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Kolade Olaiya is a graduate student at East Tennessee State University, Tennessee. He is a Nigerian who has been writing poetry for eight years and short stories for four years. He loves describing things in a way that balances clarity and ambiguity.

EXCELLENCE IN creative WRITING AWARD – 2020

Facing Boarding School

Kolade Olaiya, East Tennessee State University 

Michael had not always stayed back in class during recess. In primary school, he and his friends used to play football with a ball made up of wrapped sheets of paper from their notebooks bound by cello tape during recess. He would pinch the girls in his class when they were sleeping like the rest of the boys. He even sat at the back of the class like all the other cool boys. He was born in Ikerre Ekiti, southwest Nigeria, and schooled there until the sixth grade. He lived close to most of his friends, so he got to play with them at home, especially during the weekends. They could hike anywhere in Ikerre because of the uneven terrain, but they used to hike at Olosunta rock because of the water. They would go to the creek for a swim and splash a lot of water on their faces. Although they no longer touched his face like they used to when they were much younger, they still used to draw hashmarks on their faces with drops of water hoping it would stick like those on Michael’s face. 

Michael did not know he had tribal marks until he went to Abuja for middle and high school. Michael sat at the back of class on the first day of Junior Secondary School 1 because he was shy, not because he was cool. The only people he knew in his new school were his cousins. There were three of them; The female, who was coal black like him, was in JSS2, and the twin boys, who were albino black, were in SS2. 

“Why did you not go on break?” Mr. Daniel asked.

“Abuja is different,” Michael said.

“That is why you need to make new friends,” Mr. Daniel said.

Michael thought the rest of his day would not be much different from recess. The only time he spoke was when he had to introduce himself to a new teacher. Although he did not speak much, and his head mostly rested on his table, all his classmates’ eyes were on him. Michael thought they had never seen someone so dark, but he soon noticed that all eyes were on him because of his accent. His classmates would chuckle whenever he pronounced every word that began with a vowel as if it began with an H. “At least they finally noticed me,” Michael thought. 

There was no escape. Michael went to the dining room for lunch. He walked there alone unlike the other students who walked in twos and threes. He was the only one in the food line who did not talk. After collecting his macaroni and stew, he went to eat at a table with no one else at it. He stared at the food for some seconds before taking a spoon. It brought a smile to his face. Finally, he had found something he could eat. He was halfway into his food, still facing the table, when a hand tapped his shoulder and made him spill some water. It was Sarah, his cousin. 

“Michael, how are you?” she asked

Michael did not respond like she expected. She was happy he finally found something he could eat. She then gave him half of her food and went to sit on another table with her friends.

Michael wondered why everyone in the dining room was looking at him as he went to get some extra food. “I did not speak. So why are they chuckling,” he thought. Back in Ikerre only people who had committed shameful crimes were stared at. The last time people stared at him for so long was when his father left the Anglican church because he disagreed with the Church’s decision to ban tribal scarification.

Because Michael and his sister went to a missionary school, they had to endure hisses and eyerolls from teachers for about a year. But their father did not withdraw them from school because he knew the insults would fade away. The market women called Michael’s mum the wife of a pagan, and all she would do was tell them to look at their children’s faces and ask themselves if they were any different from hers. 

“At least they won’t stop taking my money,” she said.  

Michael went back to the hostel for siesta. He had removed his uniform and was now only wearing his boxers, ready to get a heat-free sleep when his bunk mate, an SS3 student, called “last boy.” All the middle school students in the room jumped from their beds to the floor faster than monkeys and knelt in front of Senior Abraham’s bed. Although Michael was not the last boy, Senior Abraham told him to stand in the middle as all the other boys knelt in a semicircle around him. Senior Abraham sat on his bed, holding his belt, and made Michael pronounce words that began with vowels for the laughter of everyone. That was how Michael lost his siesta, but he still had to go for prep. 

He changed his sitting position during prep. Michael knew he was not cool here. He wore flip flops while others wore Nike slides. His t-shirts were tailor sown unlike his classmates, who wore mostly police T-shirts. He moved to an empty seat in the first row and flipped the pages of his books like he was cramming for a test amidst the noise. The other boys in his class went to the seats of the girls they liked in their class every time Ms. Maureen, their class teacher, stepped out of the room. Prep was over and it was time for dinner. On his way to the dining room, he met both of his twin cousins who hugged and tickled him. That was the first time he had laughed since his uncle and aunty dropped him in school. 

“How are your classes going?” Simeon asked.

“They are going great,” Michael said.

“That’s fine, at least you get to swallow some garri and okra sauce today, local boy,” Solomon said.

They had disappeared into the crowd of students going to the dining room before he could tell them how Senior Abraham embarrassed him. It’s not too bad anyway, he thought. Michael smiled all the way to the line. He was finally going to eat some food that he was used to. He saw a flier on his table for a fashion show. Well, everyone had the flier and they were chatting about it. He, however, picked up the flyer, squeezed it, and put it in his pocket. He then continued using his fork to eat his food in discomfort. He wished he could eat with his hands, but he did not want the people to look at him even more.

 While everyone went to class after dinner for night prep, Michael went back to the hostel. The metal gate doors by the stairs were locked, but he had learned from the other boys how to sneak his head under the middle railing and jump over the right railing into the hostel. He went to his bed and all he could think of was the past week at his uncle’s house when life was good. Uncle Dare told Michael he would take care of him when his father died. His uncle’s driver picked him up in a Toyota Highlander from the motor park and drove him to his uncle’s house on Lagos Island. It was the first time he had seen a car so big. Everything outside of the window looked like heaven to him. He had never seen houses so tall; he had never seen single palm trees, not in a cluster; all the grasses were green, and he barely saw any dust after he left the motor park. He had only ever seen a house like his uncle’s once before when he went on a class visit to the government house. A two-story building. The most shocking thing about Lagos for Michael was that most people did not look like him. He was shocked how much they covered their bodies despite the heat. A lot of the men in cars wore suits, and a lot of the men walking wore shirts and trousers. Their ties had become handkerchiefs with which they used to wipe sweat off their faces. And a lot of people his age wore sweaters, jeans, and sneakers unlike him, who wore shorts, slides, and was not t-shirtless only because he was traveling. 

Lagos was a different world, but Michael was not poor. His father was a secretary in the local government house assembly; his father was one of the few people who owned a Benz 190, and they could afford to eat rice every day and a protein with every meal. They lived in a three-bedroom flat. Michael turned his flashlights on and off as he thought of the weekend when he would get to speak to his parents. 

Boarding school life was not as rosy as his uncle’s house. The lights were out, and Michael had been snoring on his bed for about an hour when he was woken up by belt lashes on his back by Mr. Femi, who then sent him to class. Talk about the class experience. The sleep lines on his face made his tribal marks even more visible, and his classmates made sure to laugh at him as he entered the class. They even left him to sleep in class after prep.

When he woke up, it was dark, his nose was running, and all he could smell was the aboniki balm his classmates put in his nose. He switched on his torchlight and jumped over the railings to get into the hostel.

He was back cutting weeds again the next morning. Although the cutting of weeds was rotated day by day, Senior Abraham, the labor prefect, told him to continue because he said the cuts on his face that looked like basketball stripes made him a perfect fit.

“Here’s is my bucket, put the bucket of water by the bunk,” Senior Abraham said.

Michael had been fetching water for himself and senior Abraham for the past three days, so he was used to carrying two paint buckets of water up three floors of stairs to Red House room 3.

The hostel was rowdy as usual after morning duty. Most of the JSS1 boys moved around the hostel in a school uniform shirt or trouser, asking if anyone had a spare shirt or trouser. Some of their uniforms were lost, some were stolen, and some had no clean uniforms to wear because they did not know how to wash their two white school uniform shirts. 

As usual, the chatter in Red House room 3 eased when Senior Abraham got out of shower because he did not like the noise, and it signaled ten minutes before late comers to the assembly were made to kneel. 

Michael was the first to get to assembly again. The only thing he remembered from assembly was the announcement that the fashion show was going to be held on Saturday. However, it was the first time only JSS1 students were going to participate, and they were all required to participate. 

He waved at his cousins who were kneeling as usual for being late as he filed out of the assembly line. That was the only time he was guaranteed to see them everyday because they were all in different classes and houses. 

He knew he was going to get ten over ten in the English quiz he took yesterday, but the teacher did not think so. “I did not expect this from someone like you,” Ms. Ike said. She only said this to him and the fat boy who sat beside him although they were not the only ones who got a perfect score. His name was Frank. They greeted each other by nodding their heads like most black men do. Michael and Frank were the only ones in class during recess again. Michael watched the other boys play football from the window and reacted to every goal like it was Manchester United who had scored a goal. 

“Why don’t you go play with them?” Frank said.

Michael looked up to the ceiling, down at the tiles, and out the window in search of who asked him the question before he looked back.

“I don’t know,” Michael said.

Those were the only words they exchanged. The bell rang and it was time for Royal English class. 

“You have to work on your phonetics. Michael, read the first paragraph,” Ms. Maureen said. Michael asked to use the restroom. The whole class laughed as Michael ran to the restroom. He did not return until after 45 minutes when the class was over. He did not even bother to stay in class the next day when it was time for Royal English. 

Michael went to the site where the new auditorium was to hide. This was the auditorium that was going to host the fashion show on Saturday, so the walls inside were being painted as he ran into the building. The painters looked at him for a split second and continued painting. He walked a mile from the entrance to the podium. He swallowed his saliva as he looked round at the empty seats. He hung around the podium until the alarm on his watch rang for the beginning of the next class period. 

During siesta, all the JSS1 boys in Red House room 3 wore their traditional attires. Some had walking sticks, some red caps, and some caps that looked like the ears of a dog as they walked from one end of the room to the other. All Michael did was watch them until Senior Abraham got to the room. 

“Where are your clothes?” Senior Michael asked.

Michael brought out his own agbada and cap from under his pillow. He slouched his back as he walked down the room until a Senior Michael slap on his neck made him straighten it. 

When siesta was over, Michael did not go to class for afternoon prep. He went back to the auditorium. He tried to be as unnoticeable as possible. As he entered the lobby of the auditorium, he heard footsteps, so he rested on the wall behind a pillar until the sound faded. He opened the auditorium door and it was dark like the lobby, so he turned on his flashlight and got on the stage. He walked up and down the stage with his head upright for five minutes. He sighed, picked up his bags, and headed to class. On his way to class, he waved at both of his male cousins who were looking at the sky from the balcony of their classroom, but they did not see him. He did not shout their names because he did not want to get spanked for loitering around during prep. When he got to class, it was like a ghost had just entered. Yet, he felt everyone was watching him, so he laid his head on his desk until he went to prep for dinner. He saw his cousins again as he walked to the dining room. They were in the middle of the crowd walking to the dining room, but no one was talking to them. They had their hands on each other’s shoulder. 

When Michael collected his beans pottage, he looked around for a table that had nobody sitting at it. Unfortunately for him, all the tables were occupied. A hand tapped his back as he was walking around looking for a table. 

“Michael, sit down. Why is there paint on your t-shirt and trousers?” his cousins said.

That was when he realized the walls in the auditorium had stained his clothes. He did not reply to them anyway. He just sat down and ate his food. They were not expecting Michael to speak, so they were shocked when he asked if they knew Senior Abraham.

“Who doesn’t,” they said.

“He is my bunkmate. He beats me all the time.”

“Well, good luck. We do not want more iron burns on our heads,” they said.

Even as a junior in JSS2, Senior Abraham was a notorious bully. He was responsible for the black spots on their heads that made them look like Muslims. At that time the twins and Senior Abraham were in the same houses and rooms. He would call last boy whenever the SS3 students were not in the room. On one of those days, one of the twins was the last boy. He did not send him to fetch a bucket of water like all the other last boys; instead, he told him to get his brother from the other room. He told them to plug in an iron and put them on each other’s foreheads when it was hot.

Senior Abraham was suspended from school for two weeks, but that did not stop him from bullying them again. During a JSS1 vs. JSS2 football match, Senior Abraham stood beside the twins when he was about to take a throw in. His shoulder pushed one of them to the floor as he took the throw in. As the ball was still in the air, he looked at the twin on the floor and told him that the only thing black about him was his forehead.

They had more stories about Senior Abraham, but the bell rang, so they had to disperse for night prep. Everyone in class was talking about their attires for the fashion show, which was now two nights away. Michael and Frank had their mathematics textbooks in front of them like they were preparing for the test the next day, but their eyes were really on the runway at the back of the class. The girls all brought their attires to class. Headgears that looked like fans on their heads, glittering blouses, and two-inch heels. Michael and Frank’s heads moved from left to right through out night prep. 

Michael was not prepared for the test. When the lights went out by 10 p.m., an hour after night prep, Michael turned on his flashlights and studied for the mathematics test for the next two hours. 

It was now a day until the fashion show. Because Michael finished cutting his portion of grass early that morning, he went to the auditorium. He wanted to walk on that stage again, but the doors were shut, so he filled his two paint buckets and went to take a shower. 

It was the longest shower of his life. He was not sweating, it was only water on his body, but he was nervous. He kept reciting his name, what state he was from, and his hobbies. He went to the assembly without his tie and got lost during his mathematics test. Everyone probably thought the chewing of the cover of his pen meant he was cracking his brain for formulas when all he was thinking about was how he would not forget his name on the stage. He did not even leave the class when it was time for royal English. Ms. Maureen just left him in his thought after asking him to read without a response for the third time. When the bell rang for recess, he snuck himself into the hostel. He removed his shoes, untucked and unbuttoned his shirt, laid on his bed, and looked at the roof endlessly. 

He had been a great public speaker before boarding school. He received numerous applauds for his valedictorian speech at his primary school graduation. After the speech, parents of many of his classmates shook his hand and hugged his shoulders. They told him to keep it up. He never felt he was local or sounded like a villager. In fact, his teachers often applauded his diction. They said it was far superior to those of his classmates.

His diction was better than his classmates because his family was one of the few who could afford a lesson teacher. He had two lesson teachers who taught him and his siblings’ math, science, and English on the weekends. He and his sisters often mimicked their lesson teachers. They would wear baggy pants and fat ties, chase themselves in circles while saying “I would knock you like the math teacher” did whenever they failed all the questions of an assignment he gave them. And they would also stress their rs and speak through their noses like their English teacher did. 

His good English was bad English in his new school. He could never finish a sentence without someone telling him to excuse them or repeat what he said. He put on his shoes and went back to class when the bell rang because it was time for food and nutrition, his favorite subject. Mrs. Moboni asked him to read the first question of the test, which most of them had failed, loud and clear for the whole class as she wrote it on the black chalk board. He was used to being laughed at for switching ch’s with sh’s, so he did not pause. Her cheeks got puffy as she tried her best to hold in her laughter. “Is Yoruba your first language?” she asked. “No, English is, ma’am,” he said. Michael did not even know how to speak Yoruba. Despite growing up in Ikerre, his parents did not speak Yoruba to him and his siblings. They felt that speaking Yoruba to their children would make them local. His father would send them to their rooms whenever he wanted to watch a Yoruba movie and tell his friends who spoke Yoruba to his children to stop. 

Prep that afternoon was cancelled for JSS1 students. JSS1 students went to class, but there was no study. They all dressed in their attires and paired themselves in twos; one male and one female. There were 23 students in the class, 12 boys and 11 girls. Ms. Maureen told everyone to pair up for the fashion show. Everyone got a partner except for Ken, Michael, and the shortest girl in class. “Stella, pick a partner,” Ms. Maureen said. She looked at them like she had swallowed something bitter before pointing at Ken. The class burst into laughter. “Don’t worry, I will walk the stage with Michael.” Ms. Maureen said. They pushed the tables and chairs to the back and walked from one end of the class to the other for an hour. Michael walked the class stage without once smiling, but he also did slouch his back. Five times he walked down the class stage, and five times he introduced himself to the class without stuttering. As he sat at the table during dinner, he thought of what just happened in class. He did not know where his nervousness went to during that hour of practice. His heart was still beating fast and his neck was hot like he had a slight fever. 

Michael thought it would be a regular Friday night in which he would fall asleep watching his roommates play football. That night however, for the first time, he joined the boys to play. On Friday nights, boys in his hostel normally played for two to three hours. The upper-class students usually did not come to the hostel until about midnight. They were usually in class with their girlfriends smooching. Michael’s bed was one of the goal posts. That night he sat at the post, which was the lower bed. Yeah, it was also Senior Michael’s bed. The ball was a folded flip flop, the posts were the bunks on both ends of the room, and the nets were the mosquito nets on the beds. 

It was three versus three, but his presence made it four versus three when he started blocking the shots of the other team. The other team told him to stop, but when he did not, they put in a goalie too. Michael played in goal for the first and second game, which was a first to three goals win. He then got to play in the outfield for the rest of the night after the second game because one of his teammates was tired and decided to play in goal. He kicked the air with his first touch of the ball because he was rusty, but he grew into the game. At the end of the night, he had scored the most goals. The boys who normally would only look his way when laughing at his face or accent shook his hands and told him how much of a baller he was. He kept blushing until he slept.

It was the day of the fashion show. Michael woke up feeling good. He was not nervous. He felt like he was a student of the school for the first time. He even said “hi” to his classmates for the first time, and they looked at him in awe like they never knew he could speak. However, those were the last words he said. He spent the rest of the time backstage in his own mind thinking about the bright lights and representing his culture. He was happy his cousins were going to see him, but most importantly he was happy that he was going to get a chance to outshine his classmates in front of the rest of the school. He had his hands akimbo until it was time for him to walk on the stage. When walking the stage, Michael did not react to the silent laughs every time the spotlight hit his face. When he finished walking the stage with Ms. Maureen, he went to the mic to introduce himself. He coughed like it was going to clear his throat. He adjusted his cap. When the lights set on his face, the audience started laughing. He burst into tears. 

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