The Boarding School Experience
Part 1.
An incredibly bright young lady, practically whizzing her way through Mercyland International Primary School in Abeokuta, Ogun State, it wasn’t a surprise I had started secondary school at the tender age of 9. I was incredibly proud of myself as I had worked hard and was excited to start the next phase of my academic success at an all-girl’s boarding school in Sagamu.
What laid in wait for me was an experience doubtlessly different to the paradisiacal experience I had imagined for myself. It was an experience marred by Pain, an already familiar friend with whom I thought I had already developed an understanding, married with Neglect to metamorphose into Suffering. Failure was the only logical outcome of such a marriage and for the first time, a 9 year old, high-achieving student encountered the mother of Self-Doubt, Despair and Defeat. Together these agents of confusion co-wrote this chapter of my life which I now title “Childhood Depression.”
I first felt the pang of Neglect on my first day of boarding school. My eldest brother would be the one dropping me off on my big day — a now reoccurring theme in my life.
On arrival, I felt euphoria with a tint of fear as I observed what would become my new home for the next year. Euphoria was heightened by my brother’s introduction of me to the young woman who would become my school mother. A — as Nigerians would call it — “fair-skinned” girl, most likely Igbo. She was a senior girl, SS2* and she looked no older than 18. My brother and her had come to an arrangement regarding my supervision during my tenure at the boarding school.
After picking up all of my relevant items and escorting me to the grounds where all the JS1-JS3* girls stayed, my brother and my school mother waved goodbye to me, leaving me to begin life as a 9 year old, boarding school girl. In our grounds, the girls were separated by houses, all color-coded. I was in Yellow-House.
During out-of-class hours, we wore plaid dresses cut at the knee which fitted like boxes around our bodies. Our hair were shaved to approximately level 1.5. We were prohibited from using make up or exhibiting any form of beauty. We were to look as plain as possible. Contrarily, the senior girls in classes SS1 upwards could do whatever they pleased. Most rocked long plaid dressed with thigh high slits, long corn-rows, dolled-up faces and every other item considered contraband for us junior girls.
I shared a room with around 10 other girls, girls who I was terrified of introducing myself to so I sat on my bunk bed, waiting for someone to talk to me. I laid down thinking of my beloved younger sister and how I really missed her, my eldest brother and my male cousins. I cried thinking about how they’d soon be enjoying a lovely dinner prepared by my mother upon her arrival from work. I cried thinking of the warmth, comfort and protection I felt snuggled up with my younger sister between our parents. I cried because I missed home.
I felt a tap on my leg and looked down to see a slightly older woman smiling at me. She introduced herself as the room supervisor and she was here to help me with anything I needed. After a few minutes of talking and laughter, I felt comfortable and began opening up more, I even smiled at the other girls in the room. On seeing I’d become comfortable with her, she asked me for a quick favor; to get her this book from another supervisor in the blue house. I being excited to have befriended the supervisor gladly obliged.
I strolled over to the Blue-House to find the supervisor she had told me about. A tall, dark young lady with teeth whiter than I’d ever seen. I respectfully asked her if I could pick up the book she had loaned my supervisor, to which she responded she had given it to another supervisor in the Red-House. I took another stroll to the Red-House to find the so-called supervisor and retrieve this so-called book. A short, plump young woman with an uncanny resemblance to a lion walked up to me, introducing herself as the supervisor. Again, I politely requested the book and similarly to the supervisor from the blue-house, she told me she had given it to someone else; the supervisor in the Green-House.
Unbeknownst to me, I had been sent on a Fool’s Errand. It was a game the supervisors played to “school” the new girls. They’d pick out the most vulnerable looking girl of the new bunch, befriend her and send her walking up and down the grounds till she had visited every single house — Red, Green, Yellow, Purple, Blue, Orange and Pink — and returned to hers. Upon the return of the unfortunate victim to her dorm, she would be mocked by her supervisor and her peers.
Upon my return to the room, I was mocked by peers and the supervisor whom I’d thought to be a friend. She asked me to fetch a pail of water, to which I responded I was tired and my feet were aching from walking around. At once, she snapped and began yelling insults and curses at me. The yelling was followed with a threat of punishment — kneeling outside in the dark till the next morning. I, being afraid of what may come next, grabbed the pail and ran outside to do as she had commanded. I filled the pail as required and painfully dragged it back into the room. I dragged it to the supervisor’s corner. She looked at me with disgusted eyes and commanded me to go away.
I laid on my bed and looked at the railings under the bed above. Tears rolled off the corners of my eyes as I imagined myself on the bonnet of my dad’s blue Toyota Corolla. I imagined the star-littered skies and the glowing moon. I imagined the pillars of the bunk bed giving way and letting the weight of the bed crush me. I imagined never leaving home. I imagined never coming here. I wondered if my parents had forgotten about me. I wondered if they would care. They never accompanied me anyway. I wondered if they would care if I died. I wondered if anyone would care if I died. Silently, I wept and I choked on these thoughts. I cried till my eyes stung and my tear duct had nothing left to give. I closed my eyes, wrapped my sheets around me and forced myself to sleep, hoping tomorrow would be a better day.
*JS and SS stand for Junior Secondary Student and Senior Secondary Students. JS1 — JS3 would be the equivalent of Year 7 to Year 9 students, whilst SS1 — SS3 are equivalent to Year 1- to 1st Year Sixth Form students
Part 2.
Dawn broke through dark skies to reveal the sun, and the young ladies of F.G.G.C Sagamu awoke to begin another day.
It had been a 3 months since my brother dropped me in this forest-enclosed campus. It had been 3 months of fending for myself, buying extra condiments and food items to sustain me for the term given breakfast, lunch and dinner were far from delectable; only dreadfully difficult to digest. It had been 3 months of attending classes, staring out the windows and daydreaming. Dreaming my parents would eventually visit. Dreaming they would come to retrieve me. Dreaming I was back home, running around the front yard or using the abacus in my father’s office. He had taken pride in showing me how to account using one. His brilliant little girl, a math and science ace who had dreams of becoming a neurosurgeon since he bought her an encyclopaedia of the brain for her third birthday.
I wondered how he would feel knowing his little girl was no longer an ace. I wonder if I’d cease to be “The Pride of The Family” once he found out I was failing not one, not two, but most of my classes. Maybe he would be more empathetic given I had been overcome with sickness. It began on the first day of the second week, during my Art class. Homesickness no longer wished to inhabit the darkest and coldest corners of my mind. Instead it journeyed into my veins and arteries on a gondola made of my blood cells. It first alighted in my chest cavity, where it had called on its friends, Anxiety and Fear, to host the loudest party they possibly could. Together they created a cacophony of sounds, using instruments of percussion.
They banged violently on their kettledrums, they beat their bass drums and smashed their mallets on their gongs. Their raucous noises so disturbing sent my heart beat into a frenzy, and soon I found my palms sweating, my fingers shaking and warmth leaving my body. The little hairs on my body rose out of fear of the disturbing sounds caused by Homesickness and its nefarious comrades. Nausea on hearing commotion jumped out of its hiding cave and ran from the bottom of my stomach to the back of my throat, dragging saliva, bile and what was left of my breakfast with it. Finally, it had reason to explore the world outside again. I protested its freedom by clasping my hands over my mouth. My neighbouring classmate looked at me frightened and quickly moved herself as far away as possible in anticipation of what was to come.
Nausea, enraged, furiously battered his fists on my palms till they began to ache. I was determined to send it back to its abyss so I clasped my hands tighter over my mouth, but it was prepared for me. It continued to bang its fists on my palm, each strike more violent and painful than before. I continued to tighten my hands around my face till I felt Nausea conceding, its blows softening against my palms. Slowly, I let the cool air creep through the space between my fingers, and into my mouth as I began to unlock them. “Victory!”or so I had thought.
As the cool air wafted in, Nausea regained its strength and sent bile breaking through the cracks between my finger; the chunks from breakfast accompanying it. I had no time to run out of the classroom or aim where there would be no casualties. I spluttered as Nausea disgorged the contents of my stomach onto my table and the floor. The unfortunate soul in front of me screamed in anger and dismay as she felt splatters of bile on her hair and the back of her shirt. I saw Nausea turn around and laugh mockingly at me as it exited the doors of my classroom. I looked up to see my teacher storming towards me. He handed the unfortunate soul a piece of cloth to wipe herself, to me, he uttered two words in disgust “Get Out.” I grabbed my belongings, tearfully apologising to the unfortunate on my way out. I ran to my room and wept gruellingly till tears turned to a migraine which forced me to sleep.
An hour later, Taiye, the first born of the twins in my room- woke me up and pointed at the fragments of vomit left on my shirt. She offered a hand to sit me up and asked if I was okay. I shook my head and let more tears roll down my face. “You need to clean your shirt and wash your face.” she said. She asked if I had been to the clinic and once again, I shook my head. She asked me if I knew where it was. I shook my head. “After you go and bath, I will take you there.” She held my hand and smiled at me, “Don’t be scared. You have a school mother remember, just go and find her after we go to the clinic, she can take care of you.” I nodded and picked up the pail of water next to my bed, and headed to the bathroom. Whilst lathering soap over my body, I thought about the times when I laid atop my father’s blue Toyota corolla at midnight and stargazed. I would cry and ask God where he was and why he had abandoned me. Why had I been so unfortunate to be sick almost every week. Why I was so scrawny and easy to bully and abuse. Why he had given me another brother who hated me. Why He (God) hated me so much. Once again, He was nowhere to be found in my moment of despair.
I went back to meet Taiye and get dressed. We headed to the clinic and met Kehinde on the way who, laughing, told me she had heard what happened during art class. She felt sorry that I was sick, but the image of flying vomit landing on the unfortunate soul’s hair also tickled her. It made me smile a little, at least someone could make light of what I had considered to be the most horrific experience in secondary school so far. We walked out of the junior student’s compound, past the dining hall and towards the main campus. The stalls of the old women who sold freshly baked pastries were surrounded by a crowd of junior and senior students who were not interested in the wretchedness being served for lunch. The aroma of freshly baked agege bread danced softly with the sweet smell of dumplings and puff puff. It reminded me of home in Ita-Elega.
We made our way past the old women and the hungry students, and headed towards the clinic. It was a ten minute walk from the main campus and five minutes away from the campus’ church. The clinic was a box-shaped building painted white, which had begun to fade. Hanging at the centre of the wall was a sign which read “WELCOME TO THE F.G.G.C SAGAMU CLINIC”. I wondered why that was necessary. We were greeted by smells of sterile needles, antiseptic soaps and hints of bodily fluids. I gagged.
We walked up to the receptionist and Taiye asked if it was possible to see a doctor as I was ill. “This one does not look ill” she responded. I wondered what physical evidence was required to prove my illness. “Well, she was vomiting in class ma”, Taiye responded. “Ehn, just because she’s vomiting does not mean she needs to come here. There are lots of people that need our help”, she retorted, whilst pointing to a queue of miserable looking students on our left. Some were sweating profusely whilst shivering, one had a cut above her head with dried blood stuck to her face. I guess the receptionist was right, I didn’t look half as bad as those girls but Taiye was insistent on getting consult. “Well ma, if she now vomits again and dies, it is you that I’ll blame oh!” Taiye said, cheekily.
My chest tightened as I feared she had angered the receptionist. Her reaction was the opposite of what I had expected, she smiled at Taiye telling her how big a mouth she had. Taiye smiled back and asked if we could see someone quickly, after all, I didn’t look like I would need a lot attention, just a quick check. The receptionist called for a nurse to do a “quick check” on me. I was taken into a consultation room where she took my temperature and asked a bunch of questions to which I answered Nos and Maybes. After she had adequately carried out her examination, she concluded I was fine and maybe it was something I ate. She told me to get some rest for the day and wrote me a note to cover my absence.
Taiye walked me back to our dormitory. On the way back, we picked up some dumplings and puff puff to eat. When we got to our dorm, we happily tucked into our treats and laughed as we both talked about life at home before coming to this God-forsaken school. She and her sister were born in Egbeda, near Ibadan, before her parents moved south to Odoyonta. Given the distance to Sagamu, it was a sensible choice to attend F.G.G.C. Sagamu. Like me, Taiye and her twin Kehinde were scholars at their schools. Like me, they had skipped Primary 2 and 4 as they were considered too advanced for their peers, but they were academically my superiors. Taiye scored 530 out of 600 in the Common Entrance Exams and Kehinde 515, landing them first and second place in their school year. This was accompanied with thirty-thousand and twenty-thousand Naira cash prizes. Taiye asked me what I had scored in my exams. I told her I came in third place in my final year at primary school, with a measly 499 out of 600. The second and first runners scored 500 and 501 respectively.
I wept that day, knowing I could have performed better. My record as the school champion was broken. Although I had the honour of reciting the 36 states and their slogans as part of the closing ceremony, and watched my dad invited to the high table as a celebration of my academic achievement throughout my time at my primary school, it was not enough. I felt I had let my father down, his actions did not reflect what I felt, but I felt nothing but shame and disappointment. He saw it. Even after celebrating with my cousins who had come all the way from Cotonou for my graduation, I could not shake the feeling of failure and disappointment. I had told myself I would never amount to anything if I wasn’t first. I would never become that neurosurgeon if I wasn’t first. I had ruined my chances. Dad said I should be excellent in everything. I was, according to him and all the pastors at church “The Pride of The Family”, the one destined for greatness and what I had done with that potential? Destroyed it by coming in 3rd in my final year.
Taiye asked why I chose to attend F.G.G.C, and I had no answer. I couldn’t remember why I chose this other than it being far from home. Far from the legacy of disappointment I had left behind I told her I just wanted to be somewhere different and F.G.G.C seemed like a good choice. My parents were never really involved in the decision making process. The school merely gave us options. I inspected them. I chose one. I told my parents. They said okay. I went there. When we had finished reminiscing our achievements as 9 year old scholars, Taiye left for her last lecture. She had prepared her story for missing her previous classes and was sure her big mouth would get her out of trouble. I cowered under my sheets and cried again as I remembered how I had failed at home. I cried thinking about how I had embarrassed myself this morning. I cried because I missed home. I cried because I missed my eldest brother. I cried because I missed my younger sister. I cried because I felt anxious. I felt because I felt I was going to fail again.
I cried as I looked at my scores for the end of the first term. I cried as I read “FAIL” written for each. Maths, Chemistry, Biology, Physics, Art, Yoruba, French. Only English and Music had a pass on them, but they were not significant passes. Three months of studying all gone to waste. My weekly visits to the clinic could not excuse my failure. I was sick when I was back home and had spent most of days in and out of my uncle’s hospital, but I was still passing all my classes. I couldn’t fathom this failure. I thought about how much my parents were wasting paying for my fees. I thought about how embarrassed they would feel if they knew. I watched as my peers smiled about making it through the first term. I wondered if anyone else had failed. They all went to call their parents to share the news. I did not call mine and they did not call. Instead I went to my room and sat on my bed with my test scores in my hand. I looked around to ensure no one was there and withdrew the metal compass from my maths set. I stabbed the sharp pin into my left forearm and forcibly dragged it down till I was relieved. Then I took the pin and stabbed my thighs repeatedly. I took the skipping rope I had bought for exercise and whipped my back repeatedly. I told myself I deserved to be punished, I was unworthy of my parent’s generosity. They had worked hard and suffered to get to where we are this was how I would repay them. I whipped myself till my back was numb and I could no longer cry, then I cowered under my sheets once more and cried. I cried and hoped not to wake up the next day.
Part 3
The final semester of the first year loomed and I had worked a little harder to focus and pass my classes, as the thought of repeating a year was inconceivable and unoptional. Taiye had been integral to my now improving academic record. She would wake me up to shower and wait for me after classes to do some more studying, during which she would sometimes flick me on the forehead when I failed to understand something, reminding me how I was one of the top three students in my primary school. She was my first ever best-friend. We spent most of our recess hours doing extra studying and entertaining one another with tales conceived from our childish hearts. We had become inseparable. I was almost like her twin, but not quite, for Kehinde’s place was cemented as the foremost friend. However, Kehinde indulged our friendship as it brought her just as much joy to have me around.
Our final exams were at the end of the semester, so I had two more months to make up for my mistakes in the first semester. The second semester wasn’t as bad as the first and my grades precariously sat above average. Much like my first semester, I cried, profusely, in the second. This time it was not because of anxiety or feelings of abandonment, it was because I discovered there was something “wrong” with me and this “ailment” followed me into my third. It would follow me for the rest of my life.
…
In the second semester, I spent a lot of time with my school mother, Isioma. She was a beautiful girl and I was convinced my brother had for this reason chosen her to watch over me. She was in SS2 and had one more year left at FGGC before bidding the school, and me, goodbye. Isioma was a tall and gracious a girl. She had big brown eyes which were capable of possessing the souls of those who dared to stare too long into them. She was what we called a ‘yellow paw-paw’, a person with ‘fairer’ complexion. She was as gentle and caring as a school mother could be. She would often meet up with Taiye and I during our study periods to supply us with extra snacks and items which were considered contraband to us first years. Sometimes she came to the junior compound to check on me, her presence silently announcing to the supervisors that I was untouchable. How I wish she had done this in the first semester.
One Saturday she invited me to sit with her and her senior friends for lunch. Lunch was easier to attain when sat with the senior girls, we didn’t have to queue for our food. The senior girls usually slipped the cooks a little token of appreciation for their additional services, and a mutual understanding of one other was born through such gestures. The cooks brought thefood and drinks to our table. Today, it was sweet beans cooked in palm oil, with warm Agege bread and a large bowl of assorted meat. Our choice of drinks included the ever praised Supermalt, Malta Guiness, Mirinda, Fanta, and Coke. I ate and drank my fill.
As we engorged and imbibed the delicacies placed before us, I overheard the senior girls discussing how good it felt down there last night. Last night, she had carried out an act involving an egg, an act which was suggested to her by another senior.
“I let it cool down first, then I cut it in half and started rubbing it on that bit.” said the senior. “Ehn ehn, so was it good? Because me, I’ve not tried it oh.” said another senior. “You’ve been dulling, after how many weeks? It feels like when a girl is sampling your guava”, said Isioma, my school mother. I paused my feasting to ask her what she meant by “sampling your guava”, to which she leaned over and whispered to me “When somebody uses their tongue to lick your pussy.” She cackled as she watched my brows furrow and my face slowly distort to exhibit my confusion. “Pussy?” I asked.
The other seniors discouraged her from saying further to me, given my naivety and the possibility of me getting in serious trouble should I mention it to someone else. It was school policy to abstain from practice of any sexually immoral or deviant activities, including fornication, masturbation and lesbianism. Lesbianism was the greatest immoral act of the three mentioned. Two weeks ago, I had witnessed a senior girl, who was rumoured to be a lesbian, called out in front of everyone during the general assembly for all students and teachers.
She was asked to face the entire assembly so we could all see her. A man carrying a pail of iced water walked up to her, slapped her, then poured the cold water over her body. She screamed and dropped to the ground as the ice cold water crashed over her. Two other women walked over and began to strip her of her clothing. Her resistance was met with lashes of whips, slaps, and kicks. One man joined in to restrain her, and another covered her mouth to muffles her cries for help. After she surrendered and her clothes successfully taken off, the two men held her up on each arm, whilst the Principal gave her speech:
“This is an example of how we handle vagabonds and morally corrupt girls on our campus. This one is a lesbian and as declared by our God, they are an abomination on this earth! We will not allow such vermin on our campus! Only animals would partake in such activities and this is not a school for animals, it is a school for human beings. Ladies, do not be like this one, she is a shame to our school, a shame to her family, a shame to this country and foremost, a shame to herself. If any of you are found to be participating in any disgusting lesbian activities, you will be disgraced, you will be beaten, and you will be expelled. Let this be a warning!”
The Principal kissed her teeth and spat in the direction of the senior as she wept and hung her head in shame. One of the men lifted her chin up so she could not hide her face. The man with a pail of water came back with another full pail of iced water and poured it all over the naked senior. The two women took turns whipping her for another five minutes, after which campus security took her away in a truck. We were told her parents retrieved her from the campus the following week, disappointed and ashamed of their daughter.
“Isioma please, don’t get yourself and this one in trouble.” said another senior, who then turned to me and told me to never utter a word of this to another person. I nodded in agreement. As our lunch came to an end and we began vacating the hall, I noticed a bowlful of boiled eggs on our way out and I grabbed two. The seniors said goodbye to one another and my school mother asked if I wanted to accompany her to the senior dorms. I did so gleefully as I had never ventured past the great gates into the senior dorms.
I imagined they had bold, beautiful and bright flowers planted all over the dorms, much like the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. I imagined the seniors as ethereal beings donning long dresses with slits on the sides, billowing in the wind. I imagined the sun never set on their side of the campus, and they stayed out dancing, singing and eating fruits and delicacies of their picks. I imagined their faces painted beautifully as they sat to braid one another’s hair.
My imagination was far beyond the reality of the senior dorms for they looked exactly like ours. The notable differences were the rooms sizes and the fewer numbers of girls per room. There were breakout areas in each house and the lawns had mowed grass, compared to the sand filled lawn littered with rocks in the junior dorms. My school mother shared her room with 7 other girls, but they had no stay-in supervisor because they were considered adults who could now take care of themselves.
They didn’t have bunk-beds like us, instead they had their own double beds with enough space between them. We sat on my school mother’s bed and she brought out some snacks from her mini-fridge for us to eat. We conversed about my time so far at the school and how my grades were. I tearfully explained how I was failing my classes and how Taiye had been helping me. She embraced me and told me I would be fine, I just had to work harder, and should I need help I should reach out to her.
After we had discussed the more serious matters, I asked her what the seniors meant about the egg and what she meant by ‘pussy’. Isioma cackled and told me to forget about it, as such matters were not for children. I asked her again what she meant and continued to ask till she gave me an answer. “Pussy is your vagina”, she said as she pointed towards the lower half of my body. “If you use an egg and press it hard down there, it will feel really good. It’s even better when someone uses their tongue on it”, Isioma further explained. I asked she had ever done it, she said yes. She had also had it done to her.
The flush of red which coloured her cheeks vanished and as she stared frighteningly into my eyes. “Do not tell anybody about this. Remember what they did to that senior, they’ll do it to me and to you too.” I nodded in agreement.
It was time for me to take my leave and she escorted me back to my dorm. Isioma hugged me and once again reassured me that all will be well with my grades. I hurried to my room and found it empty. I smiled as it was the perfect opportunity to try replicating the amazing sensations the seniors had spoken of. I took one egg out of my bag and sliced it in half. I took off my underwear and laid on my back. I took the egg and nervously tapped it on the tip of my what Isioma said was my ‘pussy’. I felt nothing, then I remembered what Isioma had said, I had to press it a little harder. As I applied more pressure, I began to feel a warm rush all over me, especially down there. As the sensations continued to arouse me, I pressed and rubbed a little more till I broke the peak. After I was satisfied. I sat on my bed, pulled out the other egg and began to eat it. I wondered what it would feel like for another girl’s tongue to “sample” me. Would it offer the same ecstatic feelings as the egg? Would it be more pleasant? Would I like it? Would I do it to someone else?
As these thoughts began to flood my mind, I was reminded of what happened with the senior who was rumoured a lesbian. Fear ran its icy fingers from the base of my spine to the back of my head. Fear grabbed me by the back of my neck and dragged me from my bed to the floor, on my knees. Fear punched me in the stomach and caused me to expel its contents. Fear so terrified me that I began to weep. Fear told me my thoughts were immoral and disgusting. Fear told me there was something wrong with me. Fear told me the Principal would find out and I would be disgraced. Fear told me my parents would disown me. Fear told me I would end up like the naked, mad women on the street who had been abandoned by society. Fear told me someone would eventually kill me once they found out I had immoral thoughts about women. Fear made me sweat, profusely. Fear constricted my lungs and I could not breathe. Fear stood over me. placed its other hand on my neck, fastened its grip and began to choke me.
Two other girls I shared a room with walked in to find me on my knees, crying and whispering prayers. One of them came over and asked me what was wrong. I thought about telling them something was wrong with me. I had thoughts of being with a woman and that I might be a lesbian, then I remembered what Isioma said and what had happened to the senior. “I miss my family, I’m just praying for them.” I responded. “Sha, there is only one more semester before you go home. Everything will be fine.” She replied as she gave me hug. I thanked her, wiped my face and sat up on my bed.
After discovering my ailment, I began attending both the Pentecostal and Catholic church services to find healing. Often I’d stay in the pews after service was over because I believed if I did an extra hour of prayer, I will be cured sooner. One day, I ran out of the church and began to vomit. I took it as a sign from God that my purification had begun. I knew He was answering. I knew he wouldn’t let me be a shame to my family, after all, both my parents served him. My mother a deaconess, my father a pastor; their daughter could not be an abomination. God wouldn’t punish them with that.
A week later, to my surprise, my constant vomiting, fever and diarrhoea was not a sign of God purifying me, rather it was a sign I had contracted malaria. It took Taiye dragging me to the clinic for me to find out I was simply ill. I fainted upon hearing I was ill with malaria, again, and I was admitted into the ward. I took my illness as God rejecting my prayers all along. I began to believe that God saw me as an abomination and in anger cursed me with this illness. I wept as I thought about everyone who would abandon me once they found out what was wrong with me. My parents, my siblings, my friends, Taiye. Each day I woke up to plead with God to purify me. Each day I begged him to cleanse me of my impurity.
Isioma came to visit a week after I had been admitted. I did not want to see her. I hated her, for she was the reason something was wrong with me. She told me about these wretched acts and I liked it. She did not preserve my innocence. The lady who was once this veritable and virtuous motherly figure to me was now nothing but a whore and Jezebel’s vessel sent to corrupt me. I hissed venomously and told her to go away as she reached out to touch me. Tearful and angry, I whispered to her, “You are a disgusting lesbian and you have infected me with your lesbianism. God is punishing me because of you.” Blood rushed to Isioma’s face, flushing her cheeks a scarlet colour. The white of her eyes streaked crimson and tears clouded her eyes.
She grabbed me by my wrist, squeezing them tightly, then she whispered to me, “They found out. They are going to shame and expel me too. If anybody asks, say you don’t know anything.” I felt Anger retreat into the corner of the room and my eyes flooded with more tears. Isioma continued, “I know you don’t like women, but these people will destroy you if they know I even said anything to you.” I continued weeping, unable to find words of comfort for Isioma. “I just came to say goodbye before they get me.” Isioma let go of my wrist and walked out of the room. Two weeks later, I was discharged from the clinic and a week later, I held a vigil in memory of Isioma after her death was announced. The security guards found her body hanging from an oak tree a week after she went missing.
…
I did not go home that second semester, I stayed and mourned Isioma. Each day I sat and thought about leaving this world permanently like Isioma. I would either wind up like her or like the senior. The time spent with Taiye, reading and preparing for our final exams in the third semester brought relief and escape from thoughts of death and despair. When alone, I thought of many ways to die and I chose overdosing as my route out of earth. The week before our last exam, I asked for aspirin, paracetamol, cocodamol and any drugs people had, citing illness as my reason. Each day I woke up, smiled and spoke to everyone in my room. I hugged Taiye each day and told her how much she meant to me and how great a friend she had been. I loved her like a sister. I spent all the money I had left and bought enough snacks to last a week.
On the day of our final exam, I was filled with glee. I knew I had aced my last test. I knew I would die smart. I knew it was time to go and I had made my peace with it. My heart was heavy, but I knew all will be well once I was no more. That night, I ate agege bread and stew with assorted meat, puff puff, buns, meatpie and plantain. I drank two bottles of Supermalt. I washed down the first fifteen tablets with a bottle of Miranda. I took another five and find myself dosing off after a few minutes. I thought the process had begun. I was going to die…
There were screams.
There was weeping.
A rough voice yelling “Everybody out! Out now!”
“Wake up! Wake up you mugu! Armed robbers! Ayo! WAKE UP!” Taiye shouted, as she violently shook me out of slumber. Dry-eyed and dreary, I staggered out of my bed. “Ayo, armed robbers are in the Senior Girl’s dorm!” Taiye said fearfully. She grabbed my arm and hurriedly pulled me along to the lawn inside the yellow house dorm.
There, I saw fellow Yellow house students on their knees, others laying down. Some prayed, whilst others screamed. Gunshots were fired and more raucous screams like spears of ice pierced through the doors of all the houses in the dorms. My palms began to drip with sweat and ice spears had melted into my blood stream, leaving me cold and shivering. I crawled to the gutters and heaved water and bile from my bowels into them. I scurried around on hands and knees to find Taiye again.
On finding her, I asked why we weren’t being evacuated. She told me the armed robbers had been stationed by both the front and back entrances of the junior and senior dorms and campus security were unwilling to put us at risk. I asked why we were stationed in the lawn instead of staying in our rooms. She responded saying the supervisors thought we should all come outside to pray. How could one pray in this situation? How could one be at peace? “If those robbers come into the compound, we will die. We don’t know how many there are and we don’t know what they want, but the supervisors are asking us to pray?” Taiye scorned. “They told us to be calm, God is in control. Are these people foolish?” She scorned once more.
There were robbers positioned outside the dorm to shoot girls trying to escape from the other houses. There were robbers stationed at the front and back entrances into the compound. They were here to terrorise us, to steal whatever goods we had. There were here to kill to molest and to rape and it was easy, given the nearest police station was roughly four hours away and campus security were certainly not equipped in both numbers and artillery to match them.
Another round of gunshots were fired. Another round of screams. This continued three more times till we heard cries of help coming from the Blue House. The robbers had finished with the seniors and were ready to terrorise us. I began to cry and pray, but I did not pray for God to spare me. I thought about how I had been failing classes. How I had “indecent” thoughts about other girls and how God and my parents will punish me for thinking such a way. I thought about my years sneaking outside the house to sit atop my father’s blue Toyota Corolla, crying. I was tired of crying and I was fatigued from pain. I asked for God to let me die. I felt fingers lock with mine and opened my eyes to see Taiye leaning her head on my shoulders. She squeezed my fingers and told me, “You cannot die, we cannot die yet. Not before out time.” With tears in her eyes, she embraced me and sobbed. “I don’t want to die.”
Gunshots.
Screaming.
Crying.
Shouts for help.
The women in yellow house began to roar and disperse as sounds gunshots rattled the dorm. The supervisors first, then the junior students. Girls who tried to run for the doors were dragged back to the lawn or shot on their way out. We were instructed to lie down, face facing on the floor and hands stretched out. I found myself weeping, but slowly reassuring myself that this would be my end and I would no longer have to suffer. The robbers dragged the girls who hid in the dorm rooms out to the lawn and looted each room for whatever they could find of worth. They instructed us to kneel, hands behind our head and guns pointing at us from all four corners of the lawn. A man walked up to one of the supervisors, put his gun between her thighs and slowly lifted her dress with it. “Yellow pawpaw. Na this one I go take.” He dragged her into a room. There was silence. Her screams and grunts of protest emerged from the room and the girls began weeping. His loud grunts and creaks of metal followed thereafter.
There was silence.
The supervisor emerged from the room, blood stains on her dress and streaks down her leg. A gunshot was heard and the supervisor fell forwards, into the gutter.
There was silence.
The robber looked for his next victim and continued his tirade till he was satisfied. He looked at me and saw resolve, saw numbness and put his gun to my head. “This one look like sey she wan die.” He was right and I hoped he would kill me. Instead, he took his gun and shot Taiye. Kehinde ran to grab her sister, screaming and weeping. He looked at me and smiled eerily. He called on his men and they exited the our dorm, making their way to the final house. I looked down to see blood splatters on my yellow dress, and my knees in a pool of Taiye’s blood. I stared at Taiye and her eyes stared back at me. I touched the tips of her lips and placed my palms on her face. I ran over to the gutter, heaving, vomiting and weeping. I wiped my face and saw Taiye’s blood mixed with my tears. I crawled back to Kehinde and embraced her, wailing with her. She had lost a sister, I had a lost a friend. Kehinde and I laid Taiye in our lap as we mourned and awaited our fate. I wondered when the robbery would cease. I wondered if there were more killings to occur and if we would ever be rescued. I wept once more as I cradled Taiye’s body. I looked up to the black sky. There were no stars and the moon had hidden its face.
I screamed and begged God for help as I held my friend in my arm. In the same breath, I cursed God for taking away my only friend. I cursed the robbers. I cursed the school. I cursed myself.
Screams emerged from Purple house and flames could be seen lighting up the black skies. An array of gunshots were heard. It seemed the robbers had saved Purple house for their wicked finale. Not one girl was spared. The house was torched and the screams of the girls heard till the last one had been burnt to death. Fumes billowed into the skies and filled the air with a rubber like odour.
There was silence.
We waited for the robbers to continue their tirade, but there was silence. We awaited more screams from other houses, but there was silence. We awaited sounds of gunshots but there was silence. Sirens dispersed the silence an hour later. To the dismay of the policemen, firemen and paramedics, they were too late. The deed had already been done. Girls left the campus in groups, weeping and wailing. I sat with Kehinde, carrying Taiye in our laps. We could not be consoled, nor evacuated. We would not let go of our sister and best-friend.
Kehinde fell to the ground and screamed as the paramedics zipped up her twin’s body bag. She screamed and wailed till she choked and I had to force her to breathe. All the girls were escorted back to the dorms and told to wait there till out parents had been contacted. Policemen patrolled the dorms and checked in each room every hour. The sun rose an hour after the Policemen had arrived on campus and we waited patiently for news of our parents arrival. The policemen would call us as our parents arrived. One by one, girls left the Yellow house dorms and ran into the arms of their parents. You could hear the cries of the parents whose daughters were in purple house as they laid their eyes on unrecognisable ashes.
Kehinde hugged me and cried as she bade me goodbye. I was alone again, much like my first day in the school. I laid on my bed, my right palm resting above my left and my right leg crossed over my left leg. Tears continuously streamed from my eyes, into my ear and behind them onto the pillow. I did not wipe them away. I looked up at the metal frames of the bunk beds and replayed Taiye getting shot over again. I imagined Isioma’s body hanging on the tree. I wondered how Death would choose to take me from this world. Night dawned and I closed my eyes and cried myself to sleeep.
My brother gently nudged me awake. The driver carried my bags and my brother hugged me as he walked me to the car. He closed the door and I let my head fall into my lap as we drove away from F.G.G.C.
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