But God was not finished with me yet. One day at SS Peter and Paul, momsie and popsie ran into Mr. Avoseh. When he discovered I was their child, he informed them I was a troublemaker and had written Psalm 119 almost as many times as Odunuga (the all-time legend). My parents were stunned. Gaga? A trouble maker? Sitting with Mr. Avoseh, they devised a scheme to make me more responsible: they believed I could be serious about school... if only I applied myself.
You've all heard that story. So Avoseh decided he'd give me responsibility. In a private talk with me, at the beginning of the second term, Avoseh informed me that I was be a beacon of light for the troubled students of 3-D--the most notorious bunch of rascals ever to grace I.S.I. I, Mr. Avoseh said, was to be the one to show that one could turn their life around. I, Mr. Avoseh said, was to be the class captain of Mr. Avoseh's BK class with the inherent power of turning over trouble makers who made noise when he was not in class.
I was astounded. Was he serious. Did he know what he was doing? I started shivering. "I will do my best sah!" I responded humbly. I paused for a second, for drama, you get, then said forcefully: "I will not let you down sah! I won't!" Avoseh seemed so proud of me and shook my hand. That handshake consummated the beginning of what would be the bloodiest power struggle in the history of I.S.I--a genocide of unheard of proportions.
2nd Term
As soon as it was announced that I was class captain, it seemed as though I'd just bought everyone lunch the day before. Folks were coming to me left and right trying to be my friend. Everyone loved me, quite suddenly. Kola knew what was coming--the storm was brewing. You see, Lambert and Abbot might have been great physicists, but they were nowhere as long-winded as David the shepherd who had nothing to do all day but tend sheep and drink palm-wine. Oh, brethren, it was on. It was on. The idea that Avoseh would actually allocate the power of Psalm 119 to a mere student was almost unreal. My enemies trembled. I shuddered in anticipation.
But I was smart. I didn't want to rock the boat. And Kola was smart too. He watched as we eyed each other warily, waiting for who would strike the next blow. Mr. Ibeagha seemed stunned at how the noise-makers list length had dropped dramatically. It was a time of realignment. I took some of my old boys back, but some I couldn't. They'd betrayed me way too deeply, and they could see what was coming. Every day it was the same story from these rebel infiltrators: "Gaga, how now. I dey go Mama Nike's chicken, you wan chop?" Ah, how it hurt me (and still does, when I remember) that I turned down free Mama Nike's chicken for I proclaim that in the history of West Africa, none has made chicken so succulent--so tasty. Ah, Mama Nike's chicken was DA BOMB! But I knew that it took thirty pieces of silver to bribe Judas. No one was getting over with one chicken leg. Forget about it. Some folks were just going to pay dearly. Blood had to be spilled.
After three weeks in Avoseh's class, I had only penciled a few scapegoats to jot down Psalm 119. These were casualties of war. I was using them to set up a final assault that I just knew would bring me back my past glory. In those three weeks, not once was I listed on Ibeagha's list--a feat even Ibeagha found hard to believe. But Kola was watching and waiting. And then it happened.
One afternoon, Mr. Avoseh was late to class. Lulled into a false sense of security, many of my classmates played the fool and made so much noise. Kola, I saw him in the corner. Kola, he was watching me uneasily. I smiled at him and started writing names. The war had begun. By the time Avoseh made it to class, all of Kola's clique, and a few other scapegoats (rebel infiltrators whom I'd exposed) were listed as the principal noisemakers. Oh, I put asterisks next to every one of Kola's boys’ name so much so that Avoseh demanded they write Psalm 119 twice each. The war was on!
Over the next 12 or so weeks, there were so many defections and casualties of war: Even females, who had escaped most of the fighting, were now targeted (as well as children and innocent civilians). Oh, if Yetunde annoyed me she would find herself writing Psalm 119, perhaps twice if I felt like it. And suddenly, my jokes were ALWAYS funny. This was power. Kola had his own fire power too, don't misunderstand the situation. I wrote so many chapters of Nelkon (or Abbott, or Costello.. who knows?), I did so well in physics that term. Ibeagha was too surprised.
My advantage was that there is practically nothing to be gained from writing Psalm 119. That mu'g, David, was smoking some weed. He had to be. What the hell was he talking 'bout for those number of pages. I say he should have been allowed to play with those Bethlehem village girls while tending sheep. Perhaps he'd have had less to say.
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