JUNIOR HIGH.

Poet's Note.

I remember Junior High. With something akin to nostalgia. Bitter sweet. Mostly sweet. But Nostalgic nonetheless. I remember Junior High even though it has been almost fifteen long years. I remember vividly that day when I first went to secondary school at Federal Government College Okigwe, Imo State, South East, Nigeria. 

I remember the sense of utter loneliness and despair I felt at the school gate. I had just turned thirteen a few weeks back. It was very early January 1994. 

I remember the dejection I felt, as I stood there in that gate left alone by my Dad who came to drop me in school and never set foot in my school again till this day. 

I remember remembering the scintillating aroma of my mother's specially prepared meals during the then concluded festive Christmas season as the unfamiliar smells of my new surroundings hit me in the nostrils. I remember hugging my big metal tinker box as I tried to come to terms with a regimented life stretching so menacingly in front of me.

I remember.

Borrowing the very famous words now bordering on cliche of that famous writer and poet, Charles Dickens in his classical work a Tale of Two Cities, "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to heaven, we were all going direct the other way - in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only."

Hey I know you would say that the period in question could not have had the significance of the French Revolution that perhaps may have inspired these immortal words, but believe me, in my impressionable innocent young mind and worldview then, these words were so true so true.

Federal Government College Okigwe Imo State, Nigeria, a government unity secondary (High) school that saw students from all parts of Nigeria coming under it's wings in pursuit of a common goal-education, shaped me. Those days remain evergreen.

On August 6th-8th, 2010 there was an ALL Set Reunion at the Crowne Plaza in Houston, Texas US. Below is a video of Julius Anugom (a former head boy of the school and very brilliant US based professional) alongside equally distinguished Alumni, casually in OK slang inviting Alumni to attend.

I remember writing a poem back in 2004* about my feelings of that period. I usually write poetry for fun or the heck of it. Many I never get to share (Hopefully that wold change as I just recently rediscovered a trove of original handwritten version poems covering the period between 2000-2006 on diverse topics. Watch out for more on this blog. 

I have decided to share the 2004 poem inspired by my secondary school Alma mater on the blog today.

The persona in the poem keeps faith with his experience as he remembers it with no holds barred. It only reflects the persona's experience and impressions and some of the words used may only make sense to anyone who has had a boarding school experience similar to the persona's. The poem setting is Federal Government College Okigwe between 1993-1996 and I think former classmates would readily relate to it.

Regardless of what you may think after reading today's poetry, the school actually had and continues to have a strong secondary academic pedigree within the context of the Nigerian experience. At the end of my sojourn I had made friends from every part of Nigeria, some of whom remain my closest friends till date. These were the days when ethnic bigotry and intolerance had not permeated the juvenile mindset.


Though in the past we have lost some otherwise promising Alumni (Rest in Peace Fumnaya Nwosisi a.k.a Malo and all my other fallen Hommies, today I light a candle for you guys.), many Alumni continue to this day to blaze the trail of glory in their chosen professions.

The Poem is titled 'JUNIOR HIGH' Hope you enjoy it!

Some believe the past

should not form the cast

for present robes doth fit more

past apparels being just a lore

But back in '94 at the gates

lil boys clanging spoons on plates

while I stood waiting with my mates.

Dad frowned without a glance

Peugeot 05 staggered a dance

and there I was left alone

with survival skills to hone.

Like a dear lost in light

I felt like sudden flight!

House prefect with a regal mien

showed me a bunk in the Lion’s den!

Settling in and a brat my age

thrust forth pail that I should fetch,

to the borehole adorned with age

as the breeze wafted a stench.

I opened my mouth to protest

How can this brat molest?

words frozen still birth with slap!

my face became a map.

In braggadocio I tried to fight!

His size dispelling my fright.

But oh what Mistake!

Had I known his make!

As urchins rained me blows

That got me squealing flows!  

So Rule 1 was learnt

In a cold damp floor

With none to vent

lying flat and sore

‘Never mind the size

seniority is a mob

we are but mice

and if you cross the mob

your ass gets the whip

whoosh! whoosh! til you flip!'

And so I learnt obedience

for Seniors knew no lenience!

I wake up and run to borehole

Life was such a shithole!

bucket lodged on small heads

travelling thrice with sweat beads,

paths littered with seniors

evil faces like demons

seizing water like warriors!

Existence was just some lemons.

I cried my eyes out for respite

Dad would nod but in spite

I was trapped without an end in sight!

So lemonade I made of lemon

as 'kposking' became so common!

Dorms were mopped most days.

Did the ground work on Thursdays

as I learnt to wield a cutlass!

Grasses were tall like Jordan

my portion were always more than!

General work on Fridays

Oh! poor you, if you got the toilet!

Men before discarded

toilet bowls with shits retarded.

So we used to hang like monkeys

on the laundry that was now the toilet

as we took our time to shot-put

globs of consumed output

as thuds escaped constipating outlet.

I 'gypsied' when I could 

As Lawun owed was cold

For who could stand their wrath?

Notorious bullies with mirth.

acidic bar soaps fed and ate

inside tiny cubicles docked

the night to spend in hate

your rage impotently mocked!

Then came the time of love

Teenage hearts of dove?

Checkered Shirts on Chinos Shorts, 

brown sandals worn with white socks.

Bold men seek to impress the chicks

with infantile lyrics but how?

'Jew' men stood aside in awe.

If you did speak to her

Yes! you had some liver!

You kissed you were the man!

Not sure if it went any further,

perhaps a finger or two the most.

But what a thrill it was

as we walked like we were boss

For we did invent the swag

though many times we lag

Then came the red Valentine

many a dating clandestine!

Days before we grew up

we wrote a letter 'it's over!'

Match like a gee to dump her

Guys cheering like retards!

weren't we such little braggarts?

Back then 'Oto' was good companion

though sometimes it was a luxury

Especially on a far spent term.

Milk was king of provision

and if you thrived in usury

you could be the don in your dorm.

Meal time! The bell is ringing!

so off to dining we strutted

10 little 'men' to a pot of rice

that looked like it had some lies.

Bonzona days 'chicks' are forming!

with 'Gees' also not partaking

but for few who loved the Bonzees!

scooping the beans like zombies!

To this day all I do is ask

why was Bonzees such a task? 

Was it it's child-stool mien? 

or it's tell-tale stain?

or probably we were vain!

I remember breaking the bounds

staff quarters, Ubahu we hound,

leaving our FEGOCOOK cell for fun

under the wire in rain or in sun!

I remember the dirty tricks taught

street smart crooks are meant

to beat the rap when caught!

For fear of being suspended,

we learnt to use pseudonyms

many a name antonyms!

I remember the giggles at Assembly,

fictitious person suspended

as authority got upended!

real culprit dancing with glee.

as not one pointed- See!

I remember Junior High

with a deep sigh

those days when I forged the friends

that have remained true, not fiends!

the days when groping in the dark

I took my first steps as a man

and sought to make my mark

in this terrestrial domain! 

*Uche Okorie. ( 2nd Nov, 2004)