CORN FLAKES PALAVA

I was in form one; first term. Examination week. Those were times almost every student had their chop boxes experiencing the worst of famines or droughts. A few fortunate ones had saved the last gulp of their overly diluted fruit drinks for such perilous times. Others had hidden the surviving remnants of their hard, crunchy biscuits under their mattresses and sardines, in their pillow cases!

This week, the notorious Snr. Zigidizagidibogidi was the permanent senior on duty.  His name was as a mouthful. His imposing stature, a true reflection of his deeds and the things he was capable of doing, placed him on the number one list of all of us juniors- most feared!

He was a mystery. His real name most of us knew not. He could only be identified with his characteristic skimpy shirt and shorts which betrayed his grotesque figure. His unusually big head was somewhat weighed down by his afro hair in which his pen was always stuck.   

It was preps time. This fateful evening, he was once again on his usual rounds. He had overslept, thus, missing his supper in the dining hall. Like the devil, he was prowling seeking someone to devour.

Meanwhile, I was paying for the corruption of overeating the rice and ‘stoup’ of a supper. I had missed lunch earlier in the afternoon, hence, had replenished it with the supper and… my stomach was paying dearly with some hot diarrhea!

“Who’s there!?” someone yelled, immediately I burst out of the dim ‘shanks’, toilet facility to wit.

“Eerrrm. It’s me… me,” I stuttered.

“Identify yourself,” Snr. Zigidizagidibogidi demanded.

“I am Koby Ansah.1 Science 2 class. Bishop Opete Ti House. Dorm 3. Bed 1. Lower bed. Black chop box and trunk,” I detailed. 

He drew nigh. “So when your friends are trying to break and set records with WAEC, you’ve decided to do yours in the shanks, right?”

“Not really. I was…”

“Shut up! I’ll ask you a question. If you can’t answer, I’ll just hand you over to senior housemaster to give you two acres of land to weed, and after that you replant the weeds. Simple question. Name all those who were in all the stadia at the Brazil World Cup.”

I stood still. 

“I am waiting,” he insisted.

I still remained silent.

“I can see you really want to weed.”

“Oh... but… but…We can settle this, please,” I quivered.

“Fine. Do you have corn flakes?” the famished senior asked.

I nodded in the affirmative. 

“Milk, too?”

“Yes”

“Good. Let’s go and settle this case in your chop box,” he nudged me, directing me back to the dorm.

Soon, there my chop box was. I opened it. The tin of milk I took first. 

“What’s that stench?” he screamed and flinched.

“Errrm… the milk. It is the remains of what our table members fed on this morning.”

“Ofui! And where’s the corn flakes?”

I took out a dusty book on which was inscribed “CORN FLAKES CORE MATHS FOR AN EASY PASS!”, popularly called “Corn Flakes!”

The senior started speaking in an unknown tongue…