LOVE MUST BE CRAZY 3 BY Winlade Isreal

EPISODE THREE

It took me time before I became a full member of my new environment. There was always a senior in my room to get something. It was as if they knew the exact time I receive package from home. They would come one after the other to ask for their portion of the cake in tin. I was like Nigeria, where individuals go to the House to have their share of the national cake. I still wonder how overflowing the tears of Nigeria would be if I could feel pain in my heart like a spear finding its way through my skin over this small piece of provision my weekly marauders cart away.

It was break time. The short boy in SSS two had matched outside with his two hands clutching the bell and swinging it to and fro energetically. ‘Breaaaaak time!’ he announced to end all his abracadabra. I moved down to my Spot. The breeze blew calmly under the tree with a usual calmness which attracted me the very first day to the place. I had to name it my Spot. It was the only place which communicated a new feeling, a sense of belonging to BFGMSS, which made me accept the daily challenge while looking up to my era as one of the seniors of BFGMSS. My spot was going to be my palace, and the concrete seat my royal seat. The girth of the tree was enough to shade my palace. I imagined giving orders to JSS one boys to call a girl in SSS two B. The girl was beautifully endowed, she swung her hips to the rhythm of the wind and my heart danced the same way David did before the ark of God in Israel. I imagined what her name would sound like. Deborah. Yes! Mum would like a Christian. I remembered Cinder. The lady in my imagination looked exactly like her. I got angry with myself. It seemed I was denying a love I was feeling. I wished her voice could be heard around calling my name in her unique way; ‘CovnANT’. The breeze was really calm. A leaf dropped beside me. I picked it and rubbed my palms on it. I remembered I was Adeku Covenant and got disappointed. I imagined how disappointed Dad would be if he heard I had stopped observing my quiet time. I so much wished I was consistent but the breeze of the end time blowing right under the tree was immense. It was strange and happening for the first time in my life. At home, I always observed it. I didn’t want to imagine the excuses I would give Mrs Odidiomo when she calls to check how far my life is moving spiritually. I closed my eyes instantly, and muttered few words with utmost seriousness. God needed to understand me. It was the influence of the new environment. My lips danced while my firmly closed eyes fastened my concentration. After few minutes, I opened my eyes to see the Priest before me. His face wore a mischievous smile. I felt like stabbing him. But, there was no knife. If there were, I am sure I wouldn’t have tried stabbing him because God will be angry at me for killing the creator he created even though the creator is making life unbearable for me.

‘‘O boi!,’’ he said with a bossy look. I remembered our first contact. He had introduced himself as the Priest. Making reference to the house of Levi. I didn’t understand the relationship between him and the Levites, but I knew he was the collector of first offering of every freshmen of BFGMSS.

‘‘Good morning sir’’ I didn’t know how the statement dropped out of my mouth. He looked at me mockingly, and moved his left hand toward the right and touched the watch on his wrist. I checked the watch on my wrist too, it was 15 minutes past 1. I got up and ran to class. He followed me with a swift race. As I ran, I knew he was soon going to catch up with me but I continued. I wanted to try till no way was available to escape his wrath. He is my senior but shouldn’t treat me as if I am in prison or the street. I was ready to do whatever he demanded except this. I have never told anyone. Maybe my Mum would listen. Nobody was going to understand because, I think, is made for just me to know. The compound was already emptied of noise, the field was vacant while only the movement of branches of trees orderly dotting the compound could entertain bystanders and the security roaming the compound. I was exhausted. My classroom was a step closer just the same way he was a step closer to grab my knickers at the waist and drag me like a criminal to his class to face panel. 

THE ASANTE WARRIOR QUEEN

The history of Africa is, without an iota of doubt, spiced with courageous stand of its women at one particular period of history or the other. Abraham Lincoln had given two types of people that witness the making of history. He referred to some as spectators and some other as players. Nana Yaa Asantewaa proved herself as a player in the making of history and today, her name is written in gold for generations.
Yaa Asantewaa lived from October 17, 1840 to October 17, 1921. She was queen mother of Ejisu in the then Ashanti Empire- now part of the modern-day Ghana, appointed by Nana Akwasi Afranwe Opese, her brother who was ruler of Edwesu. In 1900, she led Ashanti war, otherwise known as the War of the Golden Stool or Yaa Asantewaa war which was against british colonialism. The British governor-general of the Gold Coast, Frederick Hodgson had demanded the Golden Stool which stood as the symbol of the Asante nation after deporting King Asante Pampeh I, her grandson to the Seychelles. She became regent of the Ejisu-Juaben district afterward. The request of the British representative led to a secret meeting of the remaining Asante government in Kumasi to discuss on how to process the return of their king. During this meeting, Yaa Asantewaa stood and addressed the people present;
 ‘‘Now I have seen that some of you fear to go forward to fight for our king. If it were the brave days of Osei Tutu, Okomfo Anokye and Opuku Ware I, chiefs would not sit down to see their king taken without firing a shot. No white man could have dared to speak to the Chief of Asante in the way the governor spoke to you chiefs this morning. Is it true that the bravery of Asante is no more? I cannot believe it. It cannot be true! I must say this: if you, the men of Asante, will not go forward, then we will. I shall call upon my fellow women. We will fight the white men. We will fight   till the last of us falls on the battle field.’’

She was later chosen as the war leader of the Asante force. No wonder the British referred to her as ‘Joan d’Arc of Africa’ (the young lady who led France to victory during the hundred years war with England). She was later captured and exiled in Seychelles where she died.

No woman is known in the history of the African to have reacted to European power as she did. She defied the men of her time by calling for a war they have been shying away from. She led them without thinking about her life. She is absolutely an embodiment of bravery. This her act justifies the valour of women in the face of suppression. Africa will forever remember her children whose blood, the soil drank during the violent period of colonisation.

LOVE MUST BE CRAZY

EPISODE TWO
Children church was a place I loved to be. As the only begotten son of Pastor Adeku, whose birth was surrounded by circumstances relatable to that of Samuel in the Bible, I found time, as mandated, to read the Bible every day. By the time I was seven, I could narrate many of the stories the same way my father did every Sunday on the altar. They were so engraved in my head that all the Bible Quiz I participated in could not but testify to my knowledge of God’s word. This convinced Mum that I was going to go through the fire of immorality believed to be blazing in BFGMSS and still come out unhurt. If Joseph could resist Potiphar’s wife, then it can’t be like a camel trying to pass through the hole of the needle for me. Pastor Adeku maintained his stand. He still believed a school abroad, in Oxford preferably, would have been better. But, he buried his lips in silence. They dared not dance lest a scene is created to satisfy the urge of an audience for pleasure. He had to submit to the will of his woman who refused to give a logical reason for her decision.
BFGMSS was definitely the best school. It was the pride of the nation. Telling people your alma mata is BFGMSS commanded a sort of respect many found only in their imagination. Everybody wanted their children in its classroom. Even the poor dreamt of it. But, they will only dream until death swallows their dream. A poor man shouldn’t aspire what is in-between the palms of money bags. A well tarred road made it easy for cars to make it into the heart of the school. Flowers, neatly trimmed beautified both sides of the road and made the air pleasant. The well-trimmed flowers planted to make letter B, F, G, M, S, S just beside the security post spoke audibly of the creativity its students are known for. The Security wore an immaculate shirt smartly thrust in a well-ironed blue trouser over a soldier-like black booth sparkling with polish. On the badge on his left chest, KING’S GUARDED was boldly written. His dressing differed from the uniform wore by the Peace Corp that assured security at Baptist Grammar School, Akinlalu. I expected a serene environment. I was not disappointed. The breeze blew with gentleness which hid the true colour of young boys and girls sojourning in the land. Uncle Daniel drove me straight to the place which were to be my new domicile away from crisis. It was worth the pay. The senior students were moving about the building, some staring at I don’t know what on me while new comers stood beside their parents or parents’ driver looking left and right like a lost boy examining the new environment he found himself with a curious mind. I looked up to have a glance of the building painted blue. ‘WELCOME TO PEACE HOSTEL’’ was boldly written at the entrance. After my clearance, the porter called on J.B to lead me to Room 16. J.B engaged me throughout the small journey to my new room. He was surprised and counted himself lucky to have met the son of a renowned pastor. It means one day in the future, he could meet him personally for his hands to dust away all the generational curses that have been running after him like dogs. The room was different from that of BODIJA. We were four in a room, everybody had a locker at their individual corner, and one had to trek a little out of the room to use the toilet or have a bath. I neatly arranged my stuff, especially provisions in my locker and thereafter locked it with the padlock Aunty Ajoke had given me. The only boy I met in the room laid silently on his bed watching me in a furtive manner. He shouldn’t be one or two years older than me. But, I bet that he would beat me if we were to fight. I noticed that he paid more attention to my bag than my face which has always generated trust. Uncle Daniel left after getting all the details necessary for his report before Pastor. I wondered what the boy could still be staring at after everything had been packed into the locker. I checked what was left in my bag and found my watch. It was the watch Pastor Samson, an assistant pastor in our church gifted me during my eighth birthday. This guy hein… I thought for a while. I kept my things as secured as possible and laid down on my bed.
‘‘Young boy,’’ I heard the thick voice when my eyes started closing sounding like a thunder in the middle of the night. I jumped up troubled. ‘‘No cause for alarm, Butty,’’ he grinned. It was a senior boy. I later found out he called himself Hunter. He had come to hunt me. Denis, my roommate said he is the landlord of the hostel and so requests a remuneration for lording the house. He looked weird with a thick line standing on each of his cheeks. If we were to look at his face, he seemed to carry number 11 on his face.  He looked like a sinner and I felt I should pray for him, or preach to him so I will get rid of his terrorism. But, I shrugged away the feeling. I handed over the key to him. He made his choice but the choice was too expensive. He picked two tins of Milo and six tins of Peak Milk. He was about giving back the key to me when something in the locker flashed his eyes. He checked back. ‘‘Wow! You have my favourite, I love Fibre Active,’’ he said with joy. His harvest was bountiful where he didn’t sow. He left with half of the carton. Tears formed in my eyes. They flew down like a running stream but he didn’t care. He was happy for the quantity of his plunders. He promised to come back and visit me after saying he was going to be my school father whether I liked it or yes. Anxiety descended on me. I was scared of my new environment. I wanted to report to the porter but Denis told me so many things. The things made my tongue powerless to speak. I discovered so many things I can’t afford to survive under. He said whenever anybody, especially a senior student, ask anything from me, I should give with a smiling face even if the heart is weeping. I was thinking of informing Mum when the Priest came in. He came for the newcomer offering…
   

Women warriors of Dahomey

DAHOMEY AMAZONS
The Dahomey Amazons, also called N’Nonmiton (which means ‘‘our mothers’’ in Fon), were a Fon military regiment which comprised women in the old kingdom of Dahomey situated in the present-day Republic of Benin. The regiment existed till the end of the nineteenth century when Africa came in contact with colonialism.
The female soldiers were recruited from foreign captives, free Dahomian women while some enrolled at a tender age- as early as 8 years old. There is another account which narrates that N’Nonminton were also recruited from the palace, the ahosi (king’s wives). Some of these women became soldiers voluntarily while some were forcefully enrolled as a result of their rude behaviour.

They spent most of their time in training which involved; wrestling, target practice, obstacle races, large scale simulated attacks, forest trails and initiation in the bush which lasted several days. They also went through several religious rituals by reciting magical incantations to increase their magical strength, wearing of protective amulets and also consulting Bokovon, the seer, who guided them.
They are known to be valorous and never relenting in battles unlike men soldiers who were often punished for fleeing from battle. They are a personification of courage. The havoc they unleashed in Abeokuta during the Egba-Dahomey war in 1851 proved the fact that they were women who could challenge the power of men by reaching their status other than subject themselves to domestic works at home.

They were ferocious, muscular and highly skilled in the way they handled their victims by torturing and decapitating them. They were able to endure pain for a long time that only their bosom proved their femininity. Their undying bravery served them in resisting the French troops during the colonial conquest. No wonder a representation of N’Nonmiton featured in ‘Black Panther’ by making the army comprise fearless women who are ready to sacrifice their life in defending their nation.