Being MISCONSTRUED

BEING MISCONSTRUED Can you guess what it means when someone you love and care about misunderstands you or what you stand for? Can you imagine the throbbing one will go through when you see the people you care about shed tears or take offence as regarding your stand? That was the case in a class of mine today. I gave a test as directed by the school management. As a teacher, I know that my students’ successes determine how far I will go in the profession. I told them that all the WAEC poems must be written off hand and they had over three weeks to do that. A day before, a neighbour’s daughter gave four of the poems off-hand despite going to a low-class school with dwindling standard. When I got to class I informed my students that anything short of four poems was zero. My very best student, both in academics and morals was able to write five. I wasn’t pleased, knowing full well that I have rated her as an ‘A’ student in WAEC and she had once memorized over six pages of a drama scripts to be acted and she delivered flawlessly within a timeline of barely two days. More so, her ability to memorize made her a top contender for the post of the actress of the year so I said this, ‘…Jemima is still writing…’ I said other things but that statement was the worst in the lot. Hell was let loosed as her countenance changed. I called her aside to know what was wrong with what I said. ‘How will you make comparison with other people’s children? How will you compare me with Jemima?’ she spoke with tears dropping from her eyes. My very best was deeply hurt and the sight of her in pain, still hunt me till now. She is not an extremist and is absolutely disciplined. In fact, I’m her fan and I have fantasized the time she will be coming for her WAEC result and then after a vigorous handshake take her to the current SS 3 literature students to say, ‘She got an A1 in Literature in English and an A+ in English Literature IGCSE. She was prompt with assignments when she was here, please emulate her.’ The pride of any teacher is in the students’ successes. Is comparison bad in itself? What do I do when my opinion truly hurts? This incident reminds me of the friendship of over twenty years that had to end. Although, I am still yet to know what went wrong, but I know that the problem had to be me. The reason I say this is because no one has a right to hurt another person. The mere reason that my friend and brother ended the friendship is because he was hurt by me and that is my fault. The fact that my sweet student shed tear in great hurt is absolutely to my credit. The comparison was made primarily to enhance her subsequent performance, but she sees it as a debasement of her person. An opinion expressed in good fate, but with great detrimental consequence. I am of the opinion that when I compare Gp with Beef, it is for Beef to view the strength of Gp and work on his own weakness to be a better person. Few days ago, my woman said, ‘Can’t you see how Segun is neatly shaved?’ I didn’t pick offence with Segun neither with her. I quietly went for a clean shave and didn’t pick offence when I was back. Comparative analysis even in tertiary institution is basically for strategic advancement, not debasement. I hate to hurt people. I regret and detest it. I need everyone. I’m always quick to go on my knees to say sorry, but I have noticed that people find it hard to forgive when they are of the opinion that you hurt them on purpose. Someone argued that my student is just being egocentric, that she should not have reacted that way (Just to remind you that I thought about the incidence for over 12 hours). A student of mine after the incident reacted, ‘…Mr Oni we are not dumb…’ Although, another felt the statement was too cruel to make, but it confirms that I was being misconstrued. DEDICATION This is special dedicated to all those that have misconstrued me and still take offence. I am sorry. Forgive me. I am just human. I am work in progress. Oni, Afolabi Ajibola 08036126690 oniafolabiajibola@yahoo.com …just a fiction 14/03/2014 22:18pm

gods

NO harm done with little comment No pride lost in share confidence Since triviality is a relative terminology No harm done with speaking up People cheer when you speak and solutions follow They jeer when the moderator cautions Even those with seal lips Have the loudest voice to lash No man is God All men are gods One speaks and all comes to pass The other speak and few does 20/01/2016

Idumota

The morning was inviting as the sun merely shines and was not in the mood to scorch. I sent my form order score to the class coordinator and packed my bags set to go on a journey that will make my life different. Struggling with four different bags, I wriggled my way to the school gate, submitted my bags for thorough searching and humbly informed the security men that I was on leave. I left the Angelic white gates of Atlantic Hall into the naked town of Poka. The snake like road guarded at both ends by weeds that stung like thorns. In no time, I was at the Epe-Ijebu Ode road as I needed to use First Bank Epe for a reason best known to me. The road was a death trap and I couldn’t but thank Danbaba Danfulani Suntai – the Governor of Taraba State because Jalingo is a paradise when compared with Epe that hasn’t seen electricity in the last one year. In Epe, power isn’t erratic; it is not just there. After I completed my transaction at the bank that is seen as haven for thieves, I observed a conversation between the branch manager and one of the security officials. The locals – Epe omo oniles were demanding for ‘owo wa’- our money. I knew the language quite well and was acquainted with the fact that they didn’t work for that money. A thug said their money will no longer be 300,000N from the following month but will increase to N350, 000. He said that they were the ones responsible for the security of the banks in the area. The branch manager pleaded that he had given their money to their boss – Iku Dudu, but the others whined and warned that this educated man in his mid-forties should not repeat such an action in the future. I thought of the branch manager’s timidity as I journeyed from Epe down to Ibeju through Ajah to Idumota. ‘Ohun lo go’ – the branch manager is the fool. I combed Idumota to get my groom men’s tie and that of myself. In forty eight hours, I will be someone else’s property and she will be free to touch me as she likes and when she likes. I was heading out of Idumota with all the things for my wedding when I got to a point with sea of heads at Idumota. A young man accosted me and told me that Lagos State Government was giving free gifts to ameliorate poverty. I walked off him. I knew that nothing can be free in Lagos. Another person picked the lottery form and was asked to tick seven times. I was asked to try – no pain, no gain. I was not interested and I ticked eight times, but I wasn’t disqualified. I was told that I won a generator set. ‘Whaoh! My first night after wedding will be with power, and we can enjoy the fullness of bodily pleasure – I forgot I didn’t have a fan since there had not been power in Epe for ages.’ The young man looked me in the face and asked me if I wanted to pick it up or sell it off. I said I wanted to pick it up. He asked me to pay 1000N for receipt and I did. Another winner sold his electric fan and paid three thousand for receipt and collected his cash of 8, 000N. He told me again if you sell it, you will bring 18,000N and we will give you 32, 000N. I suspected something finicky. This was the popular ‘I beta pass my neibor’ that shouldn’t be more than 10, 000N. I opted to leave the money with them when I saw two hefty men in the bus. The young man urged me to move closer to the vehicle, but I was unwilling as I thought he will drag me into the bus. I took a bold step and chose to walk away, but the young man in no time, informed others that I wanted to walk away. About four men encapsulated me and said they will start beating me and calling me a thief if I refuse to give them all that I had. I reasoned that it was just 48hours to my wedding day; I imagined having a wedding picture with a battered face. I respected myself and parted with 7,000N. I walked away horridly and hurriedly imagining that I was duped in broad day light, in the busy street of Idumota. Had I not cooperated and they raised a false alarm and the passerby bought it – that I was a thief; maybe I would have been dead. In my most confused state, I walked out of Idumota and headed toward the third mainland bridge, picked up a vehicle and headed for Ife. Thereafter to Okeho unscratched. Nothing but fiction …imparting lives 31/12/2014 ONI Afolabi Ajibola 08036126690

JESUS IS ALL

I think it is time to share the great things that God has done in 2014 and return all the glory to him. Count your blessings. For me, 2014 was great, I got married to the best woman in the world, I got employed in the best secondary school in the world, I got another apartment, I raised my land to lintel, paid school fees and almost rounded off M. A. English Literature, travelled to and fro - no scratch, made two time the anticipated 2014 income as budgeted in Jan 2014, read loads of books, and still hand in hand with God. Share yours and invite more from the most high God. Merry Christmas. A4.

Boy

Fifteen of June was a special date in my life, not just because it was our founder’s day at school, when we would be opportune to eat more food at school, but it was equally my father’s birthday. That of 1996 was a special one. I was meant to have a test at school. It was my second test in SS 2, and I had prepared quite well for it. As a fourteen years old teenager I knew that a re-test was usually ill prepared for and with promotion at the back of my mind, I studied studiously the night before, studying from 8pm till 4am only to take a nap for one hour. I was dressed at six as usual, as my father regularly takes me to school. Breakfast was served and I opted to take a bite. After breakfast, I handed over the cheap birthday present that I bought for him. I bought that primarily to prevent tongues wagging and just to get a better birthday gift when I had mine in October. After the meal I cleared the dining table and picked up by school bag. My mother jetted out of the kitchen and asked my father, ‘So soon?’ I didn’t understand the question as it was no news that we leave the house early on regular bases. I was still standing when my father said I should wait in the car. I asked him if he wouldn’t be long as I had test that morning and my mother replied with a yell, ‘Are you deaf? Wait in the car, he will join you soon!’ I wanted to be sure because I could trek to school and get there in good time. Trekking to my school was just twenty minutes and it was 6:20am at that time. I got into the Hyunda Elantra as a patient child. I remembered the ‘So soon?’ of my mother and something told me that probably they wanted to work hard on getting another baby. I knew that the Toyota Corola 1.9GLI had flat tyres, and that the four other cars were at the mechanic’s workshop for the quarterly servicing. The only vehicle in out compound was the one that I was in. I closed up side glass, started off the engine and switch on the AC. Something told me that the fuel was way passed half gauge but I didn’t mind. I was in the cool vehicle doing my final revision. I dosed off only to open my eyes around 7:45am. My dad was yet to get into the vehicle. The fuel indicator was blinking but I didn’t mind. Something reminded me that my old man had board meeting at 10am, and as the Chairman, who just queried his directors for lateness in a public establishment, the meeting was crucial for him to justify the rationale for his action. 8:45am and there was no dad, my AC was now off because the fuel dried up, as planned. It was obvious that I would miss my test and I felt that he needed to be taught never to play on anyone’s intelligence. I deflated the front tyre by the right and the back tyre by the left. That will ensure no balance at all even when a generous neighbour would give us a litre of fuel to get to the petrol station. My wise father showed up hurrying at 9:30am. ‘Sorry about the slight delay, you know women,’ he spoke casually. I told him that the gas was exhausted and he started sweating. I told him that I switched-on the AC considering his ‘I will join you soon,’ and the gas went out after about two hours. My father was shivering with anger and his eyes were almost in tears. ‘You know that I have a crucial meeting for 10am, didn’t I tell you?’ He queried tearfully but I wasn’t moved. He was wrong and he needed to be told, or better if he was brought to the understanding of that fact. It was wrong to feel pity, it was better to be rational. He picked up his phone to call Mr Jude, a neighbour, who took 15mins to get us a gallon from his car. It was after Mr Jude fuelled my father’s vehicle and drove off to his office that my father observed that his newly fixed tyres were flat. He looked at me as though I had a hand in it, and I in return had the face of a criminal. At 9:50am, my father resolved that I wasn’t going to school, and we would both go to his office. We trekked for 20minutes before we saw a bike that zoomed off to my father’s office. 10:20am, we got to his office and the board meeting had commence with one of the director moderating the meeting instead of my dad. My father tried to enter but he wasn’t allowed. My dad came to sit beside me and my unrepentant face at the lobby. He looked at me and asked me never to talk to him all my life. I should never call or text him. He told me that I was still a boy and was too irresponsible. I was quiet, but within me, I vowed to obey him. That I was a boy was mere compliment and I had nothing against him. I only acted based on his words. He felt that he could play on me, not knowing that he was playing on himself. Someone said that I should forgive him after years, but I said I hold nothing against him, but would not call, text or talk to him based on his instruction. How wonderful is it to be straight forward. Just a fiction ONI AFOLABI AJIBOLA 08036126690 21:21pm 15/11/2013

BIRTHDAY EDITION

SERIOUS BUSINESS There are times you examine yourself and you are in doubt if you are good or bad, nice or terrible, a demon or an angel. One minute you are on your knees crying to be purged. The next minute you are stirring hard but not expecting result. Last Friday, I hurried away from work leaving my lesson notes on my principal’s table. As a teacher, I had to prepare my lesson notes for the following week. I wasn’t sure if I will be in school on Monday because I had SERIOUS business to attend to. On Saturday I got confirmation that the SERIOUS business will be on Monday and Thursday the following week. There are times when a man needs to enjoy stress. That stress you gladly engage in with a damsel mourning under you and turning into different exhilarating positions. And something deep inside you will be saying ‘…just keep going’. That same Saturday, I sent a text message to my principal to inform her that I was having serious headache as a result of insomnia. She asked me to check my blood pressure, but of course there was no need. On Sunday, I sent a message to my principal that I must visit the hospital on Monday, that the situation had got worst. She approved it. The SERIOUS business that gave ENJOYABLE STRESS started around 6pm on Sunday. Although with several breaks in transmission, it ended at about 6:30am on Monday, with a total duration of 9hours of energetic thrusting. I have to spare you the details. I got my tired body out of my drenched bed at about 11:30am on Monday morning. I signed-in at the school gate at 1:20pm and headed for my principal’s office. I was hale and hearty but needed to put up my best act to ensure that I got Thursday off. The vibrant young man transformed to a terribly sickly man that held his head at intervals and will stop in between conversation to groan. I told her the truth that I got out of bed at about 11am, but lied that I was induce to sleep by the doctor because of insomnia, whereas it as a result of SERIOUS business. Every teacher sent their condolences, and one gave me food, of course I needed it desperately to gain back lost strength. The following day, I maintained the act, following the script dogmatically. I had obviously entered into character and moved a step into reality, because I was beginning to feel the pains I claimed to have. My principal struggled to tell me that out WAEC letter was ready at Ikorodu and asked if I could make it down the following day which was Wednesday. I told her that Thursday would be better. Although, I had three periods on Wednesday and four on Thursday, I told her Thursday was preferred. I acted all the way till Wednesday and I was given transportation to the venue for my SERIOUS business and school duties. I concluded the SERIOUS business at about 12:05pm on Thursday, despite the heat; I had to endure the heat to enjoy the BUSINESS. I put in my very best and the rest was history. I headed down to Ikorodu and then to Obalende for official duty. I got to school on Friday, my colleagues weren’t informed that I went out on official duty, and one after another asked about my health and apologized that they didn’t call. I smiled and told them that it was official duty and of course SERIOUS business. They didn’t understand. Minutes later, I heard a colleague saying, ‘If sex is not the most exciting physical activity to you as a man or woman, you have a problem!’ I grinned with smile and continued marking my students’ notes. JUST FICTION Written by ONI AFOLABI AJIBOLA Aka A4 08036126690, oniafoabiajibola@tyahoo.com 27/10/2013 12:15pm For more contact www.afolabioni.blogspot.com

Being Exact

There are times when being exact gets you in big trouble, I mean, unforgettable trouble. Let me explain this way; you are going from Costain to Oyingbo and the bus fare to and fro is N60. In order to ensure that you are financially discipline, you take exactly N60, or let’s say N100. Sure, you can get into big trouble. That was my lot in the month of July 2013. I saved seventy percent of my salary with friends that invested it in their businesses, ten percent to the God of Abraham, Isaac and Jacob and the remaining twenty percent for my upkeep. Hummmmm? You say. Yes. My second year as a master’s student of the University of Lagos was fast approaching and I needed to assemble 0.16million Naria, having paid 0.2 million Naira the first year. I also had to assemble money for accommodation since the Nigerian Army seemed to be ‘waiting for godot’. For me, God’s will be done. I got a call from my brother who spoke about a woman with BIS and the fact that they needed Literature in English teacher who had or was on his master’s degree. My elder brother sent me her number and indeed, I was disinterested. I checked my pocket, had about 1,200N left. I took a deep breath. It is worth the stress. I recharge 300N since the woman was using Etisalat. It will be bad to apologise to a business acquaintance that your credit got exhausted. It isn’t professional. I dialled her number to book an appointment- 12noon on Saturday (the following day) was agreed. Humm. I called my Aduni to reassure her of my undying love for her, despite neither sending credit to her phone nor bank account. What sort of fiance am I? Anyway, I did all the sweet talking from my heart because indeed she is the most beautiful woman in the world. I left my school at about 4pm with a colleague. Well, let me say a brother, ‘cause he is more than a colleague and I’m proud of him any day. I spent another 200N on transportation, having a whooping 700Naira left. I was to get to Badore to see a friend for something quite urgent- no, not romance, but finance. Please don’t think that. Romance is not the only urgent thing. But lord have mercy when I’m on fire. My Aduni can tell. Badoreing cost me another 250Naira and I was left 450N. Got back to the room filled with hunger and a dangerous joy- the joy that kills. I ate the left-over in the pot and was in bed. I woke up the following day with doubt but glory to God. I concluded that the appointment with the BIS woman will be for my friend who was teaching in faraway Taraba. I called him to convince him to come for the interview on Tuesday, but like Thomas, he wasn’t ready to leave certainty for uncertainty. He said, he would think about it. I checked the internet for the school, their structure and curricula. It is affiliated to several UK and Canadian Universities. Let me write the interview for my friend. I can’t jump out of my school for now. My curriculum vitae will be too terrible to look at. Working for 8months with the first school; another for four months; having taught in twelve different schools in just nine years of my teaching profession. Terrible you say, yeah, pretty terrible. No sack letter, just one query in nine years. Whaoo! It was 12:37pm already and I apologised to the woman and fixed another for 7pm. I studied a little and was dressed by 4pm. I got to Lekki phrase one at exactly 6:02pm. I strolled around the Estate and was determined to bet that it was incomparably better than VGC, not until I saw the other side. I gave the woman a call and she affirmed that she would be around at 7:00pm only to be present at 7:05pm. It was a long and unending discussion but the most important aspect was the remuneration. She said I should expect about 170, 000N to 200, 000N. That was after I lied that I collect 120, 000N from where I currently serve. She promised that the school will send me abroad for further training. I equally lied that my longest duration with a school during my years of teaching was a year and half, when it is actually just one year, that is, if up to that. I imagined what had made me lie conveniently and convincingly. I was very sure something was wrong. Yes, I hadn’t ejaculated for over four months except for wet dream and had being faithfully avoiding more serious and better interestingly rewarding iniquities. After the discourse, I moved away from her second new Jeep and walked towards Mainstreet bank and then to the gate. So fortunate was I, there was no on-coming vehicle and I crossed the express road in a hurry. All of a sudden, I heard, ‘you are under arrest, don’t move, and don’t talk.’ What? That was when I realized that a pedestrian bridge was just right ahead of me. I got confused. I didn’t ask for my crime, of course I knew. I was placed in the vehicle like a criminal. ‘Please! E! I! Humm! Sorry! I’m a graduate, this is my first time here. Please, Jesus, I’m from Osun State. I didn’t know. I swear to God. Anything. Ha! Ye! I have just 210N on me. I live at Langbasa. Ha! Please don’t drive the vehicle, mo gbe,’ I kept talking. I remembered my day at Jalingo prison, not as an inmate, but a motivational speaker. I remembered how the people cried loud when I asked them if they knew the word vengeance. I begged them to let go, that was then, because vengeance is of God. I remembered how a prison warden, hit a sick old man with robust baton. How the inmates fought with the last drop of their blood over who gets water first. The water wasn’t sufficient and if you don’t fight dirty, you don’t get water to drink. Everyone must fight dirty, including the prison pastor and Imam. The punches, the hammering of metal bucket on someone’s face, the dragging of the defeated on the graved round the prison premises, breaking of bone that calls for no better medical attention but Paracetamol, among other. I resumed my necessary but senseless speech. I won’t survive prison. ‘Broz please, I’m from Osun State, from Ori-Ade Local Government Area. I’m from Ijebu-jesa town. Please! Ha! Ok take my phone, but I will remove my sim and memory cards. E jo! Ha! This is my degree certificate that I snapped on my phone. I’m an English teacher.’ The man was like 007, unmovable. I imagined myself, a good Nigerian giving bribe. Will I rather be imprisoned for being greedy-‘not wanting to shake body’ than give my phone. The crime any security man arrests you for is not the basic, the cell is jam-packed already. I will only be a burden, but if I don’t give something, they will put me there and I will be on awaiting trial for years if not decades. And if anyone is ready to agree to bail me, bail is free but they have to pay for utilities- and that is about 20, 000N per month. The DPO must get his share. He asked me if I had any cash on me, even 500N. I answered the negative. Then I knew that money was more important to these myopic set of uncivilized fools in uniform. Of course I didn’t say that out. Immediate, my phone became his with no receipt, nor document. Officer! Hummm. If only I had just N500 or N200 on me, those cheap demons dressed in black wouldn’t have taken my phone. Being exact can be a minus ooo. Please take more cash. Just a story ONI AFOLABI AJIBOLA www.afolabioni.blogspot.com 08036126690, oniafolabiajibola@yahoo.com 28/July/2013, 7:25pm