Mr A. B. Somefun aka “Baba Somefun” was a History teacher of great renown in Eko Boys High School. He was a lively teacher. Little wonder students broke his last name into two- “Some fun” – to amplify his delight for entertainment. He was an elderly man of enviable pedigree and disciplined sociology. As the head teacher, there was no doubt that he was in control of his constituency. All the teachers held him in great reverence without diminishing their individual egos. Likewise, most students loved him and his comportment. He exhibited precisely the comportment expected of a dignified tutor. He understood students and the psychology of all their antics. He was one teacher that would beat you with pleasurable amusement. He knew how to manage authority without declining into depravity. Despite his frame, which was a signature trait, he was never a teacher that would cause his students any untold fret. He was a teacher of dramatic appreciation. He loved drama. My first big word in English for flogging was courtesy Mr Somefun. He called it “flagellation.” Even if he was going to give you only two strokes of the cane, the drama he would create around it would make you to enjoy the flagellation. He made students “to feel at home” while being flogged for minor offences and any other miscellaneous delinquency. Most times, he did his flogging at the assembly just to give it some elements of a skit. No student, obedient or disobedient, wanted to miss any assembly conducted by Baba Somefun. I remember an incident during our regular assembly, where he announced the names of some students who had committed an offence and ended it with this humorous appeal: “Therefore, the following students…… should please come out in the name of GOD for proper flagellation “. Then, there was a spontaneous eruption of laughter by the students including those who were going for the flagellation. The way Baba spoke his English would amuse even the British. Baba Somefun was too conservative to feign phonetics but was always very entertaining with his syllabic “isms”.
As a history teacher, Baba Somefun would teach you history and you would think he was an eyewitness. If I ever thought my interest in History was an infatuation, Baba Somefun’s pedagogy convinced me it was a romantic affection. He brought history to the doorstep of my heart and took away the stories hibernating in my mind. He taught us history and the substance of the past without reclining into any theoretical construct to garnish the facts. His treatment of the Mandinka empire of Samori Toure (1870-98) and the apogee of Creole civilization (1850-1898) was very delicious and sizzling. Nobody forgets easily the taste of good food. Baba Somefun was a good cook of History. When he taught us the Sokoto Jihad of 1804, we showed our appreciation for a brilliant lecture by clapping for a man of prodigious stature. His favorite book was: “The Growth of African Civilization; the Revolutionary Years West Africa Since 1800” by J. B Webster, A.A. Boahen and H.O. Idowu. You would never find any similarity between his class notes and the texts in any of the History books. Baba Somefun taught History as if it was the only subject that mattered in life. He was a teacher, not only of History but of life.
It was, therefore, a great honour for me to be called out in the assembly by Baba Somefun as the best student in History in our mock examinations, March 1979. That I was good in History was only known to my friends and my classmates. But with this public announcement and the attendant publicity, Baba Somefun had made it known to the whole community. “In all my years of teaching,” he said, “no student had ever scored 68 in my subject. I decided to celebrate him because his English was stupendously attractive. He wrote all the essays in flowery English without exaggerating the facts. In history, the facts and details are very important but your vehicle of presentation must be flawless. Dapo Thomas has made me proud as a teacher. Please clap for him.” Like it normally happens when one’s citation is being read in public with you being the cynosure of all eyes, my eyes were teary. That was the first time in my life that I would be called out in the school assembly for honour. The first time I was called out in the assembly was in primary one when I was called to come and dance to the song “Olodo Rabata…..” in front of the crowd. Though it earned me my first ” On trial promotion”, what was the value of a promotion that came with an irreparable devaluation of my humanity? If the headmaster intended to make it look like an inspiration, he got it completely wrong because it was an outright humiliation. Singing “Olodo Rabata” for a 7-year-old in a school assembly was a counterproductive employment of a deficient strategy to address the negative energy in a child with nil prodigy. The failure of most parents and teachers to get it right with their kids could be attributed to the adoption of defective plan of action. In their bid for rapid mental development in their kids, they resort to all manner of quick fixes as if brain reset does not have its own routine.
The second time was in my first Secondary school, Benevolent High School, Yaba, when the Principal, Mr Alake was preparing my letter of expulsion for fighting in the street with another student not knowing that the boy I was trying to protect from Olumuyiwa Power was the son of his own fashion designer. By the way, why must expulsion be the punitive consequence of “two fighting” knowing that boys at that age are charged with a restless spirit that touches on their ego? Our school administrators owe the children a lot of explaining in circumstances such as these instead of descending on them with heavy punitive measures that can have anticlimactic effects on the objective of education. No doubt, some students are hardened offenders, and an application of rehab therapy is better than increasing the number of street marauders.
The same week that I was honoured by Baba Somefun at the assembly, a very funny episode happened in my class to bring my ecstasy to a climax. Mr Abioye entered 5E (my class) clutching our A3 (11.7×16.5) drawing books which we used for our mock Biology practicals. For the first time, he smiled in my class. He hated my class because he thought our lackadaisical attitude to his subject was informed by the fact that we were in Arts class. But this time, he surprised us. He spoke in a patronizing manner: “I have said it before that only those who are serious can pass Biology because it is a very interesting subject that requires utmost diligence and sobriety. So, those who think that they are too big to write class notes will definitely meet their Waterloo.” It was a direct attack on me but I maintained my calm. I had vowed that I won’t allow him to ruin my joy for me. With what happened at the assembly three days before, I knew my plan for WASCE was unassailable. I was focused. I had finally decided to write only four papers in my WASCE namely English Language, Biology, Bible Knowledge and Literature in English. I was undecided on what to do with History despite Baba Somefun ‘s eulogy. I had History already in my GCE, so there was no room for distraction. I decided to write Bible Knowledge and Literature because I wanted to have distinctions in them. Mr Abioye continued: “You can see me smiling today. It is because one of you has made me proud by scoring the highest marks in both the practicals and the theory in all the five arms of class 5.” This was a direct reference to his favourite student in the class, Olusiji Boledeoku. Though he was yet to distribute our papers, most of us knew it was either Boledeoku or Lukmon Adedimeji he was referring to. They were fantastic students in all subjects. Really, class 5E was a hot class full of egg-heads with steaming knowledge from above.
After his homily, Mr Abioye started sharing the papers, both the practicals and the theory/objective. As he was calling our numbers, we would come out to collect our papers. He was calling numbers because the school told us not to write our names on our answer sheets. The school authority wanted us to get used to our WASCE numbers. He continued with the sharing until he got to the last paper which he had kept aside for special mention and accolades. He praised the owner of the paper to high heavens. Finally, he called the number 15204272. I was seated at the back. As he called the number, I stood up with overwhelmed triumphalism for in the presence of my enemy my cup runneth over. I was full of tears but I managed to be humble in vindication. I was halfway to the front to collect my papers from him when he asked me to stop. I did. He repeated the number, and I answered again. As I was about to move to the front, he flung the papers at me with parochial animosity and irrational childishness before storming out of the class with self-imposed vexation. As for WASCE, I was good to go.
To be continued
