₦airaland Forum

:DNot long enoff.
[quote author=senbonzakura_kageyoshi](Spoiler Alert, it's a bit of a long read. Had originally intended it for the contest over at sagaysagay but I failed to meet the submission deadline due to ISP issues (and my middle finger is still raised at MTN, hope they seeing it clearly) so I decided to post the full read here. For those that can read it all the way to the end, enjoy. For those that can't......well, sorry I couldn't make it shorter. Would have meant i'd never have posted it. Well, here goes nothing....)


“OPEN THIS GATE!” a shrill female voice yelled.

I stood and stared at the sea of humanity that stretched out before me. We were amassed outside the gates of the Government Secondary School, our center for the University Matriculation Examinations (JAMB, to most Nigerian students) and those in charge of the center had locked the school gates from within. We saw them standing about in the school’s compound, ignoring us (ragged ragamuffins that we were, apparently) as if they couldn’t hear the buzz of pent up frustration emanating from the teeming crowd. Some candidates intended to let them know firsthand.

GBAM, GBAM, GBAM, GBAM! One of those at the front hammered on the rusty gate (so rusty that its eventual demise was evidently imminent).

“Una dey craze o!” he yelled in that particular accent we know as wafi. “We look like sey we come here come watch dat fat man dia were im dey play champions league with dat woman wey her head be like the trophy? Abeg come open gate!”

And with that, a cacophony of “come open gate” and hammering on the gate (whose relatives must be printing obituaries) erupted. Unknown to them, a couple of soldiers, drafted in as security for the examinations were seating, unseen in the security post attached to the rusty gate. After a few seconds of hearing the bedlam going on outside, they decided to make their appearance, wielding whips. One of them brandished a gun.

“Who dey knack this gate?” demanded their leader. The man looked so mean, that Arnold Schwazenneger would cringe in his presence. And his face was the type that would give Segun Arinze hope in a beauty contest.

As his voice rose inside the compound, silence fell outside it.

“I say who dey knack this gate!”

A large space appeared around the gate where, a few minutes ago, no one could tell what surface the ground was.

“Make who dey knack am come knack am again, make I see!”

By this time, the gate knackers had made it to the back of the crowd.

I stood apart from the crowd, fascinated. T was the first time I was going to write the UME. I had heard stories of people writing this examination ten, twelve, thirty (by which time, the person should be on first name terms with all the invigilators and recognizable by the chairman of JAMB himself) times! For that reason, I had spent the last week in church, made peace with all the people I had quarreled with (so they won’t “winch” me on exam day) and held a fast the previous day. I was spiritually and academically prepared.

Not quite so for the people around me. They milled about either singly or in groups, discussing in low tones either amongst themselves or on the phone, finding out “how e go be” from unknown persons. I walked up to one of such people just as he disconnected the call and asked him (in my most polished Queen’s English, of course. We’re here for an academic exercise!);

“Excuse me; are you here for the UME?”

“Ehn?” the guy responded.

“The UME, will you be you writing it?”

“Which wan be UME?” he replied. “Na JAMB we dey write for here, no be UME. E be like say you miss road. No be here dem dey write UME, na JAMB dem dey write here.”

I promptly left him well alone, with thanks.

The side gate was soon opened and they started letting people in first by announcing the person’s examination number, then searching the person for calculators, phones or other prohibited items. Four guys standing in front of me were planning how to smuggle their phones in.

“Okay, the first pesin dem call go enter, go stand for the side wall. If the person here my wistu im go know say we don set den im sef go wistu. Den we go throw our phones over fence then the person go wait for front of dat yellow building dia. We go come meet am, una hear?”

They all nodded in agreement.

“243567LE!” the person with the list called.

“Na my number be dat!” one of the boys said.

“Ehen,” said the ringleader. “You know as e be na.” the boy nodded, handed his phone over to the ringleader then started to make his way through the crowd while the other three headed to the side fence. After a while, the ringleader whistled and a respond whistle rang back. Then he tossed a phone over the fence. No event. He tossed another. Nothing. He had just tossed the third when we heard;

“Hey, hey!”

Followed a few seconds by the sound of terrific slaps being delivered and three phones flying down the road. I saw the guy frog jumping beside a soldier when I