Forbidden fruit

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After I was ensconced in Kanturu community, my first temptation came knocking.
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As a friend of mine said, the forbidden fruit didn’t end with Eve in the garden; it still exists today. Moreover, unlike in Eden where a serpent presented the fruit, today, human beings present this fruit to other humans. Many, perhaps, not so many people have eaten of it. I’m sure you’re wondering what I mean – hang on.

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“Where are you people?” The principal said hurriedly over the phone.
“At the corpers lodge sir,” I replied. “We’d soon be in school.”
“Come right away – quickly.”
“Ok sir.”
Beep.

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8th May 2013 started out as most Wednesdays do – lethargically. We had moved into the Boys quarters of the mansion and were now fully settled, Hillary and I. We hadn’t been allocated any subject to teach, so going to school was not important.

I strolled within the expansive compound and stopped at the foot of the largest cashew tree. Picking up the old steel pipe that I had converted to a fruit ‘plucker’, I aimed its far end unto stalks bearing the yellow cashews. Boop, boop – the cashews dropped easily unto the concrete ground beneath. After I had plucked about a dozen, I washed them and ate in silence.

For about three days and counting, I had been eating cashews for breakfast. The more I plucked and ate, the more they grew out of the trees.

Afterwards, I warmed the Jollof, let’s say concoction, rice that my colleague had prepared the night before. While doing all these I kept thinking: Uk, is this what you’ll be doing for the next one year?

“Make we enter school.” I told Hillary as he dressed up.
“No wahala.”
We were soon on our way to school – the school where we taught.

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We’re making money
We’re making money
We’re making money this year
This year
This year …

The song kept blaring from the house where the other corps members lived. Undoubtedly, I knew Corper Tony was the one playing that music. When we heard the song, we figured that the senior corps members were around, so we decided to stop and say Hi.

“Corper Favour – good  morning.” Hillary said.
“Una no go school?” I added.
“Go school do wetin – Nnakpagi O!” She replied.

Favour was my Igbo teacher and Nnakpagi  (an igbo word meaning: for your pocket) was her favourite apothegm. We entered Paul’s (remember him?) room, and a steaming pot of ‘Abacha’ on the floor in the centre of the room welcomed us. ‘Abacha’ is an Igbo delicacy in which small slices of Cassava are fried in red oil and served with roasted cow hide and skin. We quickly sat, picked up spoons, and joined in.

We ate in silence, everyone concentrating fully on the meal. It was while I was eating that the principal’s call came. I never could have guessed what was to come shortly.

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We arrived at the school premises, and headed for the staff room. The section of the school where the staff room was, was quiet. Some senior students, I figured, were writing a very important examination in the examination hall.

We soon took up seats in the staff room and looked ahead. I’m sure that even the wasps that flew around knew we were new staff (no pun intended). The eyes of the staff were trained on us as if something had been said about us just before we came in. It seemed, to me, that they knew why the principal called us.

“What again did you people say you studied?” He asked.
“Mechanical Engineering.” We chorused.
“We are having the maths paper of an important exam.” He added. “We need you to help the students.”

My eyes dilated on ther own accord and I could hear my heart beat.

If you were in my shoes what would you do?

Lifes issues