THE SECRET DIARY OF A SMALL big FISH PART 2 by Mide Benedict

I remember that day clearly, as if it was set before my eyes; each moment, each action dancing back to my memory and reliving itself. It was once more real, the grasses now alive, the palm fronds at the orchard shook themselves as the wind tapped their green body and the grasses moved like the cloud which were once more skinned over in blue and white. It was once more that Sunday afternoon during siesta, some few minutes before prep time. We were still in the dormitory where I was pretending to be in deep sleep, avoiding to be caught as I took a cup of garri garnished with milk and sugar bought from aunty Wura's shop. This cup was below my bunk and as I took every spoon of soaked garri towards my mouth and swallowed it, I became more relaxed. Soon the school bell painted in green and white, formed from the rim of a vehicle went off with its most disturbing tone, ‘gbaghun gbaghun gbaghun!!’

As I rose from my bed, my stomach began to mumble loudly in an abnormal sequence. 'Pororopopopo’ 'This is the devil!'

My hands swiftly led themselves to my stomach and held it tightly. My face spoilt and my feet danced to the awful rhythm of confusion. It was as if Bro. Damian's song, 'upside down people' had suddenly dawned on me, only that now it was my stomach that was upside down. In haste I wore my house wear and ran towards the school's toilet which was at the other side of the school's fence and close to the academic sphere. I ran, ran like I was been chased, I ran, ran like my life was at stake (but actually it was), I ran, ran like my ‘yansh’(bum) was seriously on fire and forgetting I held no toilet roll, I ran, until I ran into a class, got hold of a note and tore four pages out from the middle. Getting to the toilet, the rush all seized as my eyes gazed at the humpy hippy mysterious works from black 'yanches' that decorated the whole floor. Splash of yellow faeces found my fear. Gush! Even the houseflies sang Hosanna, Gosh! Maggots! I covered my nose as I stared helplessly at this sea of papers and human disaster! I was sure I was not entering into the toilet's death trap, never! That would be taking the leap of death. 'What can I do?' I whispered out and the pressure came again as if I got it angry with my dilemma. This time my hands went straight for my 'yansh'. 'Sshhhhhhitteee', I bumbled back and forth till my glance went for a spot behind the incinerator built with blocks and full of junks. 'Thank God'. I got there in no count and soon my short was down followed by loud rumbling sounds as I eased myself from the horrible discomfort. 

After all the running, all the tearing of note, after all the covering of nose, all the pouring of pressured sweat, after all these, nature blessed me with only a little pooh dropped on the paper I had set behind my bum; ‘rubbish’.

I thanked God all the same for it was all over, but I was wrong; I never knew it was not yet over with my 'yansh'.

I wiped my 'yansh' clean, took the paper containing the faeces with my left hand and dumped it into the toilet hole. As I breathed out and gave a 'hmmm' sigh of relief, I walked into a senior colleague (name withheld). 'Olumide, so you are the one, Bro is calling you in his office o.' and he went away. My heart ran out and ran back, my blood rushed into my brain and dried, my senses died, I was still for a while like an ancient statue. I gnashed my teeth in dismay. Those words! 'BROTHER IS CALLING YOU' were not my favourite words. It most times meant one thing: TROUBLE. I trembled before my fear, but decided to go towards his office as I had no choice but to heed the call, even though I still did not know which of my offences has been unwrapped.

Walking to his office was harder than ever. In a snail like progression, my feet aided by brown sandals stepped on short green grasses that covered the road to Brother’s office. Even before getting to his office, I had gone through the punishment with my succinct and solid imagination. Each step to his office gave me more pain. ‘which is it now?’ I thought ‘did he call me for not going for prep or for my act behind the incinerator or even for both?’ That was what I could not answer. Another came to my mind ‘or maybe I was to be sent on an errand?’, ‘No, it cannot be; it must be an offense’, that conclusion hit my mind like a terrible stone thrown against a palm tree. And as soon as I took my face up, ‘kayefi nla!’ it was his office before me. I summoned the little bit of courage I had left, I knocked on his office door, ‘Yes,come in....’ he said with a soft and mind easing voice, but when I came in, and he looked up, the kind of cloud on his face could tell the rain was not going to be good. ‘Adewumi’, can I help you?’ My jar broke and my voice cracked its way through my dry throat; I scratched my head ‘kraokro’ and released the words from my mouth in a trembling voice, ‘Lagbaja to...o..told me you were calling me....’

‘Where you the one at the toilet?’

‘Yes, Brother.’

‘Adewumi, who taught you how to shit like that!’

‘sir?!’

I said who taught you how to shit like that?’

‘I’m sorry Brother, I was pressed and the toilet was messy...

‘So?’ He jammed my voice.

‘I... I shat on paper, but, but I disposed it properly and I...

‘So?’ He jammed again with a so depressing ‘so' reply.

I kept quiet and bowed my head with my hands crossed firmly at my back.

‘Look here, next time you shit like that, you will be suspended. I’ll call your papa and your mama to come take you home.’

‘Yes brother, I’m sorry brother.’

I was relaxed at least that was all, no knock on my shaved head, no punishment for my frail self and no..., that was what I thought before he stood from his seat and picked up a big cane from his side and said,  ‘Come right here and hold this...’  

When I thought it was all over! I held on tightly to the edge of the chair as strokes of heavy-burdened cane landed on my ‘yansh’. I tightened my ‘yansh’ but it was as if that move even softened it more. It penetrated intensely. I screamed in pain and he does the same, ‘Don’t touch it, up! Up!, he screeched in haste. Tears ran to worship my cheeks rolling from my eyes down to my shirt. I tried to endure but endurance betrayed me to pain; I wept and then he said, I should go for prep and desist from such act. Did I desist or did I still shit on paper afterwards? Truth be told, I did, many times. 

This is a story from the Temple of Words' short-stories series. This work was written by and copyrighted to Mide Benedict (2016)