02/07/2012
THE ADMIRER'S ORDEAL
Never has enthusiasm got exciting as it did while I was preparing for my West Africa Senior School Certificate Examinations (WASSCE). I still can't explain where the sudden confidence came from. I was filled with great optimism and a determination to excel, so much so that I got a sheet of paper to write down my desired results—5 As (Mathematics inclusive) and 3 Credits. This optimism didn't just stop at day dreaming; it was followed with practical steps. I purchased Past Questions & Answers Booklet for as many subjects as I could lay my hands on and embarked on a daily practise.
As the day of the examination drew near, it was the more exciting as my daily practise had translated into an improved performance average of 70% in key subjects, especially in Mathematics. I was determining to break the jinx. “Why wouldn’t an A1 be possibly in mathematics,” I asked. I practised all the “Distance Bearing” there was with particular attention to the classic piece of the year before. “Bring it on!” I repeatedly exclaimed. I was set. I didn’t just hope for the best; I was prepared for the very best.
A week to the exam, while preparing for the final round of revision, something cropped up. Something unexpected, I must confess. It threatened to kill my joy and ruin my excitement of victory. It was my cousin, my distant cousin. After failing to have me inform my parents of the ‘Complementary Packager that would see students being helped through the exams by School officials at a price, decided to visit my home to do it herself. My mum was furious I didn't ask her to enroll me for it, but I denied ever learning of it, and equally sworn not to be a part to such dirty scheme. But why would I refuse so ‘legal’ an offer? This was WASSCE we are talking about here; the almighty ‘Baba Yaba’ as it is popularly dreaded among students. One’s hope of tertiary education could as well halt at this point. ‘Wasn’t everyone doing it?” “Wasn’t it the School Management idea of aiding their students who have been placed at a disadvantage by series of strike and frequent changes of key subject teachers?” “Or was I a believer?”
Well, my refusal wasn’t religious, as I wasn’t a Christian at this time. Neither was I financially restrained, my parents could comfortably afford the bill. But my philosophy on cheating started about a year before, when I met my Physics Teacher in SSS 2. He did more than mere class-work, he taught us morals. He trained us to believe in ourselves and to be independent. He taught us the dignity of labour and the joy of self-sufficiency. The end of each Physics topics were followed by a Test that he would organise as early as 7:00am, well ahead the General Student Assembly for 8:00am. This would allow us have the entire block to ourselves, and a desk (originally meant for four) per student. Under this condition, cheating became practically impossible, leaving us with just one route of escape—Hard work. My parents could not but note my sudden late night candles and my rising early for school. It would still pay-off. Like the writer of Ecclesiastics, we were soon to “found great pleasure in hard work.” We were all surprised at our sudden improvement with every test, and it encouraged us to put in even more. The line between the best brains and the one-time average in the class was practically fading away. The class became more competitive, and we loved it—we loved him even more. Come to think of it, our newly found lifestyle didn’t just end at Physics classes, it caught across other subjects. Be it Chemistry or Mathematics, our approach was the same. We were hot! So much hot that even without invigilation we still would hardly cheat. He trained us well; he was our hero.
So when my mother eventually dragged me to school later that evening, I was left with one other option, or better still, a single hope—my hero. After all, if he could change the mindset of over 70 young adults, he should have no problem making my mum adopt our ‘No Cheating’ philosophy. More so, he has the testimony of our improved performance as proof of his argument. As we entered the school premises, I quickly scan out for him before my mother could make any enquiry. But that was not to be, I couldn’t find him. “My hope is sleeping away,” I thought. No, it wasn’t; my mum has just been directed towards his office. That’s all I needed. It’s looking better than I thought. But that was also the office of the vice-principal. Could we have been directed to the vice-principal? “It’s really not getting better,” I thought again.
On entering the office, he was on seat—my hero was seated. You only need to imagine the excitement I felt and the look on my face. It was as if I’ve seen an angel. But what could be more, he was an angel—my angel. He made me see what no-one else has been able to—strength and faith in myself. That's not mean; it's a fundamental discovery for human existence and good self-esteem. So when my mother asked him if he was the one in charge of the ‘Complementary Package,’ I had no problem predicting his response. But I have never been wrong, I have never been this wrong. “Madam, your son is one of my students. If there's anyone that needs the complementary package, your son needs it more.” With those words coming out of my hero's mouth, I was dumbfounded. My heart jump into my mouth, my ‘glo-pride’ vanished. I didn't know whether to smile or frown, to stand or run; I was in total disarray. Worst still is the stand to take. The man that taught me all I was standing and vehemently opposing my mum for was defiling this hard earn integrity right in front of me. I was hoping to do him proud, but he would prefer pounds, naira, in exchange for the morals he taught. I no longer know who I am or what I stand for. I don't know what choice to make.
HAVE YOU LEARNT ANYTHING FROM THIS ORDEAL OF MINE? WHAT WOULD YOU RATHER DO, IF YOU WERE TO BE IN MY SHOE?
