November 1986. Most of us were 13 years old (now I am now finding out that was an illusion; there were more people that were 15 years claiming 13 years!). In the days where there were no phones or social media, books were the order of the day for those that wanted to read, others were talking, playing table soccer and the mature ones, thinking of their next escapades with women and girls (you know yourselves🤪). As boys raced through Pacesetters stories, some graduated to bigger books like Harold Robbins, Robert Ludlum and some Mills and Boons (you know yourselves again o!😍). Then a few boys stumbled onto the Mario Puzo books - The Godfather and the Sicilian .. conspiracy theories and the like and ideas started to pop up...
Back to school... we had a teacher teaching a subject (cannot remember which) but it was a female teacher. All of a sudden, there was some whistling and some inappropriate gestures made towards the teacher. She was very cross and started to dish out some abuse. Suddenly, one of the boys shouted 3O Boyze,se yen wa? and a lot of the naughty ones shouted Ko ma si yen o!. The teacher stormed out furiously and ended the lesson there and so we thought... Suddenly, the Technical Drawing (TD) teacher turns up to say that we are spoilt brats and we have to give up the person that initiated the shout and his accomplices in the retort. And there was silence 😇. The TD teacher was even more furious that no one spoke up and decided he was going to get his sticks and flog us unless when he comes back, someone gives up the culprits or owns up to the crime.
Ayodeji Yogojigi Ojo. Tayo "Ogu ijo" Akeju. Dele Aina. Femi Adeosun. The ajebuta of 3O. We had brave faces on but our hearts were racing. Why do we have to be flogged like criminals when most of the time, we are in our gentle corner? *Iya maa po bi egbe isu* As if someone was reading our minds, a few strong minded guys in the class looked at us and shouted - *won o bi yin daa ki e soro*. Finish 🙆🏾♂️. There were people passing information from the front desks of Jegede Ezekiel to the back seats of Boniface. The message was clear - no confession.
The TD teacher came and we all got 6 strokes each. There were different levels of reaction - to the ones laughing after the strokes, to the non puzzled, to the expressionless and for the ajebutters, the *gbeto mi* look where you are crying in your heart but no sound is heard (see GodFather Part 3 and the last scene where Al Pacino as Godfather has just seen his daughter shot from a bullet that ricocheted off him). The pain was excruciating but we have been warned not to cry. The TD teacher left frustrated to tell the teachers in the staff room what happened. Other teachers poured with treats but to no avail.
The law of omertà has been invoked; no one in 3O never gave anyone up no matter the treat. It was dealt with internally - boys to boys. That law lives with the boys still; we fight, we argue but we never bring external people to sort out 3O boys issues.
3O boys SE YEN WA? KO MA SI YEN O!
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