O te mi lo yan

For those of you who don’t understand Yoruba, it means – he pressed my breast

That was the report she gave to the Vice Principal at the secondary school where I was enrolled after failing out of Command Ipaja.

The school was the Jakande School prototype, and yes, our classroom was what was popularly called the Poultry, and yes, Yoruba was the lingua Franca

After I had failed twice, I was kicked out of the then elitist school, and my father, in his wisdom, felt that a stint at Baba Rahimi’s mechanic workshop would do the trick of making me sit up

After a few days of buying Amala for all the ogas, I woke my father up and said I was ready to go back to school

So, he enrolled me in this school where we all spoke Yoruba and ate Ewa Agoyin right before Assembly, and we had a lot of fun while doing it.

My prospects were bright as I quickly emerged as one of the brightest students in the school and amongst the few with any hope of passing the tedious WAEC exams

Before you knew it, I had passed into form 5 and joined the rest of the class to prepare for the external exams

Now, I was no longer a virgin, having taken a lot of midnight trips to the back of the tiny flat in Shomolu where we lived and where my mother’s housemaids nestled

Those wicked girls used me. Ohh my God, I was a willing victim as I would go and remind them to molest me

In fact, I would be vexed that I had not been molested in a bit and angrily command them to molest me, which they will gladly do

So I was well experienced but not experienced enough to go chase my own woman

So the girls in the school were a no-go area, as I would just look at them and then rush home to be molested

This, I must say, were my late teens, and hormones were raging, and the obvious ‘wet dreams’ were frustrating me as they kept me soiling the sheets and all that

The girls in this school were well experienced in the ways of the world and looked at us as petite boys

They set their sights on the older Molue bus drivers and any other older men who could meet their material needs

So for us, we just used to stare at them and not dare to approach, let alone touch

Then Mock exams came upon us, signalling the inevitability of the dreaded WAEC

I was confident in my ability. The three times I was in form four had given me enough brazen boldness to eagerly anticipate whatever WAEC will throw at me

I strutted with arrogance and didn’t fail to let my colleagues and teachers know that I was ready

Then she called on me. She wanted to see me after school at the bus stop

She was tall, with light skin and a very curvaceous figure. She had the Yoruba marks on her face that gave her this very exotic look.

She was one of the most beautiful in the school, but she kept to herself and really didn’t talk to anyone

I couldn’t wait for school to end as I rushed to the bus stop to wait for her.

She wanted to know what she would give me if I wrote the mock exams for her.

I said I don’t understand, and she repeated, How much will u take, she asked

I stared at her in disbelief. She wanted me to write her exams for a fee

I had a better idea and told her matter-of-factly

Allow me to touch ur breast just once a day for four days preceding exams and I guarantee you an A in English, Literature, CRK, Economics and Government. The rest subjects you are on ur own

She didn’t even hesitate and said – moti gbo

I couldn’t sleep that night. She was very beautiful, and the mere thought of touching those perky, massive breasts kept me awake

D day, and we went to a corner of the school, and I touched them

I will spare you the details since this article is not on the touch but in the fallen standard of education, that didn’t start today

That is how I touched the breast every day for four days and even asked for Jara the last day, which meant that I touched a second time and also got a hug

Then the exams came, and I wrote the first paper for both of us, and they promptly caught me

They separated us, and for the rest of the exams, I wrote mine in another room while she did hers alone

The results came out, and I cleared mine, and she failed very woefully

In anger, she went to report me to the English Teacher – Ekun

Eki sir, boyi te mi lo yan.

Wow, the whole school was in full swing.

Everybody hated me. Male Teachers who envied me, fellow students who also envied me and female teachers who thought I was a pervert

I was matched into the staff room, where they had prepared the Atori for me

If you went to school in Lagos in the 80s, the chances that you would be flogged with an atori will be very high

I felt like Barabas, the thief they crucified with Jesus

The school gathered around the staff room, waiting for my lynching

I didn’t cry. I had received harsher punishment while at Command, so it’s not these malnourished teachers that will flog me with atori that I should be worried abt

So I untucked my shirt and put my chest on the table in preparation to receive the strokes

Then the Vice Principal, drawn by the commotion, walked in

What is happening here? He queried and he was told by the teacher – sir, boy yi lo te oyan girl yi

VP, seeing his star pupil facing inevitable expulsion just one month before WAEC, felt sad

He looked at me with disappointment as he asked, Is that true

I was already hardened at Command, and denied totally

I told him that I don’t even recognise the girl and that I am surprised that I have been picked out for such humiliation

Confusion.

He then asked the girl about her side

Eki sir, O te mi lo yan and the VP was aghast

Speak in English, he screamed, and she repeated – Sir Ote mi la yan

By this time, the VP was livid as he screamed at her – ‘You mean you cannot speak in English and you’re doing WAEC next month?’

She replied – eki sir, nothing, kosi nkan nkan

Let me end that she got the strokes of the atori, and I was asked to go and sin no more.

WAEC came, and I came out with an A in English and left the school for the great University of Ibadan, where I couldn’t find any female student to sell my services to

Kai

Duke of Shomolu