Boarding School Chronicles II: The Trials of a Junior Student in Nigeria

Share

Tweet

Share

Share

Email

Comments

Boarding school was fun for me once I settled in and adjusted to the life. I left home for the boarding house a few days after I got my haircut. Like many JSS 1 students, I cried the famous “I want to go home” line. Everything seemed wrong with the place. This bathing with cold water business just wasn’t for me at all. Some suggested washing your legs first to get your body used to the temperature of the water. Other brave souls poured a bowl of cold water over their heads and hurriedly sponged their bodies to try and warm themselves up. I often imagined that one day I would turn to ice with a bowl of water in my right hand.

One thing I hated more than the cold water was water scarcity – going everywhere around the school in search of water while senior students waited at the entrance of our dormitory with their phony smiles asking for a bowl of water. By the time they were done with your bucket, it was half empty. They saw you coming before you saw them, so it was pretty difficult for one to turn back or run.

The school principal and housemistresses frowned at bullying, but I could understand the occasional errand to buy snacks at the Tuckshop, fetch water from the tap, or carry a bucket of water to a senior’s room. These were 10-minute errands, very different from those errands or punishments that would leave one invoking curses on a senior student.

I still remember her – Gbad; her last name was probably Gbadamosi or Gbadebo. With her rat-like hair, she wore her meanness proudly like a badge of honour. She was the real MVP, wickedness on steroids. Obi akpo. One time, she made junior students crawl past the boys’ dormitory for being rude to her, while the boys hurled insults and curses at her. She was 16 and mad. These mean senior students made things really tough for their younger siblings when they left school. They quickly learned humility once their older siblings were writing their final exams because it was going to be a long rough road ahead.

There was the Arodan textbook – senior students would send junior students to their friends in a roundabout fashion asking for a non-existent textbook. So annoyingggg.

Oh, and how can I ever forget crazy Senior F with her raspy voice and weird punishments? She once woke us up at 2 am to search for her missing toothbrush. We assembled in the quadrangle because she wanted to check who stole her toothbrush. Girls in nightwear, struggling to stay awake, toothbrushes in hand. Who wants to use your toothbrush, Senior F? Seriously??? She found it later – behind her locker. It had fallen after she brushed her teeth the night before. No apologies, nothing. You would then wonder why she woke up at 2 am looking for her toothbrush in the first place. Anytime she misplaced her things, she would accuse us of stealing them. We would spend hours searching for things that were probably behind her wardrobe, in her bag, or under her hairnet. She was a real nut job.

These seniors weren’t all crazy, though. There were these really nice twin sisters. One said I always smiled (oh well, as long as you weren’t Gbad or crazy Senior F, I’m cool). I remember the first day one of them sent me to buy five bottles of Gold Spot and five packets of Okin biscuits. I didn’t know four and a half bottles of Gold Spot would fill the 1.5L bottle she gave me, and the seller wouldn’t let me take the half bottle out of the Tuckshop. So, I drank it and told her when she asked. She even gave me one of the biscuits “for telling the truth.”

There were also junior students you dared not punish. They would stand when their mates were kneeling, fold their arms defiantly across their chests, and dare you to do your worst. I avoided them like a plague. They had no qualms humiliating you in front of their peers. I wasn’t a rude junior student; heck, it was stressful having all the seniors dislike you anyway.

I remember one time, a few students came back to get their results. Apparently, their dormitories were in a mess when they graduated, and their house mistresses insisted they cut portions of grass before their results were released. As the portions were right next to our classroom, it sure felt good walking up to them and poking fun at them. We felt so powerful in our plaited hair and green skirts, looking down on them in their nice hair and nice jeans. They couldn’t even look at us; they were so powerless for people who were mini gods just a week ago.

Even though we took solace in the knowledge that we would wield power as senior students, by the time I became a senior student, there was better water supply, and senior students could get into trouble if they as much as said something to a junior student that upset her. The authorities said we could do our chores ourselves; sending junior students on errands was considered bullying. I didn’t care much for junior students really – too much drama.