A Boy Named ABACHA & His TEACHER

Sani Abacha

Sani Abacha. The year was 1978, the month was September, the city was Port Harcourt, the place, Port Harcourt Primary School. With the Independence day celebrations looming various schools around the nation were rehearsing for the Independence day March past and our glorious school was no exception. The children selected for the march day were already at the Port Harcourt temporary stadium which was only a few yards away, and so also were most if not
all of the teachers who had gone to supervise activities. That left the rest of us in the school open to all sorts of mischief - just the way we liked it. Bored, and having run out of all sorts of kid activity, I, along with 4 other friends decided we'd walk right through the school gates to see what was going on in the stadium, especially as there was no one to stop us. So off we went. We were almost there when we were spotted by two of our teachers who were driving back to the school. The car pulled up in front of us and the two teachers, both representative of the school's multi-national dimension stared at us in utter curiosity and then indignance. In the car were the Welsh teacher Mrs Abbey and the Beninois Mr Pierre, who taught French. ''Where are you going?' Mrs Abbey asked, her voice draped in disgust. ''What happened?'' We explained that we wanted to watch the children from the various schools marching. Even more annoyed by our explanation, she ordered us back to the school. ''Go to Mrs Amadi's office!'' she shouted. That was the moment any pupil of that school dreaded.

Mohammed Abacha

Mrs Amadi, the school's headmistress was sometimes nicknamed ''peppersoup'' because of the ferocity with which she wielded the cane. She was a woman who totally oozed majesty, authority and charisma and both teachers and pupils were in awe of her. Her presence in the assembly hall or any classroom was met with total silence as one would expect in a military parade which occasioned the presence of the Commander-In Chief. This meeting with her was something none of us were looking forward to because we knew what to expect and even her staff were taunting us about it. 

We waited for about an hour and our hearts beat rapidly when she arrived the office. Already briefed about what our offence was, she asked how it was that we dared to walk through the school gates without any permission or supervision. We knew we had no explanation and our hearts beat even more rapidly when she reached a corner of the office and drew out a long bamboo cane. However things did not turn out as I thought. We just got 3 mild strokes on our palms, but for one of us it was really bad. She drew him aside. ''So even you are here?'' she shouted and she viciously lashed him all over his skinny frame as though he had committed a separate offence, showing just how the ''peppersoup'' tag came about. I remember being really confused and frightened by this. She then ordered us back to our classrooms but not before asking, ''Do you want to get knocked down by a car?'' ''No'' we chorused. ''Do you want to make friends with Gwongoro (big lorry)? ''No'' we chorused. As we walked back to our Class 4 block we still did not know why our friend got the brutal flogging he did and we all commiserated with him using the word ''sorry'' and he nodded in acknowledgement to each individual ''sorry'' we gave him as tears ran down his cheeks. 

Years later it would make sense to me as the boy in question was Mohammed Abacha, son of future Military Head Of State, Sani Abacha. The other boys were Karibo Briggs, Soala Kiri (now deceased) and Gerald Anozie.
I pay tribute my one time school head Mrs P.E.S. Amadi, a pioneer and nation builder, a woman of substance and an education icon who died last Monday. R.I.P. Mrs Amadi.
Contributor,

Onajite Peter Asagba