Two years in nairaland prison is not a joke
Finally am am back... anyway,

Our School Motto was: Making Men out of Boys. It was a community school at the outskirts of the city. For the past 7 years before I joined form 1, only 3 students had made it to a university; by cheating the exams. Our discipline master, Mr. Philip Adams was a self-proclaimed Ganja man- an awkwardly tall man with a shaggy goatee. We had nicknamed him Phillipe, a name which he personally loved.

Ours was the only boys school north of the Niger.

Striking was part of term’s co-curricular activities. At the beginning of each term, the teachers would include two more weeks to the timetable to compensate the days expected to be lost due to strikes.

On Friday nights, everything else used to take place except reading. I remember at one time, the whole of form 4 class was suspended for a mass sneaking out of school. We basically used to strike to quench our dual-thirst for Local Brew and girls. The nearby slum apart from providing grade 1 Local Brew, also housed willing twilight girls. On reaching form 3, most of us would already be proud fathers of several kids across the street. In fact most Form 4’s used to be referred to as Baba Johnny, Baba Caro et al by form 1’s.

This excessive libido made the administration take a drastic but draconian action.

Out of evident wickedness and cruel mistreatment, the administration hatched a plan behind our backs. According to classified Intel which we later sniffed, the admin together with the school cooks entered into an evil collaboration. They schemed, without our consultation, to spice our food with herbal anaphrodisiacs.

Immediate results. It worked.

I noticed it almost immediately after taking lunch on Wednesday. Although I entered the Dining Hall on a standing ovation, by the time I cleared my plate “I” was hanging lifelessly. I kept it to myself.

On Thursdays, most of us used to trans-night until Friday morning; of course not reading, but moving across form 1 dorms soliciting funds for Friday Night escapades. We would only rest after raising sufficient funds for atleast three cups of local brew.

Alen was a funny character. He had repeated form 4 three times, each time disappearing at the third term, 2 days before the WASSCE (WAEC) exams.

It was Friday around 5 a.m. I heard him shouting his lungs out, standing at the dormitory’s entrance and screaming something about erecting. Most of us woke up to check on the hullabaloo.

The dormitories doors went open and sleepy ruffians ran to the center of the call. A size-able crowd gathered around Alen. Shaking his head like ripe Udala in the wind he motioned the crowd to calm down. He was in his Gucci boxers and a netted vest.

The guy was seemingly infuriated. Gasping fast he waved to the crowd, owning nous of an incumbent politician. The crowd was speedily swelling and soon the whole school was ‘in attendance’.

He started his speech: “Comrades, POWER! Comrades, POWER!” We all thundered in unison in response. He became excited. “Comrades, our manhood and fertility are in danger of extinction. I have confirmed that the cooks have been pouring paraffin, herbs and other paraphernalia in our meals to moderate our libido!”

NOOOOOOO!!! We all thundered.

“I will prove it. You know every day every man wakes up with an attention. A hard one. True?”

“Right now it is already morning, who among us has an Attention?”

We all dipped our hands in our pants to unearth the shocker . The damned things were cold, hanging and withered.

Pin drop silence. Heads shook.

Anger and embarrassment.

Add to the fact that it was Friday and the damned sagging thomases were expected to deliver later in the evening when we sneak out to meet the girls.

We did not wait for anybody to tell us what we should do. We ran into a rampage. We were running around the school, stoning everything with an appearance of glass. The cooks, aware of their portion, took off for their dear lives and left the pots boiling on their own.
Those interested in early morning jamboree, ateto their fill.

We broke the gate and proceeded out, heading home singing,” PHILLIPE MUST GO, ERECTIONS MUST COME!”

Anyway we went home. Everyone to their father's house of course. It was when I reached at our home's gate that it dawned on me that I will have an uphill task explaining to my no-nonsense father the reason for our strike!

Hahhahahhahahhahahha u will tell him Phillips declare libido hunting strike i cant stop laughing

Nice write up mahn *stands up and applause the op+ I love the story, wish it never ended...

Very interesting story!

Dis op sef... Why d tory end nah.

Coool

Unna try