A Synopsis
Stoic, visionary, and beyond reproach. That's me. I am one of a kind God's creation - talented, but not a careerist. I am compassionate, selfless, and reliable. Like President Bill Clinton, I know little about almost everything. And like Chief Obafemi Awolowo, my integrity is intact - creative, intuitive, knows what works, inspiring, and the ability to identify those with the traits to catalyze the dreams and achieve the agenda.
I am lucky to enjoy the surrounding of one of a kind loving and compassionate sisters, brothers, nieces, nephews, and cousins. And I can't thank God enough for the Mother who raised me, showered me with love, admiration, unparalleled discipline, and yes, imbued me with the traits and essence of kingship, nobility, dignity, humility, and integrity. My mother was such an amazing, phenomenon disciplinarian woman. At fourteen years old, she could still slap me across the face and I dare not cry. And all the youths, elders in the community, as well as my childhood friends were quite aware of her noble virtues and wisdom, which, of course, made things very difficult for me outside of the house some times. I dare not misbehave or beat up any deviant kids during a soccer match in the playground like my friends would do. It was always "go and tell his mama." As a Princess that she was, even though she was married to a very successful peasant farmer, she was grooming me as if I have a kingship throne waiting for me to occupy. And I ended up acting older than my age - unconsciously, though - and behaving as if I want to become the President of America tomorrow.
How She Made My Future
One day, during the summer-long holiday, she went to her eldest sister's house at Eguare -Ewohimi and noticed some children, my age-mate, communicating in the English language. Hearing them speaking English, she asked if someone is visiting the village from the city with his kids. They told her no. She then asked whose children are these and where did they learn to communicate in English. And they told her, at the Catholic Elementary School, facing the house. Saint Mathias Elementary School, being the school that the children of the Lecturers Pilgrim Baptist Grammar Schoo, the workers at the Oil Palm Company and the staff of the Eastern Ishan District Council attend, every student must learn to communicate in English. Besides, about 90% of the Teachers at Saint Mathias Elementary School are non-native. Meaning that all the kids must be able to write and read English to be able to participate in classroom works and interact with other students in school. Hearing that, my mother made up her mind that she is transferring me to the school.
The moment she got home, that was the first topic on the table; Ehimhantie is transferring to Siant Mathias Catholic School in Fall. My Dad asked her why. She replied he doesn't know how to speak, read, or write in English. According to her, all the children in that School communicate perfectly well in the English language as if they are from cities. My Dad didn't say a word. At the time, I knew you would have to first obtain Transferred Certificate to be able to consummate transfer to a new school. Even though my Mom was well-traveled, she wasn't educated. I was unperturbed, knowing that she won't be able to do it. So, I supposed.
On the first day of the new school year in the Fall, my Dad sat in the Living Room, waiting for the unexpected, not saying a word. I had my bath, dressed up casual, and waited at the Living Room. My mother came and asked, do you know Mama Theresa's house, I replied yes. She said, carry your bag and go there and ask for a Teacher. I looked at my Dad, and he didn't say a word. I went straight to Mama Theresa's house. Getting there, it was Mama Theresa who met me at the door. I greeted how, and she asked about my Mom and I told her she is fine. Then she shouted, Obhi-Irhierhe (Irhierhe's child) is here to no one in particular. Suddenly, a tall guy who I was seeing for the first time came out. He greeted me and asked about my mom, I replied she is fine. The next question was, do you know your way to St Mathias Primary School at Eguare, I told him yes. He said, go there and wait for me. But you must first go back home and change to your old school uniform. I did. I got there and I was placed in a class specified by my mother. Just like that. That was how my transfer was executed by my illiterate mother. And that became a turning point in my life and in my academic pursuit.
Though I had to trek three times the distance I use to trek to my previous school, it was the most exciting moment of my infant life. The exposure was amazing, and I became more like a city guy. The following year, I was offered admission to the Federal Government Unity School without applying. Unfortunately, I couldn’t take advantage of the opportunity, because my Dad died a few weeks earlier. The family and entire community were in mourning mood, and my Uncle could not afford to send me away to a boarding system while still in elementary school.
Applying to Grammar School
At the time my Dad went to be with the Lord, my older stepbrother was already in Grammar School. Given the fact that my immediate elder sister did not go beyond Elementary School, my mother was not ready to take any chance with the future of her only surviving male child.
So, when I was in Primary Six, my Mother called me aside one day and wanted to know the process of securing admission into Grammar School. I told her that, first, you would have to register for a Common Entrance Examination and choose about three Grammar Schools. After the examination, any of the Grammar Schools would invite you for an interview if you meet their passing score. It is your performance at the interview that determines your acceptance or eligibility.
Hearing that, She asked, how much is the fee for the examination? I told her, isele-igbe - One Naira. She untied her "agbale" from her waste, unfold it, and brought out a One Naira note for me. I didn't take it immediately. I said, "Nene," we are just in the first term. It is not yet time for the enrolment. She insisted I take the money, saying, take it and keep it. If I die tomorrow, I don't want you to declare in future "I did not go to Grammar School because I had no money to register for the Common Entrance examination." I took the money from her. My Mama did not die as she feared during the enrolment, but something else happened that no one anticipated. I will come back to this later.
A day after my Mama gave me the money, I took the money to school and showed it to the younger guy who shared the same Bench with me in Class, Prince Ojiefoh Enosegbe. And told him what my Mom did. He asked, "what are you going to do now?" I said I don't know what to do with the money. During the break, I approached the General Monitor, who was at the time, richer than all of us. His Uncle was a Pool Magnate. And most often, he would buy launch for us. I showed him the money and told him what my mom did. He looked at me condescendingly and asked, what are you going to do with the money? Not waiting for my response, he asked, you want to buy peanuts and banana with it? He grabbed the money from me, saying, “give it to me before you go and waste it - you know your Mom, she will kill you if you do that.” I said that's why I showing it to you, Victor. He grabbed the money and placed it in his pocket without saying a word. Then, he proceeded to buy us Fanta and biscuit.
When the time came for registration, my Mother did not die. I was not at school to register. I was at home for about a month with severe illness. The guy who had my money, Victor, told another student that Alex’s Mom gave his enrolment fee to him a few months ago and that he has the money. And that was how the two gentlemen choose the three Grammar Schools for me and registered me for the Common Entrance Examination accordingly.
My trusted guy was Victor Ojiake. He lives in Europe presently. His grandmother and my grandmother were from the same village. And we happened to know each other while both of us were hanging out with our grand Uncles and kids. The first dude who I shared the same Bench in the classroom was Prince Ojiefoh Enosegbe. He is today, the Onogie of Ewohimi, His Royal Highness Lord Ojienefoh Usifoh The Second. And our friendship is still as tight today as it was decades ago. The dude who assisted Victor with my registration is Obhokhan Moses Ukpebor. Today, he lives in Boston with his wife and kids. The three Grammar School offered me admission. But I accepted the offer from Pilgrim Baptist Grammar School (PBGS) to be closer to home and be supportive of my Mom with her farm work.
Grammar School was very exciting. Except in the Mathematics class where I didn’t know what the lecturers were saying. I tried to catch up, but I couldn’t, and I just quit. Beginning from Form One, I was the top student in the English Language. And I repeated the same feat in Form Two and Form Five. To her grace, I completed the WASC - West Africa School Certificate syllabus in Government and Literature in English in Form Four - a year faster. While in Form Five, I was more like a substitute teacher to some of my classmates in Government and Literature in English. And that was how the Lawyer in me and the interest in Public Affairs started. And I credit my Mom for everything.
My Mom, Personally.
She was not educated. She grew up at Eguare-Ewohimi with her eldest sister, Mama Spaco. And their house was opposite Saith Matthias Catholic School, the same Elementary school she later transferred me to. She was raised a Catholic. And that was how she became very versed in the Bible and a little bit of the English language. That exposure came handy when she started her fish and yam business years later.
She would buy yam from some of the farmers in our village and traveled with the yam to Warri and Sapele to sell to the riverine communities in the Niger Delta. She would remain there for about a week. And after selling her yam, she would buy dried fish and shrimps from the aquatic farmers in the region and bring them home to sell. She was simply special, and we never lack anything. I and my immediate elder sister grew up knowing how to fend for ourselves whenever my Mom was on the move. It was an upper-middle-class lifestyle she gave us.
Of all the life-lectures that she taught me, the one that she was most adamant about was respect for women. The lessons in this category that influenced my early childhood relationship with women and even now are (1) Do not divulge your sexual encounters with a woman to any of your friends. (2) Do not take your disagreement or dispute between you and your girlfriend to your friend or to me to resolve for you. If you cannot resolve it by yourself, no one can do it for you. And (3) do not be in a hurry to engage in a sexual relationship with any girl. She has to be your best friend and the best girl "in class" or around you. There is nothing like I was in a hurry or I was sex-starved. You must know what you are dealing with and the repercussions. And when anything happens, you must be prepared to say: yes, I did, and I am responsible.
I followed the advice to the letter throughout my dating life. Unfortunately, when it came time for me to marry, I did not marry the best girl in class or my best friend. I traveled to Nigeria to marry someone whom I thought I know after being away from my home country for many years. It wasn't for love, or for being the best girl in class or being my best friend. None of what my mother taught me. I just wanted to be closer to my Nigerian roots or culture and I went home to marry a stranger. And it was dead from the onset. And I thank God for vindicating the "just" in me and my clean hands.
Before I forget, I must add that I am the first University graduate in my family, not just in my Father’s house. One of the first ten lawyers in the community. The first with a graduate degree in law. And the first in the community to graduate from Harvard.
Some years ago, I decided to drive a taxi in Boston, Massachusetts. I was new in the US, I couldn’t get a job and I was desperate to rent my own house. And when the news came out that I was driving Taxi, one of my friends looked at me and said, “Alex, when I heard that you started driving Taxi, I couldn’t believe the story. Because you are the last person on earth I would expect to take the plunge.” I got that "plunge" from my Dad.
2008, I was in Nigeria to attend the Nigeria Bar Association Annual Conference, and I decided to take the opportunity to sell my Integrative Educational Model, which I developed as a student at Harvard University Extension School, to some prominent political leaders in Northern Nigeria. After unsuccessful meeting the Senate President and the Secretary to the Federal Government of Nigeria, I decided to sell the proposal to the former President of Nigeria, Ibrahim Babangida at his resident in Minna, Niger State.
While I was boarding that Taxi that would take me there, a phone call came from my friend in Japan. He was my classmate at the University and roommate in my final year. He knew I was in Nigeria. And when his call came, I told him that I was about to take public transport from Abuja to Minna. His response was: “Alex, don’t tell me that is where you are going.” And I said, you trust your roommate; where else would I be going in Minna if not to meet and conference with him. I got that from my Dad. The integrative model that I wanted to pitch before them, was how to integrate the teaching of western education with Islamic studies at all the Qur’anic learning centers in Northern Nigeria. That, I got from my Mother. By the way, the model is part of the essay that is number two on this blog, which deals with bridging the educational gap between the North and South of Nigeria. Above all, everything about this Blog, the thinking, the vision, the theory, I got it from my Mother.
Politically Enlightened Without Education
Briefly, my mother was an unrepentant Awoist. She was politically savvy. There is nothing about Azikiwe, ENCEE-ENCEE (for NCNC), Action Group, Papa Awolowo, Shaka Momodu, Osadebey, and Abubakar Tafawa Balewa that she did not tell me. Also, she told me a lot of the stories and great kings and prophets in the Bible, like that of Joseph the Dreamer. It was during the Religious Knowledge classes at Saint Mathias Elementary School that I realized that some of the stories she told us at night at home came from the Bible.
One day, I asked my Mom, how come of all the names in the world, your friend, Chief Papa Awolowo, decided to be answering Awolowo as a name – knowing that in Esanland and the Edo Kingdom, there is a plant by the name, Awolowo. My Mom looked at me and declared, “before Awolowo the plant, there was Awolowo the person. Adding that Awolowo the plant is named after Awolowo the person. And I said, really. She said yes. Then she continues to lecture me on how the name came about. According to her, after every farming season, this plant would come and overtake the whole land, dominating every other plant around. And only the enigma of Chief Obafemi Awolowo that matches such conquest or swallowing. And that was how Awolowo the plant came to be.
The second and last question had to do with my Mom's first two daughters. My eldest was dark and her facial skin wasn't smooth. On the other hand, her immediate junior sister was light skin with a smooth face. I asked my mother how come she has smooth skin and her senior sister's skin looks rough? She replied that Obafemi Awolowo brought vaccines when the junior one was born. I think it was for the prevention against chickenpox or something similar. And I said, this your Awolowo friend must be a great man. I was very young then.
Also, it was her political lecture that prompted me to study Government in Grammar School. So when I got to Form three in Grammar School and register for Government as a course, I found out that all my Mom's lectures about NCNC, Action Group, and all the major characters are covered in my Government textbook. By the way, I completed the WAEC - West Africa Examination Council syllabus in Government in my First Term in Form Four. So going to Form Five, I bough A-Level textbooks. And it was not a big surprise that I score A1 in Government amongst other As in my WASC - West Africa School Certificate examination.
Her Royal Background
My Mom, though she grew up at Olenokhua Eguare and Uhie at Okaigben, was an Ogbe native, from the royal family. She was a cousin to the late Chief Ihama of Ogbe. During the Ukpeze Yearly Festival, Chief Ihama would say, the Ukpeze Festival will not start, until Irhierhe is here. And that remains the trend until my Mom passes on to be with the Lord. The one thing that Uncle Ihama did for me that I will never forget, was vacating his Master Bedroom for me to stay and sleep throughout the three days that my Mom's funeral lasted. The first night, I was scared of lying on his bed, and surprisingly, he walked in like a spirit and saw me sitting on a chair not sleeping. From his bedroom, is another door that leads to an open space, called "egun" in Esan. And there is no exit. In other words, his bedroom is like a complete world within the massive complex.
When he entered, he knew that I was scared. He stood beside me and told me not to be afraid that I am protected. Staring at somewhere I don't know exactly and not saying a word, he shook his head. Then, he said, without talking to me exactly, "the Ukpeze Festival will no longer be the same again." The moment she arrives in the community, the whole village would know she has arrived. He tapped me in the shoulder, shook his head again, and walked away. And since I have been accompanying my Mom to Ogbe for the festival, that was my closest encounter with Chief Ihama. And to be spending the night in his bedroom, and on top of his bed, is a privilege and rare honor money cannot buy. My Mom must have meant a lot to him.
The Discipline and the Not So Exciting Aspect of Being Her Child.
I am lucky to enjoy the surrounding of one of a kind loving and compassionate sisters, brothers, nieces, nephews, and cousins. And I can't thank God enough for the Mother who raised me, showered me with love, admiration, unparalleled discipline, and yes, imbued me with the traits and essence of kingship, nobility, dignity, humility, and integrity. My mother was such an amazing, phenomenon disciplinarian woman. At fourteen years old, she could still slap me across the face and I dare not cry. And all the youths, elders in the community, as well as my childhood friends were quite aware of her noble virtues and wisdom, which, of course, made things very difficult for me outside of the house some times. I dare not misbehave or beat up any deviant kids during a soccer match in the playground like my friends would do. It was always "go and tell his mama."
Once, I kicked a kid's ball into the bush for being abusive. An elderly woman walked by and asked why the kid is crying. He told her "Ehi kick my ball into the bush." The woman asked, do you know his Mom? The kid replied, yes. The next question was, do you know their house? The kid replied, yes. The elderly woman said, stop crying, go and tell his mama. And the woman walked away. Hearing that, I jumped into the bush immediately and fetched the ball for the kid. But he insisted on going to my house to report me to my Mama. I held him and pleaded with him, but to no avail. Then one of the kids who was watching without saying a word, said to the crying dude, "don't go to their house, tell him to buy buns for you at school tomorrow, his mama is a trader and she has money." Without any hesitation, the two of us agreed to the proposal. And that was the first thing I did the following day at school.
This dude became my tormentor for a long time. Anytime someone is crying around me, it is always, "stop crying; go and tell his Mama." It came to a point I had to report myself to my mother about the ordeal confronting me at playgrounds and at school; bribing kids and other students not to report me to my Mom over every little thing. I could do no wrong. It was as if the whole world knew my Mom. That all eyes were on me was an understatement. Yes, I had to report myself to my Mama as a preemptive measure. And that was how I stopped dissipating part of my "small change" for brunch at school.
When I transferred to the boarding system in Form Four when I was in Grammar school, I decided to pay a visit to the aggressive side of me on one occasion. One afternoon, in the company of five other students, we went to the city to play around and do some shopping. On our way back to the campus, the five of us took a single taxi. I sat at the front with another student and the driver and the other four students occupied the back seat.
As we approached the school gate, I told the driver not to stop at the gate, but to proceed a little further. At the time, there were numerous bush-paths connecting the highway to the back of all the dormitories. And I knew one of them very well. The moment the driver packed his car at the specified spot, I opened my door, dashed across the road, and bailed into the bush. I didn’t pay the driver. Two other students followed my lead. The other three did not run. But they turned out to be the lucky ones.
I didn't know that the taxi driver knows me and my Mom very well. Not only that, but he also was not in the mood to accept my fare from me. And the sweet-smelling loaf of bread on his dashboard was to be a gift to me. Seeing me in his vehicle, he kind of saw an opportunity to do a favor for me, which he did anticipate I will tell my Mom. But I ruined it.
The taxi driver declined to accept the regular fare form the other three students who didn't run. He told them to inform the guy with the afro hair (that’s me) that his mother is going to pay for the fare that the six of us were due to pay. He didn’t stop there. He told them that he knows the shed or stall where my Mom sells her wares in the public market. In the end, he gave them the giant loaf of bread that was on his dashboard, telling them that he wanted to give the bread to me as a gift because of my Mother. Hearing that, I started salivating.
As the other three students recount their stories, they much the bread with relish. Though the sweet smell of the bread made me salivate, my mind was on my Mama at home. My mind was beating fast: why did I? What will I tell her? That night, I had difficulties sleeping. But before I went to bed, I made up mind what to do - go to my village first thing tomorrow morning and report myself to my Mom before the Driver gets there.
That morning, as the "day students" were arriving in school, I was already on my way to face prosecution. I got home early as planned, and luckily for me, my Mama was at home. Seeing me, she jumped up, asking "bekhin?" I told her everything is okay. Then, why are you home? I sat down and told her everything and described the driver and his vehicle the best way I could. My Mama remained calm and didn't say a word. She asked, have you eaten, I told her no.
She then proceeded to the kitchen to fix me yam and vegetables – my favorite. The culture in the community is that you don't question my Mom. Her words are final. You only talk when she wants you to talk. She wasn’t aggressive or dictatorial. She was innately blessed with wisdom. And like Caesar's wife, she was above board.
As she was cooking, I gathered some strength to ask her about the driver, because I didn't have much time to spend at home waiting for my crucifixion. She went ahead to inform me that the driver grew up in the same house with her immediate elder sister (Aunty Ile). His mother died when the boy was very young, and Aunty Ile took care of him. And my Mama, been a frequent guest at her immediate sister's house, became very fond of the little guy. The little grew up to become a taxi driver, and on my Mom's recommendation, he was hired briefly to drive and teach my Mom's eldest sister’s son (cousin Spaco) how to drive. Hearing that, I took a deep breath, without saying a word, but telling myself, wao, he really knows who I am.
As I began relishing my meal, I knew it wasn't over between me and my Mother. She came over sat opposite me and asked me if it was financial hardship that prompted me to jump into the bush without paying the driver. I replied no. Why then did you jump into the bush? As I was searching for an answer, she asked, you jumped because you saw your friends doing it, did you? I said, no. Adding, I was the first to jump. You were the first to jump? She asked. And I replied in the affirmative. Hearing that, my Mom got up from her chair. Were it to be a few years back, when I was a little bit younger, my Mom would turn my face bloody. Seeing and feeling her helplessness, I stopped eating, got up from my chair, and told her that I am very sorry for what I did, promising her that it will not happen again.
I could feel her anger, as she asked over and over again, "why did you jump into the bush without paying the driver?” I was staring at my mother, not knowing what to say or tell her. I didn't really know what to tell her or why I did it. At that juncture, I consider it safer to for me to keep quiet than to lie. So, I just remained silent.
She came closer to me and said, next time, if you don't have any reason to do anything thing, don’t do it. I could feel her anger degenerate to disappointment and frustration. And that was worse. I repeated that it will not happen again. She accepted my apology. And told me that I did the right thing by traveling to the village to report myself. I will take care of the driver when I see him, that was her final words on the matter. She gave me some money and off I went back to school.
I was about eighteen years old when this incident happened. My Dad died when I was fourteen. My stepbrother did not drop out of Grammar School. So, that I was expected to do better and excel in the village were not topics for debate. At that time, she was already telling me "I want you to be a businessman.” She would insist on that repeatedly. The nature of her business, which involves chartering vehicles to transport her goods from one city to another, brought her in close contact with a different brand of businessmen. She was grooming and nurturing a King and not a Prince. Most of my classmates and close friends knew that, and they were very supportive. No one wants to disappoint my Mother.
One weekend, I accompanied one of my closest friends home from school. While in the house, a minor disagreement developed between my friend and her Mom. And I heard my friend telling his Mom to shut up and get out of his room. Hearing that, I was in total shock. He noticed my reaction and his Mom noticed it too. When we left the house, my friend said, "I saw your reaction just now; let me tell you, my Mom is not like your Mom. Everybody respects your Mother, but my Mother is like that." And I remember telling him, but, telling your Mother to shut up is abusive words; this is the first time I am seeing any of my friends abusing his or her Mother. Yes, it was a rude shock to experience.
On the issue of becoming a businessman, my mind was already made up of becoming a Lawyer and taking after my Mom's political idol, Chief Obafemi Awolowo, and become a political leader. To do that, I must have a law degree and a graduate background in Business Administration or Public Administration. Today, I have achieved more than that – a Bachelor of law degree, a Microsoft Certified Systems Engineer, a Masters of Laws in Energy and Environmental Law and Policy, and a graduate-level certificate in Administration and Management.
Since my first day in Government class in Form Three in Grammar school, I made up my mind that I must be a lawyer and become a political leader like Chief Obafemi Awolowo. So, being an obedient and respectful kid to my Mom and the elders in the community was not negotiable. In the process, I became an avid reader of the Tribune Newspaper, owned by the Awolowo family. I didn't know about that then. On the road and on campus, my friends and classmates took time to police me, with a view to ensuring my adherence to the role model status expected of me.
Professionally, my Mom was a relatively successful trader. She would buy yams from the Farmers in Esan and take them to Warri, Ughelli, and Sapele. And on her way back, she would buy dried fish and shrimps and handed them over to her trusted driver to take home for her. From there, she would travel to Auchi or Jetu village to but goat to take home with her. Most often she would be on the road for about ten days to two weeks. She wasn’t educated and I just don’t know how she did it.
And that is the story of how my illiterate Mom brought out the best in me.
On the other hand, my Dad was the opposite of my Mama. Very stern, reserved, and intimidating. Most often, my Dad would tease my Mama for her unparalleled kindness. He would declare, I have never seen a situation where someone who has a single item would readily give out that single item freely to someone else. He just couldn’t stop expressing his reservations over my Mama’s proclivity for free giving. Don’t get me wrong; my Dad was relatively kind, but he was quintessentially a capitalist in the American model. He believed that you must work for your pay.
Addendum
The Day My Mom Confronted Uncle Francis
When I got home from school that day, I realized that one of my Uncles was constructing a new building not too far from my house. I went to him after my meal and he agreed that I should join the other guys involved in the “laborer job” – molding blocks. We were about four of us, assisting Uncle Francis (Asiko) in molding blocks. Somehow, somebody saw me at the construction site and ran to the Market to report me to my Mom. Asiko is a dead man, using my only son to mold blocks, no way, I was later told, she declared when she was told. Hurriedly, she packed her wares (dried fish and shrimps) and straight home. Her mates tried to stop her, but they couldn’t.
Meanwhile, I was busy molding blocks, excited, and singing along with the other kids, hoping to raise 60 kobo within a week. Later, the singing came to an abrupt end; I was the only one singing. Then the unexpected silence became too suffocating for my comfort. And I stopped working and looked at the direction of the other workers. And I noticed all of them, including Uncle Francis, were standing and staring at an object behind me. And I looked back. It was my Mom, highly agitated and poised for war, not with me, but with Uncle Francis.
I ran around her and face the direction of our house. No one could dare utter a word. She said, Asiko (for Uncle Francis) because Aidaghese (my Dad) is dead, you decided to recruit Ehimhantie to be your "laborer?" She asked, not waiting for an answer. "Asiko, I dey ask you." "You are turning Ehimhantie to a laborer? And for the first time, I saw a family member or some gentleman in the community stood up to my Mom. Uncle Francis, though incoherently, said, Ehi is a grown-up child, he is strong and he is doing a better job than his mates here. Is it every day that he must come to you for money? Hearing Uncle Francis exchanging words with my Mom and not showing contrite, amounts to double punishment for me. And my fear heightened.
As I was trying to explain to her, she interrupted me and shouted that I should run back home before she opens her eye. And I ran home. As I ran, I heard her venting her anger on poor Uncle Francis nonstop.
I got home but could not enter the house. The moment she walked in she asked me what I needed the money for. And I told her about the money she gave to me about three months ago for the Common Entrance Exam and that the Preparatory Class for the exam starts this afternoon. And that it comes up after the regular class. And the registration fee is 60 kobo. As I expected, her next question, was why didn’t you come to the market to get the money? I told her it didn’t cross my mind.
She handed me the money right there on the spot and directed me to take a bath and go back to school. Without question, I went to the tap, fetch water, took my bath, and ran to school.
(By the way, we have pipe-borne water at that time).
When I got to school, they were still doing the registration and there was no class that very day. The Teacher said, Alex, I have been looking around for you, I thought you didn’t need the class. And I told him that I went home to get the registration money from my Mom. The class was about a month-long and it tuned out to be very helpful. Everything they taught us came out in the exam. And when the result came out, the three schools that I selected and six other Grammar schools that I did not choose, invited me for an interview. Without much ado, I settled for PBGS, Ewohimi to be closer to my Mom and be able to assist her with farm work.
