looking twig as he kept looking down at me. Much as I begged to be let off, he insisted, i had to go.
‘Snr. Abele; please not to Okwabi House please. Not Senior Kawawa’ I begged.
But my resistance seemed to strengthen his resolve. He would hear none of that and he was definitely making me go no matter what I said. He was very clear about that.
‘Nothing will happen to you…’ he said over and over again.
I did not believe him and he knew it. Behind him, there was an inscription on the wall; it was made with smoke from a candle. I could recognize it because I had assisted a senior in making one the very first week I entered the school. I considered it an achievement because first year students were not allowed to make inscriptions on the walls until they got to the fifth form. It was a kind of unofficial law that operated among the general student body. This activity was reserved for the seniors and the reason was because every candle-smoke inscription was supposed to be a ‘sign-off’. It was a sort of reminder that someone ever passed through the school. The Upper Sixers or the Sixth Formers took it for granted. They would mark the walls with all kinds of inscriptions at will. And sometimes, they took this infamous activity to the extreme – they would write on the walls of the Science Lab, School Library, teachers’ flats and then one day, they wrote on the revered headmaster’s bungalow!
How they got into the headmaster’s compound was a wonder. There were all kinds of stories that circulated among the junior students about how they did this. Some said a local jujuman was responsible for making them disappear and reappear at will. Others told of a concoction that supposedly put the night watchman who was a known drunk to sleep. This concoction it was rumoured, was mixed with local strong liquor known as apio and given to the night watchman before every operation.
The headmaster’s bungalow was nicknamed, Acropolis because it boasted of an uncommon colonial architecture that was just as strange as it was imposing. On the front door was a bold inscription that read: 1939. The Acropolis was hedged all round with thorn bush and a small avenue of hedges ushered many a visitor into the main compound. Students seldom entered the compound. They dared not. A large unfriendly dog always lurked in the bushes; it had a characteristic loud bark and fierce growl that promptly reminded everyone about straying and its devastating consequences. From the outside, the building looked impregnable but not anymore as we soon learnt. Somehow, some students managed to defy all odds and triumphantly made their mark on the famous Acropolis! Like determined soldiers, they had laid siege for a long time and had suddenly broken through to return victoriously in unforgettable fashion. Their mark read: FOX TRIBE REPRESENTING!
The following day, morning assembly took a different turn. The headmaster or Headee as he was popularly called, stormed the assembly hall with rage. When it was time for him to speak, he ignored all protocol. He did not greet; he did not smile. He simply stood on the podium and stared into our faces. He was motionless for a while and within that time, you could almost hear a pin drop. It was as if a mortifying mist had suddenly descended on everyone. We knew there was something wrong but we could not tell what it was.
Then he gently removed his spectacles and placed them on the wooden upright. He lessened the tension a bit with his movements and a mild murmur almost arose. Then he brought it to an immediate halt with his loud words!
“Foxes, foxes! That’s what you all are! He shouted animatedly.
We were taken aback. His words were sudden and harsh. And as the feeling of astonishment spread across the hall, someone at the back started laughing hysterically! From where I stood, I could not see him but I learnt later that the laughter had come from one of the Sixth Formers. It didn’t take long; suddenly the whole hall was reeling with laughter! Such was the effect on everyone in the hall that soon the teachers sitting on the podium joined in the laughter albeit cautiously. He turned momentarily towards his colleagues behind him; they all froze. He continued, this time, looking very menacing.
“Who or what is fox? Which among you foxes had the guts to write on my wall? He growled. Everybody was silent.
“Produce that fox now, produce him now or…”
“Or what? Somebody shouted from among us.
If the hall was quiet before this came, it became even quieter. I felt fidgety; I hoped that something would quickly interrupt the deafening silence so I could calm down. I shook a little; ‘when would this end’, I thought. That day, there were no classes for all of us. We descended straight from the Assembly Hall to the Hockey pitch and there, threw our hands in several directions with the aid of machetes at the tall grass that surrounded us. We ate lunch at suppertime.
The inscription on the wall right behind Abele read: ‘Risky waz hier som’.
‘Who was Risky? I asked him, hoping to change the subject even if for a short while. The question seemed to have taken him unawares; he stopped momentarily and stared at me.
‘Risky? You know Risky?
I pointed to the inscription right behind him. As he turned to look at the mouldy wall behind him, it then came to him that i could see the inscription very clearly from where I knelt. He suddenly went into frenzy.
‘Risky oo Risky! Risky Melo oo Melo! He shouted.
He was suddenly overcome with emotion that stemmed from a very unusual feeling of nostalgia and he continued like that for a few minutes. Then he kissed the palm of his right hand and placed it on the inscription on the wall. I felt relieved. Maybe this would make him forget what he’d asked me to do and finally release me. I was wrong. With a snap of his fingers, he swiftly dismissed me from his presence and told me not to return till I’ve delivered his message to Snr. Kawawa. As i left the room that afternoon, I wondered what a strange and unusual person he was.
The walk to Ghartey House was a very long one. The thought of meeting the notorious Snr. Kawawa terrified me. He was known for making life unbearable for junior students. On one occasion during general assembly, I remember the Snr. Housemaster mentioning his name seven times for seven different offences. There was always one tale or the other about him from the Ghartey House juniors. They feared him more than anyone else. As I approached Ghartey House, I wished I were dreaming. Should I turn back and run for dear life? That would be the beginning of great sorrow for me; Abele would never forgive me for going against him. So with great effort, I knocked on Kawawa’s door. There was no answer. I knocked again. Still no one answered... (To be continued)
