Black Pages Of The Past - Episode 2

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ON ARRIVING AT the reception area of the principal’s office I learnt he wasn’t on seat; that he had travelled out of town, the day before, to attend to an emergency.

What is so imperative to warrant his absence, from school, when the SSCE is currently taking place? I wondered. I didn’t really know . His secretary, a black-skinned, small-statured, and big-headed woman, who I suspected knew, clearly wasn’t interested in telling me.

I reached for the next best thing. I asked for the vice principal. Without offering me a glance as she typed out a document at the speed of light – her long, thin and busy fingers clicking noisily on keys of her typewriter – the secretary told me the VP was making the rounds to ensure that the SSCE was running smoothly. I quickly went looking for him. I found him within a short time, and concisely explained my quandary to him. We both went (more like rushed) to his office.

One thing I loved about our VP was his orderly nature. It reflected in everything he did; the way he dressed, talked and arranged his office. Everything, from his file cabinets to his pens, was meticulously placed. 

Whenever I was in his office I couldn’t help but be awed. But when I stepped into his office, on this particular day, I was in no mood for admiration – not when I was yet to figure out the kind of mess I was in.

The VP went to one of his office cabinets, opened it, and brought out another broad (actually, broader) sheet of paper – this time containing the names and examination numbers of all the final year students sitting for the SSCE

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. The sheet also contained the subjects entered for by each student.

The man and I scrupulously searched through the sheet and, to our astonishment, discovered that my exam number and the subjects I’d entered for were different from the ones I originally had. The former, which was initially 302, was now 305, while the latter, which were strictly Science-oriented, were now Commercial-oriented. It was really baffling.

The VP began to sweat. I was already doing that and more.

To be certain, the VP looked through a bulky file, on a corner of his table, soon located, and brought out the photocopy of my registration form (the original had been submitted to WAEC). I was stunned at what I saw.

The photocopy was not that of the registration form I had initially filled out!

True, my name was on the form quite all right, but, like in the broad sheet, my exam number and the subjects I’d entered for were different. And here’s another bolt from the blue: the handwriting I saw wasn’t mine. Clearly, someone had tampered with my original form, and then submitted a fake in its stead. The person had even forged my signature remarkably well. The only tell-tale sign of fraud was that his (or hers) was smaller than mine in size.

The VP was opened-mouthed as I pointed out, and explained, my discoveries to him. By this time he was sweating copiously. He brought out a white handkerchief from the left pocket of his trousers and wiped the sweat away from his face and arms.

When he eventually found his voice he said, more to himself, “This is incredible!  How could this have happened?” He sighed and nervously rapped his right fingers on the edge of his table – apparently thinking on the next move to make. He looked directly at me, his anxious face searching for the faintest ripple of lie. “Are you sure you properly filled out and submitted your registration form?”

I remained a solid portrait of sincerity. “Sir, I assure you, I did.”

The man gave another sigh. I could sense his mind was still twirling with confusion, as it wrestled with the real source of the fault. Was it me, the school management or WAEC? He faced me again. “Okay, come with me. Let’s go and see the WAEC Chief Supervisor.”

_______

The VP and I rushed out to look for the man. I glanced at my watch as we did. About forty minutes had slipped by since the Chemistry practical examination started. And it was a two-hour paper.

When we found the Chief Supervisor, and explained my predicament to him, he was quite sympathetic. After offering a detailed explanation on how the error couldn’t have been from WAEC he made it pellucid that at that stage I had just two options. “Young man,” he said in a tired voice, “the truth is...it’s either you sit for the Commercial-oriented subjects, as they are, or...you completely forget about the SSCE for this year.”

There they were...loud and clear for all who cared to listen.

At first, for me, both options were, outright, unacceptable. How can I sit for subjects I know next to nothing about? And how can I just forego my SSCE, after spending six good years in the secondary school?

No doubt, I was at a crossroads.

Which do I take?

Eventually, after a critical assessment of the reality on ground, I chose the second option. To put it blandly, it was devastating. My father was really furious. He wanted to take legal action, bordering on gross negligence on the part of the management, against my school, but my siblings and I managed to dissuade him from doing so.

The school principal, on returning from his emergency trip, expressed his sincere apology – promising to deal ruthlessly with anyone, staff or student, found to be culpable of tampering with my SSCE registration form.

Three years later, one of our teachers – the Biology teacher, actually – while on her death bed, after being struck by a strange and incurable ailment, confessed to the heinous crime. Regrettably, she carried the reason for her devilry to the grave.

I was astonished – since I, like most students, had venerated the woman. She was soft-spoken kind-hearted...the type that wouldn’t hurt a fly.

Well, it’s no secret that humans, even those with lofty and affable natures, are most unpredictable.

Let’s move on.

Having failed to sit for the May/June SSCE, I registered, and began to studiously prepare, for the Nov/Dec General Certificate Examination (GCE).

As God would have it I made all my papers – with seven A’s and two C’s.

Read " Love's Fool " by the same author ( Ikenna Igwe )

. The next hurdle was the Joint Admissions and Matriculation Board (JAMB) examination, as it was referred to back then.

As was required, I picked two higher institutions; the University of Lagos (UNILAG) as my first choice, and Enugu State University of Science and Technology (ESUTECH) as my second one. Interestingly, I chose the same course for both institutions: Mechanical Engineering. I wanted to study the course because I was simply crazy about machines – or is machinery a better word?  

Anyway, when the JAMB examination result was released I scored 232. I now waited, almost apprehensively, for the cut-off marks for Mech. Engineering from both universities. There was no Post-Jamb examination – an internal examination conducted by higher institutions for candidates who were successful in the JAMB examination – in those days.

The cut-off marks eventually came out...leaving twin disappointment in their wakes. For UNILAG it was 250, while for ESUTECH it was 244. Obviously, in both cases, I was more than 10 marks short.

I was quite depressed – a state that worsened when I learnt that some of my friends and colleagues had clearly scaled the cut-off marks for their respective courses. I found it hard coming to terms with the fact that they, unlike me, were going to gain admission into their chosen higher institutions.

I was still floundering about in gloom’s dark cavern when a ray of hope shone through an unexpected opening.

_______

One morning, my uncle – my father’s younger brother – who lived in Enugu, called and informed my father that he knew someone – a friend – at ESUTECH, who might be able to help me gain admission into the institution, to study my dream course. And furthermore, I had to come over to Enugu and stay with him while the admission process was worked out.

At first, my father played the sceptic...but in end my uncle convinced him to give the proposition a shot. So, with a good measure of faith, I set out for Enugu on a cloudy Tuesday morning.

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