Primary School Recitations - Part 2

Hey folks, like I promised yesterday this here is the second recital...

If you fail to plan, you will surely plan to fail
But as for me, I have planned my Life
And it has been well with me
This is the history of my life


My name is Economics, I was born in England, in the year of Scarcity
My father's name is Mr. Demand and He was the principal of the college named before me, that is, Economics College in New York. My mother's name is Mrs. Supply.


I attended the School of Monopoly and came out with a Monopolistic Certificate. I was later trained by my father in his college on how to minimize Economic resources. I also attended the School of Division of Labour where I obtained my Certificate of Specialisation.


I was finally admitted into the University where I obtained my Bachelors' Degree. Now, I am Dr. Localization, B.Sc. Industrialization.


I'm married to Commerce, with many children and grand children among whom are, Wants, Choice, Opportunity Cost, Scale of Preference and so many others.


Follow my footsteps and It Shall Be Well With You!!!




Not bad for an Eight-year old is it???

Primary School Recitations - Part 1

You might want to give me some stick for this, truth is, I don't care if you do... I've been experiencing some weird feeling lately - Inertia (High School Physics) - so I resorted to this.
My first recitation back then (mind you, I'd been doing the memory verse thingy in Church then (You know, my name is blah blah blah, my memory verse is John 11:35 *break* erm... *shakily* Jesus Wept)... So back to the present!!! My first recitation was a poem for Africa. Now, I've heard a lot of variations but I still love mine most... Thanks Mrs. Okunoren .

AFRICA
Africa, Africa my Africa
Africa of proud Warriors in ancestral Savannah
Africa of whom my grandmother (PS: I never met either of my grandmums :) ) sings at the bank of the distant river


I have never known you
But your Blood flows in my veins


The Blood of your Sweat
The Sweat of your Work
The Work of your Slavery
The Slavery of your Children


Africa! Tell me Africa!!!
Is this your back that is bent?
This back that breaks under the weight of humiliation?
This back, trembling with red scars and saying yes to the whip under the midday Sun?


But a grave voice answers me...
Son, Impetuous Son
That tree... That tree there
Bearing flowers and fresh seeds
That is Africa! Your Africa!
That obstinately grows again
And its fruit acquires the sweet taste of Liberty


PS: Last verse, I kinda jumbled it up a lil bit, it's been 12 years so what, I should be allowed to forget a little...

I haven't forgotten a word of the second recital though... I'd put that up as soon as I can squeeze some time.

Hope you enjoyed this one though... :)

THE TEACHER’S FULFILLMENT

With great uncertainty filling my heart that fateful Wednesday morning, I took my carefully weighted steps towards the SS1 class of Community Secondary School, Doho, Gombe State for my first class as a National Youth Service Corps teacher of mathematics. Earlier in the week, my fears of having to teach more than just my traditional Computer Science were confirmed as I was told that I would be having at least five (5) forty minute-classes to teach Mathematics and two (2) forty minute-classes to teach Computer Science to the students in SS1. I took the news in my stride telling myself that I haven’t taken the name “de Prodigy” just for the name’s sake – I mean Math and Computer??? That’s my forte!

So I entered the class and was surprised to see just eight (8) students sitting and waiting for a teacher. Though, truth be told, it was the beginning of a new school term – after the protracted struggle between organized labour and the federal government over fuel subsidy removal, the strike action by organized labour and the eventual negotiations between the two parties – but I was told that the class size would be between fifty and seventy students. That I’d say, was my first shock.

I greeted my students and the stumbled lethargically to their feet and the verbally sound ones among them murmured good morning while the others just stared blankly at me like I’d just walked out of the blackboard. Trying my best not to stutter, I asked them to sit. I introduced myself as the new Math teacher and I had a quick debate in my head on whether to call myself Corper Oladapo, Mr. Oladapo or Mallam Oladapo. “Corper Oladapo” won the debate but I chose to stick with Corper Dapo seeing that it sounded like something that could be easily remembered.

I then ran through the customary introductory procedures and quickly asked the students for their names (which I eventually realized was a waste of time – both mine and theirs – because I had forgotten the name of the first person even before I got to the last person in the class). Meanwhile, the class size had increased to twelve – the additional four students had gone home to have their breakfast (can you believe that!?) – And the only name I would remember was ‘Grace’ (for reasons I couldn’t fathom).

Anyways, then came my second shock. January being the second term in the school session, I picked up my textbook as I was about to start rambling about what I’d prepared, I asked a question. Now, the equation “4 + X = 10” is one that a JSS1 student would be embarrassed to solve but lo and behold, not one person moved when I sought a volunteer to solve it. Then I ventured to ask them where they had stopped the previous term only for Grace (who was slowly becoming my favourite student just because hers was the only name I could remember – I kept on mixing up the rest) to tell me that they had all just registered and this was their first time in SS1. And I thought to myself “where on God’s planet earth were you people?!”

No question I asked managed to elicit an answer from the class and not until then did I realize my predicament. I had to start teaching them from the first chapter in the textbook and cover as much topics in the syllabus as I could in the little time they have as SS1 students. I also realized that my progress would be slowed because I perceived that the intelligence quotient of almost a third of them was on the low side.

So I wrote on the board “INDICES” and told them that was what we would be examining for the next couple of days. I’d reeled off a couple of sentences from the textbook before I searched their faces and saw that none of them understood jack. I had to alter my teaching method and broke down my inefficient grammar to the simplest that I could manage.

Funny enough, after the first forty minutes of my stay in the class, I’d known who the best three students of the twelve were and surprisingly, the first and third were girls (you guessed right, Grace was one of them). This revelation or should I say discovery made me experience an invaluable measure of fulfillment because I felt I had started to integrate myself with the role I was playing. To know that – in a part of Nigeria where most where people of the female gender are relegated to the background and only a fortunate few get to have a shot at the SSCE – in a class of twelve, all five girls collectively showed a higher level of intelligence compared to the seven boys made me feel weirdly elated.

The response I got throughout the time the class lasted also made me want to leave them with something tangible, a legacy of sorts; I felt the need to let them know that once they dedicate themselves to their books, they could become whatever they wanted to. I decided there and then that I’d tell them of the two years I spent in senior secondary school and of how my last math teacher, Mr. Arimoro, contributed in no small measure to making me who I am today.

I hope to do as much for them in ten months as he did for me in nine months so that they wouldn’t forget me just as I would never forget my favourite high school math teacher.

This would, to me, be the highest level of fulfillment; being a tutor, mentor and teacher in the service of my country and fellow countrymen.

Facing The Giants

I wake up from a slight slumber (because I wouldn’t dare call it sleep), I twist and turn on the mattress  and stretch through its entire breadth just because my roommate with whom I share the mattress (pending the time I’d get angry enough to buy my own) isn’t around. I rumble through the junk at the head of the bed looking for my electro-luminescent 15 Dollar G-Shock wristwatch because it was dark and there was no power; and just as I was about to curse PHCN (though I still prefer to call them NEPA) for making me go through the stress, the light came on and I smiled.

I picked my watch, saw that the time was 3:23am and I start to wonder why I almost always never get to sleep when I’m in the North. Ever since November 2011when I travelled up here for my National Youth Service Corps orientation, I wake up almost every half hour during the night.

I sit up in my bed, pull my cover cloth up to my chin and I push the power button on my laptop (which has incidentally being my closest companion since the 4^th of January). As I wanted to resume my game (which I had been playing before the battery went flat), it occurred to me to just write something; so I closed the game and started my word processor application. Just as the application completed its loading, the reason for my Northern experience of fitful and near non-existent sleep at night hit me like a punch.

FEAR!!! And even as I write this, I become more strongly convinced that it is the chief reason for my sleepless nights. Along with my conviction came the desire to face the many fears that have stolen my sleep. Although some of them no longer matter, yet, they still form part of the hydra headed monster troubling me; like the fear of being posted to a village without electricity or water, or of being posted to that local government rumoured to be the home of snakes of all kinds. There is also the infective or epidemic fear of Boko Haram especially with Gombe State being right in the middle of the troubled North Eastern region of Nigeria.

Most of my other fears I won’t list because of my privacy but I’m trying to see if identifying them and putting them in black and white (or in this case, on my computer and subsequently the internet) would help me face them. I don’t know how true and scientifically proven the saying “facing your fears is the best way to overcome them” is, but I’m willing to try so that I can put in a good shift of rest every night of my stay here.

Quick Intro (part 2)

I felt like I was on a movie set with all eyes on moi. Before I crossed the remaining part of the road, I un- tucked my shirt and flew it over my trousers; I also pulled up the band of my trousers. I crossed the road, got to the “SO” filling station and found my boss. I was lucky that one guy was trying to be d next Luis Hamilton or should I say Felipe Macer (whoever the current car racing champ is) cos he drobve his Sienna into a fence and everyone at the filling station only had eyes for the commotion that was developing, so no one spotted me.



The rain eased and I didn’t tell my boss anything xcept that I had the money with me. So, off we went to the office. I took a bike from Abule-Egba to Alausa and another one to ma office. While at the office, my boss made things worse (well, since I didn’t tell him anything, there was no way for him to know my problem…except if he’s psychic). He asked me to take the money to the bank (actually two banks) and I thought: “PERFECT…just what I needed”.






When you work with my boss, you’ll do a lot of biking, so I took a bike to secretariat, walked across the road into the complex and located GTBank (if you know the area, you’ll realize it’s no small distance). All the while…my trousers remained split and was even threatening to split further. It was so bad that I couldn’t sit down at the bank while waiting for my turn at the counter. I had to stand by the wall, behind two guys in order to hide myself. I paid the money…left GTBank, walked out of the secretariat and crossed over to Oceanic Bank. I had to go over the same “stand while you wait” drill cos there were even more people there.
In short, I just thank GOD that I never needed to sit down in public that day cos it would’a been HELL.


The moral of this story (I still haven’t figured it out but I think this should suffice) is …don’t be like me, always buy original pant trousers (LOL) and if you can’t afford it, then maybe you should try taking an extra pair of trousers in your bag anywhere you go…you never can tell…I might save your LIFE…later folks…

QUICK Intro...

And so I finally start blogging. It’s worthy of note that I’ve gone a whole 360 degrees thinking about what my blog should be about. I’ve thought about a lot of things from: sharing my views on issues of public debate to previewing and reviewing the vast, exciting and sometimes (especially for ladies) boring world of football (I’ll probably start a blog for this sometime later) and providing little tit-bits on things that happen in my boring (YES I mean it) life.

I finally settled on my blog being about 10 percent of the first, 30 percent of the last, 3 percent of the second and the remaining 57 percent being whatever comes to my beautiful head. So this here is just an introduction, call it the first act of indulgence (or any crap you want) but the truth is: I’m one hell of a writer…I mean, don’t expect fireworks.

Today, I’ll tell a little tale of something that happened about 3 weeks ago. It all started on a Thursday morning, – since I have a boring life, it was supposed to be a boring Thursday - my boss (in d office)had instructed me the previous day to go on his behalf to one local govt. office in Ilepo, MISSION: not part of the tale… Anyways, so I left home in the morning of "Another sunny THURSDAY", though I noticed it wasn’t really sunny compared to what obtains in "CRAWFORD UNIVERSITY – Igbesa" (I’ll tell you about my school later).

I took a bike to Akute, spent about twenty five minutes waiting for the station wagon that was supposed to get me to Abule-egba to get filled up and endured about an hour of carbon monoxide (you know that smoke from your 25 year old car) poisoned transport from Akute to Abule-egba. Thankfully, got there in one piece (alive and still breathing) and I was so eager to get out of the moving contraption (someone remind me to write about the state of commercial transport vehicles) that I nearly forgot to collect my balance (change). From there, I took a bike to the LG office, undertook my mission, accomplished all mission objectives and started to make my way back. This is where the story begins.

I took another bike to Ilepo bus stop with about 200K and my laptop on my person and in my bag. Then I remembered that:

1. I forgot my laptop receipt at home.

2. I had to walk through the last 20 metres of the market and

3. There were two police pick-up vans by the expressway with the cops themselves scattered all over the place.

OMG I thought, "What would I do if an 'Area boy' accosted me?" or worse still, "if one of the policemen asked what I was carrying". I almost made up my mind to run if I heard any irregular sound then I realized that a policeman could shoot and claim ACCIDENTAL DISCHARGE. So I walked as normally as I could (it’s not that I don’t walk but the thing is that some people find it hard to keep up with me when I walk, so I slowed down), praying that the rain which started threatening to fall about 5 minutes before would start immediately so I’d have a reason to run.

Thank GOD I succeeded, I crossed to the other side of the road and took a bus to oja-oba ‘cos my boss told me he’d be there waiting for me. I alighted from d bus and crossed the road to the other side, thinking he'd be waiting for me at a point that we had met previously. I got there and seeing no sign of him, I called him and he told me to cross the road again as he was waiting for me at a filling station on the other side (SO I SHOULDN'T HAVE CROSSED THE ROAD IN THE FIRST PLACE). Then the rain started. Feeling like I was in a James Bond movie, I took to the road, crossed the first part in a jiffy and got to the divider (that thing dt separates the lanes from each other). I put my right hand on the divider and swung both my legs over it in style but by the time I landed, my trousers had split from just under my zipper all the way to the back (about 3 inches from the belt-line behind)...

TO BE CONTINUED...