A Brief History of Mr. George. {2}

My name is Folarin George. I am a Part 3 student of the department of History, Obafemi Awolowo University. I am a Christian. And I will be eighteen years old in two months time.


NEW FRIENDS.

The HOD started with introduction: introducing us to the class. He walked around the large room and removed his glasses. He began in a very funny way:
“So you have made it to my class. Congratulations. As you mutst have been told by your seniors, this is a very different class. I will not, during the duration of this class give you notes. I will not give you tests. I will give you assignments and we’re going to be interacting with one other. This is a 5unit course. That can either help your CGPA or damage it. Luckily for all of you, except Jerry, you’re on First-Class. So let’s get straight to business. This will be our meeting place most times. I’ll give a key to one of you in case you need to meet to discuss. Let’s get started and -”

“Er, a question sir.” It was Jerry. Jerry was one of those guys you would never believe were brilliant if you checked their exam results. But you’d be wowed if you started an intellectual discussion with them on virtually any topic. And so I was not surprised that he made it to this class. And also that he was not on First-Class.

Now, Jerry stood up and dipped his hands into his pockets. He wore a blue jeans, a black vest and an oversized shirt on it. His hair was a tower. He shaped it in a square and it looked like a cube sitting on a circular ball, for that was what his head looked like. He swayed as he spoke, “Why are we just five in this class?”

I smiled. I loved Jerry. He was not the typical tie and shirt guy who always obeyed orders gullibly and never looked for trouble. He was always in search of trouble.

The HOD put on his glasses and walked over to Jerry. “I have two doctorate degrees from two prestigious institutions in America. I am one of the most renowned professors on this campus. On the first twenty list, I am number 12. And that means I don’t have time to teach 100 nitwits who can’t pass a simple entrance exam. That is why, Jerry.”

Jerry, not moved by the whole show, shrugged and sat down. I was beginning to fear for him.

“You’re not happy with that, are you?”

“No, sir. With all due respect sir, I think that’s not fair…not giving others the chance to learn.”

“I did give them a chance. You all wrote an entrance exam,” the HOD said trying to be as calm as possible.

“But you chose only five-”

“I chose the best five. The rest did not make it and i don’t see any reason why they should be here.”

“But not everybody can make the Top 5. Only five people can do that no matter how the 100 of us try, only five will make that list and get to sit in this large room.”

“So what are you suggesting? That I should teach the whole of you?”

“I dunno…shouldn’t you be happy to share your knowledge with as many students as  possible?”

“You have your lecturers for that and as I said earlier, I have no time for nitwits who can’t pass an entrance exam. Now Jerry, I will entertain no further questions,” he said and waited for Jerry to object but Jerry was done already. And so the HOD disappeared through the door behind the girls sofa. I shot Jerry a ‘calm down, bro’ look but he merely shrugged. It was then that Peter talked.

“Jerry, this is a very good opportunity and privilege we have to be in this office. Please, don’t spoil this with your nonchalant attitude.”

I shook my head. Peter was the typical tie and shirt guy. I had known him since Part 1.He was a hardworker and an obedient one. He never questioned authorities. He never asked controversial questions in class (that was Jerry’s work). He was the ‘good guy’ and the lecturers liked him for it. Another thing about Peter was that he was not intelligent. He was not brilliant. He was even smart. He was only a reader and a hardworker who strived to remain in First-Class. And so I was surprised when I saw that he too passed the entrance exam. He could never have done that with hardwork.

He was wearing a baggy black trousers and a white shirt with a pink tie. A long pink tie. He looked serious. He was serious and I was sure he must be very thankful to God for making this special class and also be scared of losing it. I pitied him within me.

The two girls sat still on their sofa and I took some time to observe them. Both of then were cool beautiful chics; no SU. I knew only one of them; Shola. The first time I spoke with Shola,I knew she was brilliant. We were in Part 2 then and we were in the same group for a class presentation. It was Critical Thinking 204 and we had to discuss on the topic “Feminism, not our Culture“. While I was going on about the fact that even though feminism was not our culture, culture is a living thing and can therefore evolve and is indeed evolving, she was quiet. She did not oppose me in the group meetings. The other members of our group nodded at my display of knowledge and said I was correct. Shola was mute. After the meeting, she walked with me. She explained to me that feminism had always been our culture, the fact that it was not called feminism does not mean it never existed. She said: the mistake we are making is thinking that feminism is a new concept and therefore some people reject it on the basis if its foreignness and also that it is not an African thing. This is wrong. It had always been in our culture and we had our way of showing it. I listened quietly as she gave examples and I knew that she was right. It was at that moment that I knew I wanted to be her friend. I collected her number and we got talking. She made it clear to me that she had a boyfriend and that he was the jealous type and so she wouldn’t want our friendship to be “obviously deep”. I told her I understood even though I was already having a crush on her.

I was not surprised that she made the HOD’s  list and now, I admired her beautiful body. She wore a skimpy skirt that revealed half of her thighs. Her legss were smooth and spotless; sexy.  They were shining, as though she polished them every morning. Her shirt was buttoned to the top and nothing was left out, not even a little cleavage. I was still admiring this mass of beauty that was my friend when the HOD returned. He was holding an iPad.

“Okay. Our topic of discussion will be the Atlantic Slave Trade. I understand you were taught this in Part 1 but we’ll be going deeper here. Why exactly did it have to happen? Why exactly did it have to be wicked? Why did they end it? And also, what sustained slavery; reproduction by the slaves or continuity of the trade? And finally, are we still suffering from the effects of those events?”

We had all taken down the questions in our note. I could see that Jerry was typing on his phone. The HOD did not seem to care. Peter was writing in a huge 5in1 notebook and was also recording with his phone. I smiled at his zeal. Shola had her note on her legs and she was writing. The other girl whom I did not know was writing too. The HOD paced around as he talked and my eyes fell on Shola again. I was losing consciousness. I closed my eyes and opened them again on the HOD. He was standing in front of me,asking me a question which I definitely did not hear.

“George, I don’t care how beautiful Miss Shola is looking and how ugly I might be, let the focus be on me. And next time,” he turned to Shola,”help a falling brother and wear something long.” Shola nodded and everyone laughed, including Peter. I felt embarrassed. And hopeful. I had thought the only thing the HOD was capable of doing was discuss history. But now, he was making japes and we were laughing. I laughed too.

At the end of the class, the HOD informed us that our next class would be in two days time. He gave the time and told us that we would be the ones talking that day and not him. Peter asked some really unnecessary questions and got his answers. And then it was over. The HOD returned to his office.

I closed my book and got up. I shook hands with Peter and he walked out of the room. The unkown girl followed him. Jerry announced that he was stabbing the rest of the day’s classes and walked away. I was left with Shola.

“Hey,” I said.

“Hey.”

“You’re going to your hostel?”

“Sure. Will be back for our next class.”

“Let me walk you down,” I said. And then we got talking. We talked about everything. She told me about her boyfriend; things weren’t going well. Something in me leapt for joy. I told her about my roommate. She laughed. And then we talked about the HOD’s class. I told her I had known she was going to make the Top 5. She smiled and said the same about me.

“But the only person I wasn’t expecting in that large room is Peter,” she added.

I swallowed. So I wasn’t the only one after all. How had Peter gotten into the class? “I was thinking the same thing,” I said. She shrugged and changed the topic. We soon got to her hostel. She gave me a warm hug which I prayed would never end and entered her hostel. I watched her as she walked in and waited for her to disappear behind the blocks before I turned.

As I walked back to my hostel, my mind returned to Peter. I tried not to think about it and I succeeded until five days after when we were having our third class with the HOD and Peter was to speak. It was at that moment that I knew something was wrong. Peter was not meant for this class. Something had gotten him into the class. And I was going to find out.

4 thoughts on “A Brief History of Mr. George. {2}

  1. What’s your business with how Peter got into the class? You just make sure you grasp something tangible from the HOD class and not only the beautiful curves of Shola’s body. Lol. Nice one bro. .
    It’s getting more interesting.

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