My 3 Years  Journey Through Ordinary Primary One | By Olawale Sadare

“When you have your mouth and where you have your audience, don’t allow any friend or enemy to tell your personal story…” (Sadare 2019).

I don’t know why and how I still manage to remember almost every bit of certain things that happened to me at my early stage in life. Just like the cases of every conscious adults, many people played their parts (either positive or negative) in our individual lives and these culminated in the little story of success we have got to tell for now.

I stood no good chance of acquiring the best of Western education because my both parents were unlettered and they chose to live in the same rustic Owobaale where only the adherents of Adventist Christian faith knew about when and how to enrol their children in schools. But luckily for me, we moved into the city fully in 1978 and I began a new life away from a place where a woman had been made to lacerate my face few weeks after my womb escape.

We moved into our newly built 6 room face-to-face bungalow beside the then 13 year-old Bishop Phillip’s Academy. The popular Texaco/MRS filling station in the Area now was a Sawmill at that time and a plot of land cost N500 or thereabouts. Houses with residents were clustered and most parcels of land had weeds, different tree species and palm trees on them. This was a time I would feel like a Prince after taking ‘raisi kobo meji, ewa kobo kan’ on any special day.

I was good at running errands for all and sundry while one Iya Offa (of blessed memory) would tutor me about elementary commerce with accurate calculation in money exchange. That mama was the best in making a local bean cake delicacy (Alapa elegusi ati Ede) and she would never stop giving me a small wrap as an incentive (Eeni) each time I patronized her even if it was 10 times in a particular day. She really ‘sharpened’ me with her native intelligence and compassion.

Then came 1980… Iya Offa hinted my mom that I was ripe for schooling due to her own observation. “Iya Omoo mi, Wasiu ti to bere Ile-Iwe o… Ogbon ori re koja ti opolopo awon omo ti n lo Suuku ti mo nri lojoojumo.” (Young woman, Wasiu is fit to start schooling pls… His level of intelligence is far more than most of those kids who I see everyday on their way to school). The grands told my mom one day.

Consequently, Maami discussed it with my dad and an agreement was reached between them. The following Monday, I was enrolled in Primary One at St. James’ Anglican Primary School, Agodi Village off old Iwo Road Ibadan (the place is now part of the communities which fused to become Iyanna Church Area of Ibadan). This was located in a recluse and it was far from our home. And following about two or three reported cases of child kidnapping, I was withdrawn from the school permanently.

Therefore, I lost that first year but I felt no loss as an innocent child. Then came the beginning of another school year… An uncle who was a serving in the Nigerian Army took her daughter (a younger cousin of mine) and me to the then 3 year-old Christ Apostolic Church Primary Schools, Abaa Monatan in 1981 and I started at Primary One again. After the end of the season, I did well in the promotion exam and I was promoted to Primary Two but my cousin failed.

The only two things to be cherished in me at that time were the modicum of brilliance in me and the Khaki uniform which was well made by one ‘Boda Tailor’ (an indigene of Ilobu who died many years ago). He made a round neck with two buttons on the left shoulder (Pademilejika we used to call the style). The Knicker was with two blazers made of same uniform fabric to rule out any use of belts. The only ironing on that school uniform was done by Booda Tailor but the ‘gaitors’ he created never left their original locations until the textile material fully expired about six years after. I would not write much about how I used to clean up the blank side of my academic ‘Slate’ with my own saliva.

Going forward; on the first day of the following Session, my Uncle took me and his daughter to a new school in protest. We landed in Army Children School, Iwo Road, Ibadan in 1982 and my joy knew no bound. “Emi naa? Ni School awon Army?” (My self in a school owned by the Military?)… I did soliloquy the moment I stepped on the Mammy Market on our way to the Headteacher’s office. My Uncle was in his Army uniform with a white Chevron on each of his shoulders and he offered Salutes to every Soldier we came across until we got to our destination. This also impressed me!

“Good morning, Madam. I bring my two children here for school… Put them for primary two”. Uncle said to the headmistress and the woman replied thus; “Good morning sir. No problem sir. Did you come with the report cards they got from their former school where they did their primary one?” She then sent for two teachers (Mr. Babalola and Mrs. Olayinka). They both came around and checked the two report cards carefully. Mr. Babalola was asked to address my Uncle… “Sir, the boy is qualified to be in Primary Two while the girl will have to start from Primary One again because she failed her last promotion exam.” He said.

“No, no, noooo! Omo mi ni awon mejeeji, nnkan ti mo fe ni mo si ti so fun yin yen…”Uncle thundered. When the Headmistress realized that Oga Soja meant business, she invited a Sargent who was passing by to intervene. At the end of the day, my Uncle ordered that the two of us should be put in Primary One class because he did not want us to be far apart. We were handed over to our new teachers and I started another fresh life in the same class for the third year. Unfortunately, I didn’t realize the quantum of time I have been made to lose as I was innocent, happy and uninformed at the same time.

Another end of the Session came… I emerged 2nd best while my cousin came 2nd from behind (32nd in a class of 33). In those days, virtually every literate person who came across primary/secondary pupils on the Vacation day would want to check your report card. People would stop you on the road and demand your Card. When they were done, they would offer handshake (or petty gifts) to the brilliant ones and sing (Olodo rabata, oju eja lo moo je) for the the academically poor ones. It was a day I was celebrated most for the first time in my life by relatively unknown people.

We were approaching home when we met an elder cousin who was then a Form Two student of Estate High School, Bashorun, Ibadan. It was a time teachers must give Prizes to brilliant students who came 1st, 2nd and 3rd in promotion exams. Adekunle Akanfe discovered I came 2nd and I was not given any gift… He forced me to return to the school where we were told two pupils got the First position grade and it was agreed that, in that circumstance, the pupil that came second who forfeit his own gift. The same teachers gave a gift to the pupil that came third behind me though. One of the teachers was fascinated by the rare show of boldness by my Egbon and she volunteered to gift me a ruler, a sharpener, an eraser and two exercise books in compensation.

On resumption for the next academic session, my soldier Uncle returned to make a demand for his daughter to either be promoted ‘On Trial’ or his other child (Wasiu) be made to repeat Primary One again. Commotion ensued when the headmistress kicked against the request and she immediately called the like of Mr Babalola, Mrs Jegede, Mrs Sadare (not a relation at all), Mrs Ajayi, Mrs Abolade, Miss Hassan and others to come around… My Uncle didn’t wait for their convergence before leaving the woman’s office on that day.

 

To be continued…

 

Wasiu Olawale Sadare, Journalist and Media Consultant writes from Ibadan, Oyo state