The young man dutifully followed as the principal gave him a tour: the ultramodern sports field, the air-conditioned classrooms, the up-to-date computer, science and arts laboratory, and the library, equipped with the most recent books.

The New School

Goodman felt embarrassed and intimidated, and his ego was trashed. His former school could not boast of litmus paper in the Chemistry lab, much more, books in the library. His students sold dodo and groundnut, fried akara and potato, or drugs, before coming to school.

When the principal was through, she waited for his response: a commendation. He wondered, the school had everything, but (his), beat them during the last games and IQ competition. He wanted to ask the principal the question, but his eyes fell on her exposed laps and cleavage, he tucked back his question, and asked:

“On a second thought, where will I live?”

He saw the unimpressive look on her face. She turned and led him out of the facility.

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Goodman

Goodman came to Lagos from Port Harcourt, on completion of his NYSC. He lived with an uncle who got him a teaching job; although he studied geology in the university. He had waited for centuries for an application which he submitted to one of the oil companies. The money he saved-up during NYSC burned-up like fuel. He got no reply, and the city depressed him. Luckily, an uncle invited him to the city of Lagos. His uncle painted a fine picture of Lagos, and assured him that the oil companies would tear him apart if his legs touched Lagos.

Unfortunately, he arrived Agege at night. The hairs under his nostrils twitched at the smell of old urine and human feces. His uncle came for him at the park. They boarded a bus to his place. He tripped at interval, because everywhere was dark, and he got his legs in-between smelly debris. His uncle led the way, and they stopped in front of a room built with zinc. It was like a movie to him. It was dark and his uncle could not read the disappointment on his face, so also his wife and three children.

His uncle had lived in the city for fifteen years, but never came home. They met at his father’s burial for the first time. James was so surprised, because people in the village looked well fed more than his uncle and his family: their cloths looked old, and they looked scruffy. The night he arrived Lagos, it rained heavily. He was woken by water which dripped on his face and all over his body from nowhere. He jumped and found out that his uncle and wife were busy getting everything out of the way. He joined them, but found out that his travel bag was socked.

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The morning after, he beheld Agege for the first time: it was as though houses were built on dumpsites, most of the houses were erected with planks or zincs, just like theirs. Children walked about naked. Adults went about their business.  Young men had a pack of cigarette in one hand and a bottle of gin in the other. His eyes didn’t miss the sight of young women who nearly walked about naked. It was obvious that he had arrived Lagos.

That morning, his uncle took him round some schools that were close-by; children learned under trees or in one room that barely had a roof. He couldn’t get himself to ask his uncle about the oil companies. It was not long before he got a teaching job with a school at Ajegunle, as a mathematics teacher. It was not long before he moved out of his uncle’s house, and got a place of his own. One day, a friend of his sent him a notice of a job opening on the Island; he applied and got it.

School Open Day

James couldn’t believe it when the principal handed a copy of the teachers’ manual to him. He was disturbed when he read that students were not meant to be scolded of punished by their teachers. He couldn’t believe it when he walked by some classrooms, and overheard students insult their teachers or threw paper at them. During PTA meetings, parents were more bothered about things that weren’t academics.

Some of the female students came to school scantily dressed. One day, he mustered courage, and approached the principal on the very issue, but she said that the students were taught to be independent, to know their right and own their freedom. It was obvious that the most important thing to the school was the money parents paid.

He was virtually done with parents on their kids’ performance; he decided to go home. Most of the parents were too in a hurry to rush back to work, while some cared less about their kids, while others blamed their spouse. It reminded James of his parents: they took everything serious. He was surprised that Fabian’s parents didn’t come for his open day. While he locked up the classroom, a young lady approached him. She greeted and said:

“Are you James….James Goodman?”

James looked at her and just nodded.

“I am Fabian’s mother, he asked me to bring you.”

He saw the striking resemblance.

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At the Hospital

James could not believe his eyes; this was a boy his waved goodbye over the weekend. The hospital monitor beeped at interval, the oxygen tank stood close to his bed, and a number of tubes were inserted all around his body.  His mother’s voice came from behind:

“I guess I was too busy making money while he did drugs. I gave him everything a child could ever wish for.”

She started crying. James recalled how their relationship began, how Fabian promised to stop, and how his grades improved.  James remembered the boys at Ajegunle and Agege; the ones that sold groundnut, but still came to school. The bullet passed through his chest.  Fabian opened his eyes, and saw James, he smiled, and James touched his hand:

“Teacher Goodman.”

Fabian’s voice was like an angel’s whisper. He was barely sixteen. James smiled back at him, the tears were coming but he didn’t let them show. Fabian gripped his arm, and when he was about to say something, the monitor stopped, and an alarm went off. James turned, and held his wailing mother, very close to his chest. She didn’t get to say goodbye.

Written by Oluoma Udemezue.