Chronicles of a Kwara State Corper Episode 1
What could possibly be causing such chaos in a school environment that should be as quiet as a graveyard I queried, albeit not referring to anyone in particular. I reverted back to what I was reading.
Students were running helter-skelter. Their shouts becoming too distracting. Then I paused, dropped my phone in my bag and decided to peek from the window pane. The window blinds were too dusty, I wasn't inclined to touch them, I beckoned on the other Corper to help me shift it to a corner. I needed to get a glimpse of what goes on outside.
The view was clearer. No obstruction. I held my breath and pursed my lips in puzzlement. Trying to decipher what was happening. The other Corper took interest too. He stood beside me and we looked together. The S.S. 3 boy was holding unto her brassiere. His eyes were bloodshot. His disgruntled voice thundering, promising rain and brimstone. He kept on lashing authoritatively, flinging his hands on air. I couldn't discern what he was saying as he spoke in his dialect.
Because they are bigger than my scrawny self, I warned me not to step an inch close to the scene else I'd be buried under dust.
The shouts from other students had now drawn the attention of some teachers who scampered to the scene. The girl was uncontrollably cursing in vernacular and then she kicked his crotch. That did the magic. He whimpered in pain. Cringed at being kicked in the crotch. His facial expression suppressing nothing. The spectators ( the girls amongst them) shouted merrily, cheering the girl. Their hero's breasts dangling in the air. She wasn't in the least embarrassed.
Mr Abegunde sauntered to where the boy was and held him tight probably to support his stance, lest he falls to the ground from the pains inflicted on him by the brave girl, while the latter was taken to the principal's office with one of the teacher's shawl placed on her to cover her nudity.
From the window where I stood watching the drama, I wondered what could have triggered the fight. Videoing would've absolutely made me an awful and a petty person which I'm not.😜😜😜
No innate temerity to approach one of the teachers to ask what caused the fight. They'd totally snub my ass. It's customary for them to arrogantly ignore non-indigenes especially ones with zero ability to speak or interact in Yoruba. Speaking English literally drains their strength and because I couldn't possibly be the reason as to why someone will become weak, I decided to mind my business.
I felt bad for the girl. For whatever reason, she shouldn't have fought back, maybe because that's what I'd do if I was faced with same situation.
I abhored fighting during my secondary school days. My power was solely on my lips. I can endlessly argue and exchange words with you but when it's time to use bare hands?? Well, it was nice doing business with you". Call me "A Scary Cat" but Fighting scared the shit outta me. Maybe that was why I developed cold feet while the squabble went on. What if they accidentally injure my left eye or probably the right one? I just Kent deal.
It was 11;30 a.m. the teachers were still trying hard to quiet the other students who were still loudly describing how the awful fight took place. I was bound to know that bit (their chatters were about the fight) because I was once a student like them.
Already tired and sure attending classes Won't be something I'd fancy doing again till tomorrow, I carried my handbag and scurried towards my house, dreading the possibility of landing face to face with the Principal, who would never waste a second asking why I'd leave school by that time of the day.