A Brief History Of Mr. George {4}


It is Sunday afternoon in LAUTECH. We have been on strike for almost two years now and some of us have forgotten our matric number. Now, we are gathered outside our cathedral -like senate building with stones in our hands. Somewhere in the front, our leader is saying some motivating words. He drags on for like five minutes after which he threw the first. As though, we all have been waiting, we begin to throw. Glass begin to shatter. Bulbs break. The cars packed in front of the building suffer the most. At first, I watch as my fellow students stone our prestigious university’s senate building. And then, without a second thought, I pick my first stone. Slowly, I aim and throw. At the same time my stone is going up, something is coming down. From the topmost floor of the circular building, a man is falling down.



George woke up with a start. He could not remember the last time he had a dream. And now he was having one about LAUTECH, a state university that had been on strike since forever. He scrubbed his eyes and opened them clearly to the new day.

It was Friday, a week after the SUG crisis. George looked at the sticky note by his wall and sighed. It was a busy day.

  1. See Peter about his paper.

  2. See Tomisona

  3. Prepare for Monday presentation.

  4. The Classic Club

  5. Call the hospital.

His eyes lingered on the last point and the memories came back again. It was only one week and it was like a whole year had psssed. Life had moved on. People had forgotten that a crisis happened and academic activities would resume again on Monday. He had already gotten a message from the HOD about an 8am Monday class. He did not reply the message. A week had passed and still, no concrete reason was available for what happened last Friday.

After Stephen, his roommate had told him what happened that day, George had run out of the hostel immediately. When he got to Shola’s hostel, it was under lockdown. There was a huge crowd around. Security officers were outside the hostel. As he moved close to the gate, an officer in black confronted him.

“My friend… I have a friend inside…” George panted. The officer did not seem to pay any attention to him. He only shook his head and said George could not enter. “Please,” George persisted. “She sent me a message. They were in her room.” The officer shook his head once more and said he could not enter.

George retreated. He fought his way around the crowd and went to sit under the tree in front of the hostel. And slowly, like a lost kid, he began to cry. The only question he could ask was why. Why did it have to happen to Shola? Why did anything have to happen at all? Why and why and why?

He was still weeping outside when he saw a familiar face in the crowd. It belonged to a girl. He did not remember the name. His eyes followed the girl as she walked about . He was still trying to remember the name and make sure he did not lose her in the crowd when he heard sirens and an ambulance drove down and parked in front of the hostel. As thought they had been waiting, the security officers cleared the crowd and paved way for the nurses to go into the hostel. George got up immediately.

He ran down to the hostel gate and watched as the nurses carried two girls into the ambulance. He studied the faces and saw that none of them was Shola’s. They went in again and brought two more. Not Shola. George sighed. Perhaps she was safe after all. He was retreating when he heard screams. He turned around and there she was. Shola was lying on a stretcher, covered in blood, screaming excruciatingly.

“Shola!” He shouted. From the corner of her eyes, she looked at him and their eyes met before she was placed into the ambulance and the vehicle drove off in a flash.


Today, a week after, the picture was still fresh in his head. He still saw her, on the stretcher, covered in blood, crying for help. So many things had happened since then. The school had suspended the Student Union. A one-week break had been declared. Two final year students had been declared dead as a result of what was termed a “cultist attack”.  And since then, George had been calling the General Hospital to know how far but it was still the same message. ” Miss Shola is alive but visitors cannot see her yet due to her current condition.” What current condition? No answer. When would anyone be able to see her? No response. George tried to imagine all that could have happened to her and he couldn’t pick one as the least dangerous. If these people truly were cultists and not just Union guys, then they probably had weapons: machetes, knifes. That was the only reasonable thing. If not, why was Shola bleeding so badly that day?
The reasons for the attack was still unclear. The trending story was that the SU President heard that there were plans to impeach him and he had gathered his boys and went to pay the Speaker a warning visit. The Speaker, on receiving information about an attempt to kill by approaching cultists, had armed himself, called his guys and moved out of the hostel. He was making his way down to the Students Union Building when the President and his guys met him on the way. Without warning, he shot his pistol twice to show that he was armed and that his guys were coming and he ran into the nearest hostel: Shola’s hostel. The President and his guys chased him in, made some harmless threats and turned to leave. They met the Speaker’s boys at the gate and the rest was a story of blood and machetes.

The President and the Speaker could not be found that day, or any day after. Some of their boys were arrested and detained. That Friday, half of the school went home. George stayed. His parents called him and he told them he was safe. His roommate Stephen stayed too.  He continued his own life as though nothing had happened. He would go out in the morning and return at an ungodly hour.

George slept throughout the whole one-week break. He would sleep,wake up, sleep again and wake up. He had expected Shola to be back in school after a day or two but a few lessons from his Medical student roommate made him know it could take a while.


Someone knocked and brought him back to reality.

“Enter,” he said, getting up and dusting his bed.

It was Peter. He was wearing a Chelsea shorts and a black singlet. He was carrying two huge textbooks and a note.

“George, good morning.”

George shook hands with him and tried to appear normal. Shola is alive. School is resuming on Monday. Life has to continue. He said to himself and offered Peter a seat at Stephen’s table.

“I came for help. I’m done with my paper and I want you to help me look through it.,” Peter said and produced his paper from his bag. The first page carried his name and other necessary information. The second page was a great mistake. It started with the duration of the Slave Trade, those involved, how it started, and all other boring details. George sighed. He was not in the mood for this but he knew if he didn’t do this, the first thing the HOD would do when they met on Monday was to dismiss Peter. And that would be a disaster. And so he shut his mind from all his worries and focused.

“Peter, you’re getting it all wrong. This is the HOD, not some petty lecturer. He needs to see creativity. He wants to be impressed, challenged, taught. You are not doing that here. You’re simply stating the same thing every layman on the street will state.” George got up from his bed and stood in front of Peter. The poor guy was downcast. He couldn’t get it.

“Peter, you are in this class because you’re special.”

“Am I?”

“Of course you are! It doesn’t matter what this paper says. You have a potential within you and we’ll help you get it out,” George said and returned to his bed. “Now, let’s begin. How about you start this essay with a question. Like: Abraham Lincoln has always been commended for championing the cause of the black race and the antislavery movements. But did he really? Did Lincoln really send his soldiers to war because he wanted freedom for the slaves or because he wanted the Union to stand?

“George, are you disputing the fact that Lincoln really was antislavery?”

“Does it look like it?”

Peter nodded and George sighed. “Have you read his speech st th
4. It is Sunday afternoon in LAUTECH. We have been on strike for almost two years and some of us have forgotten our matrix number. Now, we are gathered outside our cathedral -like senate building with stones in our hands. Somewhere in the front, our leader is saying some motivating words. He drags on for like five minutes after which he threw the first. As though, we all have been waiting, we begin to throw. Glass begin to shatter. Bulbs break. The cars packed in front of the building suffer the most. At first, I watche as my fellow students stone our prestigious university’s senate building. And then, without a second thought, I pick my first stone. Slowly, I aim and throw. At the same time my stone is going up, something is coming down. From the topmost floor of the circular building, a man is falling down.
George woke up with a start. He could not remember the last time he had a dream. And now he was having one about LAUTECH, a state university that had been on strike since forever. He scrubbed his eyes and opened them clearly to the new day.

It was Friday, a week after the SUG crisis. George looked at the sticky note by his wall and sighed. It was a busy day.

  1. See Peter about his paper.

  2. See Tomisona

  3. Prepare for Monday presentation.

  4. The Classic Club

  5. Call the hospital.

His eyes lingered on the last point and the memories came back again. It was only one wej and it was like a whole year had psssed. Life had moved on. People had forgotten that a crisis happened and academic activities would resume again on Monday. He had already gotten a message from the HOD about an 8am Monday class. He did not reply the message. A week had passed and still, no concrete reason was available for what happened last Friday.

After Stephen, his roommate had told him what happened that day, George had run out of the hostel immediately. When he got to Shola’s hostel, it was under lockdown. There was a huge crowd around. Security officers were outside the hostel. As he moved close to the gate, an officer in black confronted him.

“My friend… I have a friend inside…” George panted. The officer did not seem to pay any attention to him. He only shook his head and said George could not enter. “Please,” George persisted. “She sent me a message. They were in her room.” The officer shook his head once more and said he could not enter.

George retreated. He fought his way around the crowd and went to sit under the tree in front of the hostel. And slowly, like a lost kid, he began to cry. The only question he could ask was why. Why did it have to happen to Shola? Why did anything have to happen at all? Why and why and why?

He was still weeping outside when he saw a familiar face in the crowd. It belonged to a girl. He did not remember the name. His eyes followed the girl as she walked about . He was still trying to remember the name and make sure he did not lose her in the crowd when he heard sirens and an ambulance drove down and parked in front of the hostel. As thought they had been waiting, the security officers cleared the crowd and paved way for the nurses to go into the hostel. George got up immediately.

He ran down to the hostel gate and watched as the nurses carried two girls into the ambulance. He studied the faces and saw that none of them was Shola’s. They went in again and brought two more. Not Shola. George sighed. Perhaps she was safe after all. He was retreating when he heard screams. He turned around and there she was. Shola was lying on a stretcher, covered in blood, screaming excruciatingly.

“Shola!” He shouted. From the corner of her eyes, she looked st him and their eyes met before she was placed into the ambulance and the vehicle drove off in a flash.


Today, a week after, the picture was still fresh in his head. He still saw her, on the stretcher, covered in blood, crying for help. So many things had happened since then. The school had suspended the Student Union. A one-week break had been declared. Two final year students had been declared dead as a result of what was termed a “cultist attack”.  And since then, George had been calling the General Hospital to know how far but it was still the sane message. ” Miss Shola is alive but visitors cannot see her yet due to her current condition.” What current condition? No answer. When would anyone be able to we her? No response. George tried to imagine all that could have happened to her and he couldn’t pick one as the least dangerous. If these people truly were cultists and not just Union guys, then they probably had weapons: machetes, knifes. That was the only reasonable thing. If not, why was Shola bleeding so badly that day?
The reasons for the attack was still unclear. The trending story was that the SU President heard that there were plans to impeach him and he had gathered his boys and went to pay the Speaker a warning visit. The Speaker, on receiving information about an attempt to kill by approaching cultists, had armed himself, called his guys and moved out of the hostel. He was making his wst down to the Students Union Building when the President and his guys met him on tyhw way. Without warning, he shot his pistol twice to show that he was armed and that his guys were coming and he ran into the nearest hostel: Shola’s hostel. The President and his guys chased him in, made some threats and turned to leave. They met the Speaker’s boys at the gate and the rest was a story of blood and machetes.

The President and the Speaker could not be found that day, or any day after. Some of their boys were arrested and detained. That Friday, half of the school went home. George stayed. His parents called him and he told them he was safe. His roommate Stephen stayed too.  He continued his own life as though nothing had happened. He would go out in the morning and return at an ungodly hour.

George slept throughout the whole one-week break. He would sleep,wake up, sleep again and wake up. He had expected Shola to be back in school after a day or two but a few lessons from his Medical student roommate made him know it could take a while.


Someone knocked and brought him back back to reality.

“Enter,” he said, getting up and dusting his bed.

It was Peter. He was wearing a Chelsea shorts and a black singlet. He was carrying two huge textbooks and a note.

“George, good morning.”

George shook hands with him and tried to appear normal. Shola is alive. School is resuming on Monday. Life has to continue. He said to himself and offered Peter a seat at Stephen’s table.

“I came for help. I’m done with my paper and I want you to help me look through it.,” Peter said and produced his paper from his bag. The first page carried his name and other necessary information. The second page was a great mistake. It started with the duration of the Slave Trade, those involved, how it started, and all other boring details. George sighed. He was not in the mood for this but he knew if he didn’t do this, the first thing the HOD would do when they met on Monday was to dismiss Peter. And that would be a disaster. And so he shut his mind from all his worries and focused.

“Peter, you’re getting it all wrong. This is the HOD, not some petty lecturer. He needs to see creativity. He wants to be impressed, challenged, taught. You are not doing that here. You’re simply stating the same thing every layman on the street will state.” George got yp from his bed and stood in front of Peter. The poor guy was downcast. He couldn’t get it.

“Peter, you are in this class because you’re special.”

“Am I?”

“Of course you are! It doesn’t matter what this paper says. You have a potential within you and we’ll help you get it out,” George said and returned to his bed. “Now, let’s begin. How about you start this essay with a question. Like: Abraham Lincoln had always been commended for championing the cause of the black race and the antislavery movements. But did he really? Did Lincoln really sent his soldiers to war because he wanted freedom for the slaves or because he wanted the Union to stand?”

“George, are you disputing the fact that Lincoln really was antislavery?”

“Does it look like it?”

Peter nodded and George sighed. “Have you read his speech at the beginning of the civil war?

Peter shook his head. George checked his bag and brought out two textbooks. He gave them to Peter and collected the ones he brought. “Read those. And then rewrite this essay, with the introduction I just gave you.”

Peter collected the books and got up. “By the way, how is Shola?”

George swallowed. “She’s…er…she’s going to be fine.”

“Is that why you’re…. a little disorganized?” He asked slowly and carefully. George forced a smile and nodded. Was it so obvious?

“Is she your girlfriend?”

“What? No. She…she has a boyfriend. We’re just friends. Close friends.”

“You said she’s going to be fine right?”

George nodded. Peter said his thanks and left. George fell back to his bed and dialed the hospital number on his phone. Before the nurse picked and repeated the same thing, he thought of two things: what would happen to Peter if he was eventually dismissed. The way he was going, it was almost inevitable. And George thought about the last thing Peter asked. No, no. She has a boyfriend, he said to himself unconvincingly.


It was a Thursday and a day of shock for George. He was just returning from a class. He was already at the door of his room when his phone beeped. He brought it out from his pocket. The message was from Peter.

HOD called me to his office after yesterday’s class and said my paper was fair but my presentation was horrible which meant I was helped. He is placing me on probation, George. I think I’m going to be dismissed.

George sighed. He was about fetching his key when the door opened from within. Stephen was staring at him and George knew something bad had happened. Stephen was supposed to be in class.

“What’s it, Stephen?” He asked.

Stephen’s hands were shaking as he produced a piece of paper from his pocket and gave it to George.

“It’s in her spine, George. A bullet is stuck in Shola’s spine”


PS: What do you think about the change? Did you notice it at all? Tell me something!

10 thoughts on “A Brief History Of Mr. George {4}

  1. Questions – why did George dream about LAUTECH? Would Shola survive?
    Also, it seems as if today’s story narrowed it’s focus on George’s internal change, not the external changes – HOD’s class, etc…

  2. I disagree with you Temiloluwa. It’s not only about her beauty. I think it’s her intelligence that got George more attracted. Another nice shot Michael.

  3. Why did it have to be her spine
    A place where once its lodged can hardly be moved
    Why did u have to paint the life of George in wine
    Better get shola back or peter removed
    #nicestorybtw

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