*By Dapo Thomas*
Emmanuel Abiodun Thomas aka Senior was a lively strict father. He wanted the best for his children like any other parents but his method of going about this was a major challenge. He was not decisive on what approach to use. He wanted to be friendly, and at the same time, he wanted to appear tough. This may not seem to be a problem but it was. Any disciplinary strategy whose objective is not clearly defined to the ultimate recipient is likely to end in a somersault. This was what happened to me and my siblings in the house of Senior. Sometimes, Senior would beat us with a disturbing ire for a minor offence that merely required a scolding. When a parent fails to subsidize passion in moments of anger, such an action can trigger a tension which will now require the invocation of a prayer. The general perception all of us, his children, had about him was that he was dispassionately harsh . This was a plus for him as a polygamist. My father had the time to punish exuberance and reprimand malfeasance but he was handicapped to celebrate accomplishments or jubilate in moments of crucial attainments. This was a minus for him as a polygamist. In order not to be accused of selective ecstasy and success mismanagement, a polygamist prefers to suppress his joy rather than indulge in wild jubilation over the achievements of any of his children. This is a wise strategy for longevity in a cacophonic matrimony but a great disincentive to confidence in a competitive communal plurality.
My GCE examinations were written in the same year (1978) government set up the Sogbetun Tribunal. That year, WAEC was determined to restore its image which had been tarnished by the exam leaks of May/June 1978. Consequently, not only did it put tough measures in place during the November/December GCE, there was mass failure. Most of the people we wrote the exams together failed woefully. Some of them were my friends in the neighborhood and children of Senior’s friends. I didn’t know how Senior got to know that I wrote the exams because I didn’t collect a dime from him. I sourced for the funds outside his domestic authority. Most of his friends were congratulating him because they heard that I “cleared” all my six papers. In return, he was happy to receive the accolades, shaking hands with everybody in the neighborhood and on the streets.
Those who didn’t know about it, Senior supplied them the information. He was enjoying the glamour of a local celeb’s father. The one who wrote the exams was at home picking stone rice and running errands for sundry elders in the community. The one collecting the accolades on his behalf did not even think of gifting the one that wrote the exams a special gift in appreciation of the “outstanding” performance as an inspiration for greater exploits in the forthcoming 1979 WASCE.
As far as Senior was concerned, going by his attitude and behavior after the release of my GCE result, his first son was ready for marriage. I knew he was shopping for a wife for me. I started seeing signs that he was trying to “match-make” me with some of his friends’ daughters.
Or how could one explain a situation where I was being sent to the Browns and the Salawes to collect ice blocks at 12 midnight? Let me do some explaining here. My house was the permanent “headquarters” of Monday Club, a social forum that started in Lagos Island but continued to flourish when most of the members were relocated to “New Lagos” (Surulere) in 1956. On getting to Surulere, my house became their “Faaji Base” .
So, every Monday night, starting from 8pm, they would start arriving one after the other. There was pepper soup for their consumption and assorted drinks to “wash down” the concoction. Girlfriends were not allowed by the Club but friends who were ladies were permitted to visit the Club. They were all men except for Mrs Lawanson, a perfect gentle(wo)man who walked and talked with measured respectability and majestic maturity. Mrs Joke Brown was not a member but she accompanied her husband, Boye Brown to the Club once in a while. She was also a woman of substantial anointing who fancied simple drinks with no alcoholic contents even if it was 0.1 percent. She was not the kind of woman who tolerated Epicurean extravaganza. She was a churchy personage soaked in celestial grace and divine mercy. On several occasions when we would have exhausted the ice blocks in our house for those who loved having their Hennessy or Remy Martin on the rocks, people like Victor Odofin-Bello, Oba Bayo Adejumo and Idowu Ladipo, we would have to go and source for more ice blocks from the Browns at Oyerokun street and the Salawes at Olumegbon Street. The Browns had three beautiful daughters, Aina, Bunmi and Kehinde. Aina was my mate, maybe I am one or two years older. She was the one being arranged for me by our parents and we played along quite naturally because there was mutuality of affection and complementary familiarity between the two of us. I was 18, she probably was 16 but despite that, we both knew there was a kind of “kiddish” chemistry which we exploited on “free occasions” to practice titration and catalyst in our own elementary way . Whenever I was asked to go and collect ice blocks from the Browns, I was always animated because it was an opportunity for me to see Aina and “express the substance of my intimacy”. I won’t go any further. My suspicion about parental arrangement was borne out of the periodic willingness of Aina’s mum to vanish into her room as soon as I arrived. I was always wondering why she could not stay in the sitting room for the five or ten minutes I would spend to collect the ice blocks. Why was she acting as if she knew I had come for something else ? I knew it was a deliberate and strategic withdrawal. As a mother, she should know that no boy, not an 18 year-old boy for that matter, would waste such golden opportunity of being alone with the “object of his mission” and just collect ice blocks and leave. No matter how short, a meeting of two crushes with mutual vibes, without a supervisor, is the best time for “therapeutic massaging” and “emotional vibrations” .
As for those waiting for the ice blocks in my house, LORD have mercy!! On few occasions, Senior would squeeze my ears muttering “kilode to pe” meaning “why are you late” as if he was not an accessory to the script of love. Despite the blank cheque given to me in spatial abundance, I refused to do any “ere iya ati baba” , my favourite childhood drama, by cautioning myself not to cosset in any salacious gymnastics knowing the apparent implications it would have on our academic ambitions. Aina was doing her A levels while I was still in form four.
The other family I suspected to be contemplating match-making arrangement with Senior were the Salawes. Mr Salawe was extremely nice to me. His counselling was of tremendous help to me in life. The Salawes are a noble family from Lagos . If I was not sent to the Browns for ice blocks, I would be sent to the Salawes. The interesting thing was that I had two other brothers who could easily be sent this kind of errand, so, why me? I was just a month older than Kunle aka One Way, my immediate younger brother, yet Senior would not send him to Olumegbon Street which is just a few metres away from our house. The Salawes had two older daughters, Titi and Bola. Titi was older than me while Bola was my age mate. Interestingly too, there was a very strong chemistry between the two of us . I just couldn’t explain where the chemistry was coming from despite the fact that I was a complete gentle boy well respected and adored in the community for his seriousness and academic commitment. I began to experience tremendous adoration especially after my GCE result. The information even got to them at Paddington that Dapo Thomas passed six papers in form four. I hated to be arrogant but fame raised my shoulders to the level of my ears and people started saying “mo nga apa” meaning I was becoming imperious. Anyway, Bola and I got on so well as friends with crushing potential and admirable teasers. The situation in the Salawe’s house was different from the Browns. Alhaja, Bola’s mum, would never leave the sitting room for us.
She would sit in the living room for as long as I was around pretending to be watching television and yet, her head would be moving left and right watching every move we were making to ensure there was no hanky-panky of any kind. I was so frustrated that at a point I almost inquired from Senior if Alhaja Salawe was not part of the whole “arrangee”. However, Bola was a good girl. She was kind enough to escort me to Love Garden on my way home, before going back to her house. The Love Garden , which is at the back of the Salawes, was a beauty to behold in the 70s. I have used the Love Garden as a location of escort not as a venue for any titration. That was all. I don’t like being misquoted.
I decided to face my studies and stop developing “chemistry” around the neighborhood as if I was an apprentice to Mr John Lambert, the author of a popular Chemistry book. But Mr Abioye wouldn’t let me be even though we were now in form five. He still wanted to be flogging us like nursery school children. For both Nigeria and I, the year 1979 was a decisive year.
Nigeria needed a civilian leadership to take over from the military administration of Olusegun Obssanjo while I needed just a credit in English to guarantee my university admission. In order of arrangements, mine would come first in the month of May while the election was slated for August 11, 1979. We were in the class when Mr Abioye entered with his cane, as usual. By the way, he was the only teacher who used to come to form five classes with cane. Notwithstanding, nobody was afraid of him again.
Though the announcement was not made in the assembly, we heard from some friendly teachers that teachers had been instructed by the Principal during a staff meeting not to whip students in the senior classes, that is, forms four and five. This was sequel to an incident when one of the senior students called Akodu slapped a teacher in the class. Buoyed by this information and directive, I was ready for Mr Abioye in case he made any attempt to scourge me again. In a predictable manner, he started writing the lecture notes on the blackboard immediately he entered the class. After about twenty minutes of writing the notes, he noticed that I was the only one in the class that was not writing. My sitting mate from form one, Bola Adeniregun, had begged me to write the notes and avoid trouble with Mr Abioye but I refused. Then he bellowed: “Dapo Thomas why are you not writing the notes?”
I was not diplomatic and respectful at all in my reply: “I am not writing Sir because I have”Modern Biology ” at home”. He got the message straightaway. “Stand up right now and follow me to the office of the Vice Principal”, he commanded. I did. I told the VP that the notes he gives us in the class are already in my Modern Biology textbook word for word. The Vice Principal, giving her decision on the matter, simply said: “Mr Abioye, why are you stressing yourself? Is he not the one that will suffer the consequence of his action. Please, go and continue to teach other serious students in the class.” Before the Vice Principal could say “leave my office “, I was out already. The way I sauntered into the class majestically, my classmates knew it went my way. I went back to my seat and he walked back to the class and continued writing on the board. The evidence was there that he was not comfortable with the decision. In five minutes, he had to clean the board upto four times.
It was obvious he didn’t know what to say. Suddenly, he turned around again and cursed me: “Dapo Thomas, you will never pass Biology in your WAEC.” I was almost tempted to tell him that I didn’t need it but that would be complimenting him. I stood up and said: “Sir, by the grace of GOD, I will pass Biology with distinction.” He sent me out of the class and I went out immediately to include Biology in the subjects I must pass with distinction.
