We were marching. "Left right... right, left right... right, TURNING ON THE MOUNTAIN! One two three four, left right..." We had stolen that move from Osun house. They always won the march-past contest because of that one move which they now choreographed as though they were dancing. I was one of the few guys marching. Most of the others in Gongola House considered themselves too cool to be assigned the menial task of organized walking.
So we marched and practiced while others yet trained themselves with the run, discus, javelin and shot put. I never understood why anyone even attempted to compete against Ovie Akpokojones in the javelin event. I mean, we're talking about an Urhobo man here, raised in Okpara waterside during his early childhood. Javelin was a necessary prerequisite for lunch in those parts (where I'm from, incidentally, so I know). Then there was Guy Omenske.
He was just the all-round athlete. He was from Warri, in case you hadn't known, and was gifted especially in the discus throwing and field events. Yet again, this was directly related to eating habits in Warri, so why anyone would attempt to compete was beyond me.
"Gaga, can I talk to you for a second?" I turned around. It was the house captain. My heart beat faster because I knew what was coming next. Once the word had gotten out that I was from Bendel, not unlike Ovie Akpokojones and Guy Omenske, and it was surmised that my robust cheeks and plump disposition could well be related to my hunting prowess, the decision was made that I be the next challenger to the throne of Guy and Ovie. But I knew better. Then again, thoughts of grandeur filled my head. What if I had it in me? What if I actually was able to win the javelin and discus events? I'd be a star. I'd be king. I'd finally be somebody! I'd be somebody! I stepped up quickly to the house captain with, as Zebrudaya would say, immediate alacrity and concobility.
The captain spoke: "Gaga, we were wondering if you'd like to take part in any of the track and field events." I hesitated a second, as though I had to think about it, then replied in the affirmative. The captain was overjoyed. This year, he thought, Gongola would finally be able to move past second place and push the erstwhile champs, Ogun house, back.
...I could see the finish line ahead of me. I heard the captain yelling from somewhere: "Go Gaga! You can do it!" Somewhere else, Ladi was yelling the time: "49... 50... 51... 52" The school record for 400 meters was 50 seconds. I was at 52 with ten yards to go. "53.. 54.. 55.."
Of course, had I been running the 400, it might have been exciting. Unfortunately, the time which you hear Ladi yelling was my time for the 100 meters sprint. "58.. 59... 60!" I collapsed on the ground at the finish line, exhausted beyond reason. Ladi rushed up to me: "One minute! You did it in one minute!" Perhaps he was retarded, or even insane, but a time of 60 seconds for a 100 meters dash was not exactly Ben-Johnson class, if you understand what I'm saying to you. Luckily this was just practice. I had a week to get myself up to speed.
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