Chapter 8

The Meeting Without purpose

The principal and other members rose up quickly and stood between the Dr. Abalaka and Chief Adekola to avoid a physical combat. The parents and teachers had been silent, their fingers crossed, enjoying the banter between the two men until it turned sour. After normalcy was maintained between the two men and everybody had gone back to their seats, the principal spoke out.

"Ladies and gentlemen,’’ said the principal as he sat back on his arm chair on the high table. He cleared his throat and spoke softly. "We are in the meeting to discuss and come out with the solutions to problems affecting us and our children, not arguing politically and causing chaos among ourselves. This is not the National Assembly where legislators exchange blows or throw chairs at each other while debating. We are not here to debate but to discuss and reasoned together. This is not a political platform. If this kind of things happened again, we will be forced to close the meeting immediately.’’

"Yes, that good idea! You have spoken well, principal…!’’ the people were saying in loud chorus.

"Order please,’’ the Vice Principal waded in, "we must be orderly, please. We are not children.’’

"Anyone has what to say, should please speak now," The Principal said after everywhere became silent like grave yard. He rested his slim-fitted, silver-rimed medicated glasses on his nose and swayed his eyes around the hall. "We don’t have much time left.’’

The Principal raised his head up and checked the large clock on the upper wall.

"Yes, I think the teachers should go on indefinite strike to protest for the dwindling education system..’’ Another man said, adjusting himself on his seat. He was an exceptionally tall; very fair skinned, slightly curly hairs, narrow eyes, prominent nose and lanky body. He had traveled from the far Northern state of Kano, Nigeria, just to attend the meeting. The principal had telephoned him many days to the meeting. He was a University graduate but didn’t search for white collar job after he had completed his one year compulsory National Youth Service. He was the first son of his father before his death, so he had inherited his thousands of cows. As an educated cattle farmer, he did not herd his cows all around people farms, destroying their crops and threatened to wipe them off if they complained, like it was normally heard around the country.

He had constructed a large ranch for them in the outskirt of Kano city. And he had had many customers from different part of the country and made a lot of sales and income. The P.T.A members would wonder while he spoke fluent English, devoid of an accent, unlike most of the people from his area. That was because he had lived in the southwest before and loved the education system; hence he brought his son, Adamu to school there. Besides, he had discovered that obstinacy and laxity were growing with the boy, being his only son. He thought his mother was pampering and spoiling him. So he thought being far away from home would curb that. "The government seems to be unaware of the suffering that teachers and students are facing. May be strike would make them aware.’’

"Yes, you are somehow right, Mallam Sanusi,’’ the principal said commendably, turning to face the teachers were they were sitting in groups of twos or fours. "I think we should go on strike, comrades. May be we should vote for that in the next Nigeria Association of Teachers meeting in state capital. That is the language this people understand mostly, strike.’’

"Mister Principal sir, i think we must reason well before acting this time around,'' said a stout, dark man with broad shoulders, dressed in black trouser, white long sleeve T-shirt and a bow red tie. He was the School bursar and was facing the principal as he spoke. "The last strike we had, nothing came out of it. We just wasted our working period, staying at home, doing nothing."

"Yes, I could remembered now,’’ said Chief Adekola, Martin's father. ‘’It was six months old strike, yes, whole six months! My son was just sitting at home idly, playing games and watching violent American films on the Television and going to the wrong places to mingle with wrong people. You know, we politicians hardly stay at home, let alone caution erring children. It is meeting after meeting, just to make this country move forward. And you know, his mother had long passed away...’’

"Oh sorry Chief, please accept our condolences..." the meeting chorused sympathetically, except Dr. Abalaka who had been sulking, rasing his nose to mock Chief Adekola's talks. Disgust was boldy writing all over his face.

That wasn’t the first time Chief Adekola would be talking about his late wife in the meeting. But the meeting would still sympathize with him anytime they heard that. They would not have done that anyway if he wasn’t the Parents Association Chairman and the most influential man around.

"I thank you all for your sympathy," Chief Adekola said in an appreciative voice and continued from where he had stopped. "And I know it was not only Martin, my son who had gone wild during the strike, many children had. My main point is that strike will be a total disadvantage to the children. They’ll mingle with wrong people out there and do all sorts of rubbish if they are not kept busy in the school."

"You are right Chief,’’ said a tall, slim and fair-skinned man of about 45. He was wearing an Ankara clothing material, sewing into jumper and trouser, traditional African type of wears. The outing wears looked like farm wears on him. Though not dirty, but they were old and faded from too much wash and wear. The oversized jumper hung on his slim body like a large duvet on a line. He was Adebayo, Adrian’s father. He had come from the remote village of Lagelu to attend the meeting after the school had written him a letter. "Even my son was affected by the strike. He became used to farm work and neglected reading his books. When the school finally resumed, he was reluctant to prepare for school. It was as if he’d wanted to continue as a farmer instead of resuming back to school..."

The meeting burst into laughter. The principal and teachers who personally knew how brilliant Adrian had been had found the story hard to belief. How could such brilliant boy who doesn’t joke with his books get tired of schooling because of mere six months old strike? But it was actually true. Ajoke had helped Adrian packed his baggage for school when the later was unhappy and reluctant to do so.

The six month strike was caused by government's lack of payment of the teachers' outstanding salaries. Many students had stayed home, indulging in different kinds of social vices because schools were on locks. They wouldn’t blame them much anyway, since it’s said that an idle hand is devil’s workshop.

After much petting and pleading from the stakeholders, the teachers had called off the strike but the government only paid them lip services instead of what they demanded for.

At the end of the meeting, the parents and teachers resolved to keep writing letters to the ministry of education and other stake holders to help the dwindling education system. Another strike would add salt to the wound in the education system. But after countless letters, nothing was done still. The school remained in the same sorry conditions.