MY ACADEMIC PURSUIT -The Tears and The Joy (Final Episode)
I quickly dashed into the bus to see my father but met his cold and unresponsive body, his eyes still open as if he was still here, and his seat soaked in his own blood. I broke down in tears and one of the passengers, an elderly man, came to console me, pulling me out of the scene as he did.
Apprehended by shock, I could feel my body cold and trembling and my senses blanked of what line of action to take, so I stood there acknowledging sympathies with nods from my trembling body while I watched others who were crying and counting their material losses.
The police arrived the scene about 50 minutes later. No doubt, other passing motorists must have informed them, as none of them were courageous enough to stop for fear of being secondary victims.
They gathered necessary information from the scene and one at a time they stopped other registered commercial vehicles asking them to help a victim or two to their final destinations.
Having boarded the last victim, they took the passengers’ manifest, the vehicle particulars and then drove me, the driver and my father’s corpse to their station where they obtained a more detailed statement and opened an incident file.
Being Muslims, and in deference to our funeral doctrine, which requires that the deceased should be buried as quickly as possible, that night, the police drove me home with my father’s corpse in the trunk of their vehicle.
People watched and wondered as the police van drove into our courtyard and when they saw my wet and heavy eyes, and the body bag in the trunk of the police van, they all started wailing.
It was a long night of sorrow and mourning, the sky equally mourned as the stars were absent. My mother was the most devastated and all efforts to console her broke her spirit even more. She had just suffered an irreplaceable loss. Her strength, her strongest pillar in the land of the living has been taking from her, leaving her alone with all the struggles.
At dawn, the final rites were performed and my father was laid to rest in mother earth.
In the pursuit of a better tomorrow for me, his life has been cut short.
Life continued but certainly not for my mother as she cried with each passing day, grieving and asking the same fate to befall her, but with the help of time, she gradually healed.
Three weeks after the unfortunate event, she called me from a distance - “Usman, lia ta” (come quickly -Igala dialect), and then she said, “Remind me again, when will the result for that examination be released?” “A week from today mama”, I humbly replied.
“We will be there, I shall see to it that your education continues as it is what your father wanted, and Allah will see us through”, she spoke with a reaffirming assurance.
The day came pretty fast, more like in a flash and my mother jokingly asked. “Do we now have less than 7 days in a week?” and with a smile I replied "Mama, there you go, always making me smile."
On arrival at the school, we dashed to the result board where parents and pupils were already clustered, and while we were trying to make our way to the front, so as to get a view, one tall and lanky parent who was standing almost right in front of the board exclaimed, “Wow! Who is this Usman Abdullahi Junior? Not only did he get straight A’s in all the subjects, he also got the highest scores in all.”
Before I could acknowledge my name, my mother’s voice filled the air “That’s my son”. She immediately turned to me lavishing kisses and hugs on me, and just like the examination day that everyone gazed at me for my poor appearance, once again, I was heavily gazed at, but only this time my poor clothing wasn’t noticed, rather my performance was briefly celebrated, with many parents congratulating me with handshakes, gentle pats and hugs.
All the while, professor Oyibo sat by the same tree where he and my late father waited on the examination day and not until he called me “Abdulllahi Junior”, I did not notice his presence. “Prof.” I called out, before turning to the direction from where his voice came.
“Intelligent boy” he said, smiling. “How did you know it was me?" He questioned. “Your voice gave you up Sir,” I replied, while he smiled in agreement.
Please, meet my mother, Mrs. Achibi Abdullahi. I quickly introduced as she genuflected and prof. said “Welcome madam, “your son is a wise and an intelligent old man living in the body of a child.” My mother took that with a smile and then he added, “I am so pleased to meet you, and also your intelligent son once again. I have seen his outstanding performance and I have been waiting here hoping he would come with his father so I could congratulate him but fortunately enough, he came with you, giving me the opportunity to meet you. Well done ma, you and his father have done a great job.”
Then he asked, "How is your husband doing?" That simple enquiry bruised the partially healed emotions of my mother as she began to sob almost immediately. “I am sorry madam, hope all is well?” Prof. enquired, and when he learnt of what had happened, he too couldn’t control his emotions as his eyes turned red and wet, with his handkerchief frequenting his lower eye lids, wiping away the painful tears.
He consoled my mother and I, and told us to please take him like a family and feel free to visit him whenever we had a challenge or visit the city. He then gave my mother a complimentary card which he pulled from his breast pocket, and also reached for his wallet in his back pocket, pulling out some Naira notes, and then pleaded with her to please accept it for transportation fare.
Immediately, we went on our knees to thank Prof. who humbly and quickly helped us up, begging us not to do that.
Admission commenced a month and two weeks later and my mother had a little difficulty meeting up with some of the requirements because she had challenges selling our farm produce as sales were really poor and the markets were saturated. However, being on the fortunate side, she eventually did and without further delay we journeyed down to the school to process my admission.
The state had only two Unity Schools; one a mixed school for both boys and girls, and the other strictly for girls. Thus, girls had an advantage over boys and that made the admission into the mixed school very competitive for boys.
We met the Proprietor in the secretary’s office and from his stare, he sure wasn’t happy to see us. “Why are you just coming?” He questioned, and before my mother could say a word, with a frown on his face, he voiced out the words he was trying to hold back, “It is so unfortunate, you have lost the admission as the school has admitted the maximum number of students it can accommodate.”
“But Sir, how is that possible? Isn’t the admission supposed to end in two days’ time anymore?” My mother questioned. “I am sorry madam, I cannot answer further questions” said the Proprietor as he walked out on us, into his office, slamming the door behind him.
His secretary bowed his head in disapproval of his action; and turning to him, my mother said “I can’t believe your boss just walked out on me, slamming his door in addition. Moreso, I am quite sure I haven’t done anything wrong, and even if I have, there are more polite ways of expressing it.”
My mother stood still for a while, hoping to get a response from the secretary, but got none, then with a gentle and consoling touch on my shoulder she said “let’s go my son, may the will of Allah prevail”.
The Proprietor's conduct, no doubt, hurt my mother more than a knife cut, and as it seems, all our efforts were now in vain.
Lamenting, my mother said, “this educational pursuit has cost us so much and it’s quite hurting to accept that this is how it all ends.”
Taking a deep breath, she exhaled, an act that seemed more like she was trying to ease her heart of burden, and then she said, “May Allah still be praised”.
As we walked towards the exit gate, I suggested that we pay Prof. a visit and share our predicament with him. “Maybe he can be of help mama” I added. My mother initially disagreed, saying that we had bothered him enough with our problems but on a second thought, she said “let’s give it a try for your sake”. “Thank you so much mama” I responded. Minutes later, we were in a taxi to Federal University, Lokoja.
On arrival, we met a deserted institution with a couple of students wandering and virtually all the offices locked, except for that of the Students’ Affairs officer and one that seemed more like a First Aid Centre.
“Good afternoon Sir,” my mother greeted, “Greetings madam,” the officer responded. “Please I will like to see Professor Oyibo”, she added.
“I am sorry madam, I am pretty new here, moreso, I am not familiar with the name you mentioned, but all the offices are closed as the lecturers are on strike over the non-payment of salaries”, the officer responded.
“Thank you so much for the information and for your time, we will be on our way then”, my mother replied, and he responded by waving his left hand, while he punched some keys on his computer keyboard with the other.
I sobbed and cried as we journeyed back but my mother kept consoling me, telling me that I would have to seek admission into the community secondary school in our local government.
I had always hated that school. No city parent would accept it as a last resort. Its buildings were totally dilapidated, the teachers were never present and the students were more of errand runners as they were often engaged in teachers’ private farms or one domestic duty or another in teachers’ homes. Academic activities truly did not exist in the school.
Four days later, I was a student in our community school and a victim of the same abuses I worried about.
At about my 3rd week in school, as usual, our Agricultural Science teacher called on three of us to go fetch water from a pond located at the tail end of the town, an errand we ran at least two times a week as the water was used to maintain the two staff toilets in the school.
We were on our way back when a vehicle drove past us and then made a U-Turn in front, back to our direction, slowing down as it approached us and suddenly, a familiar voice called out my name and questioned “Abdullahhi Jnr, what are you doing here?” Surprised, I quickly greeted, then sighting more people in the vehicle, the other students and I chorused, “Good afternoon Sirs.” It was Professor Oyibo and in my thought, I wondered what he too was doing here before I answered his question.
“Wait a minute, you mean you weren’t offered admission into your school of choice?” He questioned further, this time, with a stressed tone. “Yes Sir”, I quickly responded and in one word he unconsciously exclaimed “Unbelievable,” wearing an expression of disbelief.
He then thought for a while and said, “Take me to your school and then to your mother.”
On arrival at the school, the Principal, teachers and students stared at our accompanied guests in surprise. Prof. introduced himself and his colleagues, they were all hydrologists and they were visiting the pond to collect water and mud samples for scientific studies so as to ascertain the true properties of the pond’s water and also pressure the government with their findings to make pipe borne water available in the community.
He further advised the Principal and teachers to desist from using students for errands, especially during school hours.
At home, my mother was so surprised to see Prof. and when she narrated all that transpired, Prof. felt so pained. He said I couldn’t have missed the slot when we still had two days before closure. “This is a clear case of corruption, your son’s slot was sold to the highest bidding parent desperate to put his child in a unity school”, Prof. said with an angry tone.
Further condemning the act of the Proprietor, he lamented with a question, “How can the overall best pupil in a state not get admitted into his school of choice simply because of corruption?”
With a reassuring voice, he said “You will hear from me. I will not give up on you and not on this case either. I am pained most especially because I am a lecturer and my wife, a teacher but our son did not get the desired score and here is the son of a struggling farmer who outperformed all the students in the State, and here comes the rottenness in the system trying to kill the dreams of such a brilliant child and shatter the hopes of his guardians, no, not while I am still alive, I will not let this happen".
Albert Einstein said “the world is a dangerous place, not because of those who do evil, but because of those who look and do nothing.”
Professor Oyibo wrote a petition to the Ministry of Education and the matter was investigated.
The Proprietor and two admission officers were summarily dismissed from the employment of the Federal government and I was given an honorary and a celebrated admission in the same session.
Professor Oyibo became part and parcel of our family. He became my earthly father and he played the role of a father all through my secondary and university education.
Since then and forever, the entire Abdullahi family has remained grateful to him and his family.
Sadly, till date, my father’s case remains unsolved and whenever I recall his death, I find solace in the fact that my academic pursuit did not end with his untimely death.
The will of Allah must always prevail and can never be undone.
Authored by me and can also be read here.