I went back home to Senior with mixed feelings. I didn’t want to leave Compro. That school was like home to most of us the students with Baba Ibikunle as our overall daddy. We lived like one big family. The bonding was magical. The relationship was mystical. The friendship was fervid. The love was palpable. Compro was a safe haven for some of us who were rascally. I was happy to meet a guy called Opere. He was just like me. He cultivated trouble at geometric frequency. When I first saw him and heard the things he had done since he got to that school in 1974 (he did both his “O” and “A” levels in Compro), I thought they were lying against him. There was nothing about his personality to suggest rascality. There was no correlation between his look and his vices. He looked too gentle to be troublesome. People said that about me too. The vibes between the two of us were, unbelievably, electrical. The two of us formed a formidable partnership in elementary felonies which only a man like S.A Ibikunle could condone. That both of us survived in that school without being expelled by the school authorities was not because we were smart or feared. Rather, it was a testament to Baba Ibikunle’s fatherly disposition towards us, his exceptional maturity in managing errant youth and his outstanding experience in dealing with juvenile delinquents like us. In retrospect, I believe that the Principal decided to act and behave like a father to all of us in that school. No wonder his common phrase whenever he wanted to talk about the responsibility of a teacher to his students was “in loco parentis” (acting in place of parents).
It was amazing that despite all my iniquities and misdemeanours, the Principal never bothered to document them. I started wondering what kind of school head or Principal would banish a student from school without giving him a formal letter to his parents stating his offence. No official letter was issued to me during my banishment. There was also a student who even told him to his face that as an HSC student who only signed a two-year contract with the school, the Principal could only discipline him but couldn’t stop him from writing his final year exams. The student, fondly called TeeJay, completed his two years without a single letter of reprimand from the Principal for his infuriating outburst. Any Principal who could successfully oversee the peaceful exit of 4040, Opere, TJ and Jamba from the school deserved an award for juvenile management. It was this kind of indulgence that didn’t want me to go back home because I knew that Senior would never take one-tenth of the malfeasance that Baba Ibikunle tolerated from me. With Senior, there was no warning for felony nor was there anything like first offender. There was nothing about Senior that was unpredictable when it came to offence or crime. The moment you did anything wrong, your punishment was automatic. Senior was not amenable to the legalese of mitigation. Even little things that should ordinarily attract scolding could provoke whipping. There was no small offence with Senior. A sin was a sin.
For instance, there was a day I slapped our TV set when the images appearing in the TV were not standing properly. They were all walking like people who were physically challenged. This was something every home was doing to reset the brains of their TV sets. But in my own case, I received three dirty slaps for slapping the TV three times. I couldn’t understand the logic behind that instant retaliation on behalf of an inanimate object that was distorting the pictures of innocent people. Throughout that day I didn’t know what I did wrong in trying to reset the brain box of a TV with three corrective slaps. The second offence was a few days after the first. There was no light in the house. So, I decided to check if there was light in another phase by climbing a long stool. It was a double-phase meter. I was about removing the fuse when the staff bus dropped Senior in front of the house. Looking at his face alone conveyed a clear message: “Mo ti wo gau” meaning: “I am in trouble”. The incident happened around 7 pm. Till about 11 pm that it was time to sleep, I was just “roaming about” the house like an Abiku all because I was avoiding contact with Senior. Trust Senior, he pretended as if he did not have any plan to flog me for my “electrical misadventure”. From 11 pm when I sneaked into our room to go and sleep till around 1 am when I finally slept off, I was only sleeping with one eye like someone afflicted with monocular disorder. Despite all my efforts, Senior still woke me up with his horsewhip at 3 am. Initially, I thought I was dreaming until I started hearing: “Níjó wo lo di NEPA to nfi meter sere” meaning “When did you become a NEPA staff that you were playing with the meter?” Without being hyperbolic, I saw CHRIST in my moments of momentary transition. It was a good thing Senior was not the Principal of Compro otherwise 4040, Opere, TJ and Jamba would have seen the apparitions of all the Saints in heaven before leaving Compro. You can imagine. For touching a fuse I saw JESUS. Who would I have seen if I had attempted to fiddle with the meter? In one week of returning home, I had been slapped and whipped. Yet, for the two years I was in Compro, no teacher slapped me, no Principal whipped me. “Senior” had no respect for seniority at all. At 21, he was still beating me in the presence of my younger siblings. I enjoyed no single privilege as the eldest son. If not that I was pursuing education, I probably would have had one or two children at that age. I knew that Sidi Alabi, my classmate in Primary school, gave birth to her first child, Nurata at the age of 16/17 and the guy who impregnated her was our age mate. So, supposing I was a father, could Senior beat me in the presence of my children for trying to change an ordinary fuse? Would they not have protested against him? I almost regretted not being a father when this incident happened, even if it was just for protection.
Children have a way of charging at their parents’ attackers not for anything else but to bite their legs. At least they would help me to bite Senior’s legs so that next time he would not beat their daddy again. What my children could do, my siblings did not do. As the saying goes: “blood is thicker than water”.
This was why I decided to leave his house when he attempted to beat me the third time for another minor offence. He complained that I did not arrange chairs for members of the Monday Club who would be arriving for their weekly meeting in the next hour. I protested that at 21, I shouldn’t be doing that again when my three younger brothers were at home. Kunle, Gboyega and Niyi were not small boys. Besides, I had instructed them to do it but they were taking their time. My explanation did not impress him. As far as Senior was concerned, that kind of protest was “domestic treason”. In the house of Senior, the father was an absolute ruler whose authority must not be questioned no matter how unjust it was. He forgot that I didn’t start my life in his house. I spent the first 14 years of my life with my liberal and tolerant great-grandmother, Iya Ibadan, who allowed me to express myself the way I wanted. Out of the 7 years I had spent in Senior’s house, two were spent in a boarding school with American orientation where I was also allowed to be myself. It was only natural that in a situation like this, I should be pampered with some degree of discretion to manifest dissension. If at 21, an age when I was preparing for my university education, I was still constricted to ancient rules and traditions, what then was the purpose of my enlightenment and my education? During my HSC, I had read enough History and Literature books to make me know that protesting against tradition or convention does not necessarily translate to impertinence. The idea of the unquestionability of the actions of one’s father was becoming alien to modernity. Unfortunately for Senior, most of his brothers who were trained by the same father, were living in the same neighborhood with us and we saw how they were relating with their own children. They were Ọlálékan Thomas, Ladipo Thomas, Gbadebo Thomas, and Bamidele Thomas. All these people were so friendly that we all dotted around them with magnetic affection. In fact, it was one of them who gave me accommodation when Senior refused to allow me back into his house despite his brother’s intervention and pleading. That was how I moved to the house of Mr Ọlálékan Thomas, the father of Oloyede, Dupe, Tunde (my academic partner) and Kofo Thomas.
I loved that house. I was free to sleep and wake up anytime. In Senior’s house, you must wake up at 4 am if Senior was on the morning shift. It was a taboo to sleep till 6 am in Senior’s house regardless of his shift status. In my new house, I had no regular chores except washing Brother Oloyede’s car. The man was nice to me. So, washing his car was the least I could do to appreciate his gesture. In addition, washing his car gave me the opportunity to learn driving. I could bring my friends who were girls to the house and into the room without any “monitoring spirit”. I was sharing a room with my cousin, Tunde but most of the time, he was in school. He was already reading Law at the University of Ife. I was a very disciplined “tenant”. I didn’t misuse the privilege accorded me nor did I do any “nonsense” on the bed. I remained focused. I was even afraid to do anything that would truncate my ambition to go to the University. I was behaving well in my new house until something happened that almost caused my ejection from the house.
On Sunday 23 August 1981, during service, it was announced that the elders of the Church namely Mr Haastrup, Mr P.B Ojo, Mr Adegbore, Mr S.B Awopeju, Mr Ogunde would want to meet with the Church Organist, Bro. Dapo Thomas and members of the Choir. At the meeting, a lot of allegations were levelled against me. The most ridiculous ones were: (1) I used to punish all latecomers without exempting the elders (2) I used to ask everyone to stand up during practice while harmonizing the various parts-treble (suprano), alto, tenor and bass. When I was asked to respond, I realized that I would burst into tears if I were to say anything. I knew how much energy and time I had invested in the Choir since I joined the church in 1974 and since I became the church organist. Rather than give them the pleasure of seeing me in tears, I only told them that I was quitting the position of church organist with immediate effect. It was so obvious that I was very angry. I walked out on them without reverencing their status as church elders. They did not like it. I wish they had stopped there. Two days after the meeting, they wrote me a provocative letter and asked me to reply within 24 hours.
Unfortunately for them, I was no longer under Senior’s authority. That would have prevented me from replying them the way I did. I wrote them back. It was a ten-page verbiage which they copied to all my family members to see how a small boy in their family had insulted “church elders”. When my Uncle who gave me accommodation received his own copy, it was read to everybody in the house after morning devotion. My cousin, Oloyede, the firstborn of the house, told his father that there was nothing wrong in the letter. That was the end of the matter. I stopped playing organ in the church and for the church. Actually, I didn’t abuse or insult them. I only accused them of gerontocratic harassment and episcopal intimidation. I also called their attention to the fact that discipline is the hallmark of a good choir and so, I was not well disposed to managing a choir that would not subject itself to authority. I made them realize that selective discipline was counterproductive to corporate authority and collective fellowship. I would say that 23 August 1981 was my last moment as the organist of African Church Bethel (Biney’s Memorial), Kadiri Street, Surulere.
Another weird incident happened to me in my new home on Monday, 31 August 1981, precisely one week after the organ incident. My cousin, Oloyede, the one who had been my pillar in the house, raised an alarm that someone had sneaked into his room to steal his money while he was having his bathe. According to him, he left the money on the bed before going to the bathroom and by the time he came back, the money had reduced substantially. As at the time the incident occurred, only four of us were in the house- his mother, himself, his sister, Kafilat (Kaffy) and I. Kaffy was not Oloyede’s paternal sister but they were born by the same mother. Others had gone to work. There was a general consensus to use any method to look for who took the money. This was after Kaffy and I had denied taking the money. In short, we were the two suspects. It would be ludicrous to treat the mother of the house as a suspect in the theft of her son’s money. From the blue, someone came up with the idea of using the Bible to discover the “thief”.
By this time, some workers working in the compound had joined the search team. A Bible was fetched. I had heard about this method before but I had not seen it in practice. The Bible was suspended on a thick thread. Two people held it at the edges. They had told us how it worked. The two people holding the Bible would hold it so firmly to ensure it was not dangling before the inquisition was made. The inquisition was like this: “If it was “A” that took the money, you this Bible should swing. But if it was not “A”, do not dangle”. Then, they called Kaffy’s name. Nothing happened. The Bible stood still. When it was my turn, they called my name and the Bible swung to the left and to the right shockingly and dramatically. It was a tragic joke to me initially not until it was repeated more than three times with the same result recurring. Beyond any doubt, there was no manipulation of the process. I was there. I monitored everything. The Bible swung each time it was my turn but stood still when it was Kaffy’s turn. Except there was a mystery behind it which was beyond human comprehension, this mechanical application of the Bible was devoid of any manipulation. However, the irony here was that it worked against an innocent person because I knew I didn’t take the money. I remained calm in the midst of disbelief. My great-grandmother had told me to always remain unshaken even when my innocence was conflicted.
Her advice to me when the Emirawon episode happened was: “Whenever you are entangled in any moral crisis, always let your conscience be the ultimate arbiter of your innocence”. My only worry during this episode was the conspiratorial involvement of the Holy Book in authenticating what I knew to be an outrageous accusation against me. This kind of unholy alliance was sufficient enough to query the power of discernment of those managing the heavens gates where judgement is passed on the righteous and the wicked.
No doubt I was troubled but that same day, I received a cheering news that our results had been released by WAEC. On Wednesday, 2 September, I travelled to Ayetoro to go and check my result. My journey to Ayetoro was a helluva. To be continued
