The Surprise
My bunkmate, Jomiloju, interchanged “Jailer” for Senior Charity’s name, as she hummed the chorus of Asa’s Jailer. Senior Charity’s duty for her that Friday afternoon was to update all her class notebooks with her “fine handwriting”. Senior Charity never completed her notes till they were due for submission and grading.
Jomiloju told me Senior Charity would fail her WAEC exams.
“She will be unable to write anything in the booklets. She has become so used to giving juniors her notes to update, she doesn’t know anything. Yet, she will be forming fine girl for the boys in her class.”
I told Jomiloju that her punishment was an easy one. After all, she wrote fast and would complete the task in no time. I had to spend my siesta time sneaking out of the room every half hour, stealthily avoiding the dormitory prefects on patrol, to check that Senior Rolake’s clothes had not been pilfered from the lines, lest she punish me even more for the loss. I had washed all her dirty clothes, sweating intensely under the hot sun, including all the pairs of her famously stinky socks.
Senior Charity barged into our room.
“Where is that girl? Where is that useless junior? Jomiloju! Jomiloju! Come out here now!”
“Where is the bucket of water I asked you to fetch?”
“Senior Charity, my hand is paining me. I can’t carry anything. I have been writing the notes you gave me. I’ve not rested since we left class. I’ve not even fetched my own water.”
I cringed at the thought of what could happen to Jomiloju. She was “sparking” for Senior Charity, retaliating.
“How dare you talk back to me from your bed? Would you come down right this minute? I’m going to count to five. If you’re not on your knees when I’m through, you will be in soup.”
Senior Charity had slowly counted, in her mercy, but Jomiloju was bent on wearing her patience thin. Livid, Senior Charity charged towards our bunk bed and dragged Jomiloju down.
Before we knew anything else, Jomiloju began to gasp. I knew she suffered asthmatic attacks, from time to time, but this was unlike anything we had ever seen. I rushed to her locker for her inhaler.
“Clear the way! We are taking her to the sickbay immediately! When I return, I will address this mess.” Our house mistress had gotten wind of the ruckus. She manoeuvred her large frame through the crowd that had gathered in our room.
By Sunday, Jomiloju’s mother, a banker, had flown in from Abuja. She was going to take Jomiloju home, to be seen by their family physician. I walked Jomiloju to our school gate, carrying her bag with me. I was going to miss her and her sharper-than-a-razor mouth. We had already started calling her “Jomiloju Sparker”.
“Ihuoma, please help me watch over my locker. Don’t listen to Mary when she asks to borrow my bar soap, you hear? She will not return it till it is flat, and then she will start begging you to not be offended.” She managed to say, her voice barely audible.
“And as for Senior Charity, I have a surprise for her.”
“Don’t tell me you want to report her to your Mummy o. She is already in big soup in the dormitory. Mistress Hannah has already given her a week-long punishment.”
“No, I won’t report her. My surprise is better than that,” she replied, grinning as we bade our goodbyes.
On Monday morning, on my way to the assembly ground, Senior Charity caught up with me. She looked dishevelled.
“Ihuoma, I learned you’re Jomiloju’s bunkmate. She was with all my notebooks. I am to submit all of them today, for grading. Did she leave them with you before going home?”
Because I was too shocked to reply her, I nodded a “no”, shaking my head side to side, as I bolted to join my class line. In my mind, Asa’s Jailer replayed.
“If you’re walking in the market place, don’t throw stones; even if you do, you just might hit one of your own.”
