Running Stoutly Against Failure

He had been munching a huge loaf of bread and 'natin' when he concluded that morning's tedious exercise by gulping his cup of almost cold tea down in one clean swoop, He strode to his little room and donned his straightened school uniform. Now with his raffia bag slung on his shoulder and trailing over his back, he raced out of the pan-body house.

At the main road, he waited with a crowd of rowdy secondary as well as primary school children with a few adults. This sight further disheartened him. He wondered how soon he would get a bus. As he ruminated over that others chattered their hearts away. The adults discussed the high cost of living, rampant stealing and corruption everywhere, growing indiscipline in the country, a poor transportation system or the absence of one, multiple shortages or scarcities and a medley of other problems bedeviling the society and could most likely shackle it out of existence if something desperate is not done to put things back on track. The pupils who couldn't care much for the myriad problems of the times, gossiped and giggled over trivialities. Which boy was eyeing or running after which girl? Which girl snubbed which boy? Whose father is it that wouldn't allow him to taste the joys of the night which they have been enjoying? Which boy recently suffered community shaming and rebuke for still whetting his bed? As they chattered their lives away, Momodu seemed excluded from all that. For he was busy brooding over how he could get to school early enough to take his history test. He remembered the last one which he called then 'a walkover'. He earned as much as 70 %. But he nearly fainted when he discovered the paper. He felt he deserved far much more than that. For History is like a first love to him.

Fired by a determination to show his young, dashing and enthusiastic teacher, Mr Rogers, that he was still in top form, he had spent the weekend revising his notes and reading books on the settlers. In fact he had very little sleep just to ensure he lifts himself high up enough to realize his aspirations for himself. So as he waited that weary morning the facts and dates circled in his mind thrilling him internally whilst lost to the agitations around him.

In the fifteen minutes he had been there waiting, over twenty mini-buses had passed. Over half of them were bound for either Kabul or Saigon villages further east. Only about four or five seemed westward- bound. But sadly they didn't halt, being packed to capacity.

He was now considering returning home. But then thoughts of the crucial test made him more resolved to wait on patiently. So he remained firmly rooted to the ground, praying and fervently hoping that the next available vehicle would halt for them.

As he kept praying he espied a slow-moving and rickety morris van coming from the distance. As it approached it seemed to wear a frightful and forbidden look with a particularly battered frontage.

The ogre of a vehicle soon ground to a dead halt right in front of Momodu. It was in fact the first vehicle to have halted for them that cold morning. He peered through the frosty window and not a space could be discerned within the tightly -packed compartment. Momodu changed his prayer for someone to drop so as to enable him to board it and get to school on time.. Unfortunately no one did.

Ready to launch the rickety cabin of passengers off once more, the helicopter engine coughed and then roared and off it went. But as it was moving off Momodu quickly leapt for the tailboard thus joining the apprentice dangling dangerously from it as the old van struggled on.

He was gripped with fear as he remembered his mother's frequently cataloging the innumerable times boys had fallen off often getting crushed to death by the following or the approaching vehicle. But reassuring himself that that one and only try would not bring him such a calamity, holding the door post, he went off in it.

As the vehicle roared away, with his right foot dancing in the whirling wind, the sensation of air tickling the fresh growth of hair on his legs thrilled him. This took his mind off from his anxiety and discomfort. Being that his head was shooting out of the moving vehicle saved him from half the pain the other sweat-drenched passengers in the oven-on-wheels were suffering.

Suddenly the vehicle sunk into a huge pot-hole almost throwing Momodu overboard. With his heart almost jumping out of a now boiling chest, he wished for the safety of a seat inside. But none he could have as no one seemed ready to give up any nor drop down.

So the van rocked on through its familiar mini-hills and vales. It dragged on unto Vorster Street and Bokassa Avenue junction where it halted for no apparent reason. The driver came down, approached a gesticulating officer in uniform. He stooped, pleading for mercy. But then the duteous officer's voice soared to an even more imperious pitch.

'I'll set an example of you. You ignore road regulations, yet you are so arrogant. You don't even know how to behave.'

The driver becomes more persistent in his pleas. But the policeman hardening even more, demanded his license. The driver despondently turned away from him. But seeing the angrily gesticulating passengers, he quickly plunged his hand into a bag near his driving seat and brought out a cupped hand.

He rushed towards the police and shook his hand. This seemed to have a magical effect as the formerly stern and unyielding face lit up and waved the offerer off without any further ceremonies.

The driver dashed to the vehicle, dived into his seat, turned on the ignition key and with a gentle push to the accelerator he was off to the relief of his passengers. The vehicle trucked on until about ten minutes past eight when Momodu dropped of at Nguema stop. Without paying any fare, he sprinted away through Amin Road, Pahlavi Bridge, Somoza Street and on to his school.

Already exhausted, he stopped to catch his breath. He then trotted down the drive. The master on duty was still at the foot of the huge cotton tree awaiting pupils skipping in late.

'Even you, Momodu?' he called as soon as he caught sight of him.

'No sir, I'm only coming in now, sir.'

'Well, turn round then.' He received a quick four strokes and off he was to his class. Completely dispirited, he felt he was bound to fail. For almost half of the period was gone.

As he approached the class, he could hear the history teacher reading. He couldn't make up his mind whether to cry or rejoice. For he couldn't decide whether it was the test itself or just the prelude. He heard Mr Rogers' voice distinctly enough. He was reading aloud. Could it be the questions that he was reading? Definitely not. Questions couldn't go on that endlessly. Must be notes. Yes he could hear it distinctly now. It's a new topic:

'The Partition of Africa'. Then completing the process of catching his breath, he entered the class. Mr Rogers was on another sentence when he was distracted by his entry. He turned and then realizing it was Momodu, said, 'Now see how early you are coming now.'

'It was the transport, sir.'

'Transport, transport! You know very well that that is a problem. Why don't you wake up early.'

Momodu felt embarrassed and remained uncertain as to what he might have missed. He even wondered whether he was to face yet another punishment. Then he was relieved by the reassuring voice of the teacher ushering him to take his seat:

'Okay Momodu, just don't you keep standing there gazing and wasting your time. Come on and copy the rest of the notes. You'll get the earlier part from your friends later. You're just lucky the test didn't come off today after all. Otherwise you would have flunked the test through your own carelessness.'

With his face lit brightly in glee, he settled ease fully into his seat.