“They picked Akanni up one morning
Beat him soft like clay
and stuffed him down the belly
of a waiting jeep.
What business of mine is it
So long they don’t take the yam
from my savouring mouth?”
“NOT MY BUSINESS” – Niyi Osundare
So I was in the library of some department in the faculty of letters, minding my business, and varying thoughts came knocking noisily. You know, ills in the University of Ibadan are rude, uncultured, they have a way of invading your consciousness, saying “can’t you see, now we are telling you to come, let us find solutions, will you keep quiet?” Of course, I could have heeded these ills by; documenting them for posterity, writing them down to amuse myself, or by preaching the heretical message of “first and the best”, or…
If I wanted to pen these thoughts, I could have revisited the dirty-Mellanby-toilets issue that triggered a national discourse on the state of the University of Ibadan, and the two alumni that wanted to disgrace their alma mater via SaharaReporters, or how our Mr. Sunday Saanu in the “Sunday Guardian” of Feb. 23rd 2014 replied saying;
“Olumhense had heavily and solely relied on some computer manipulated toilet pictures purportedly taken by one Ibukun Babarinde, depicting poor state of students’ toilet in Mellamby(sic) hall of residence which were published online to deride his university and the Vice-chancellor”.
On this toilet issue, I could have written on the UI-staff-identity-cards bearing team that came to check the toilets in Mellanby after that peaceful dialogue, how they were wowed by the toilets, how the leader said “kai, Oh God, there is only one good toilet in this hall”, how they have not come back since that day, how the toilet case ended there, how there were no visible renovations despite the break. You see, I have no problem with Mr. Ibukun Babarinde, just that he probably took the pictures of these toilets in the afternoon or evening, and not in the morning when the worn muscles of these toilets would have been massaged with Izal, or hypo or…
I could have written of the present SU leaders and the fellow that is fortunate to be the leader, not forgetting the corruption allegations tied round his neck like a bead. I could have written on him, who after a fight with a Zikite that asked too many questions, went to Jaja clinic faking an illness, just to make the hospital visits one apiece like the score of a football game at the ongoing World Cup. I could also have written on how many students suffered and almost “suff-Ilorin” in a tenure that painted pictures of how governance could be in the hands of our contemporaries. I could have written on how he, alongside his cohorts, defying their blinking consciences, romance their role models at the state and national level at will. I could have written on that spirit of irresponsibility that seems to characterize most of these student leaders who try to outdo one another in the dance of shame. You know, someone’s decision to engage in some acts that make “integrity” sound like a mere nine-letter English word, is not my business. The fellow using my name, our name as platforms does not concern me either.
I could have written on the “this fee, that fee” nonsense; how after paying #3000 naira for general studies registration, students are still forced to pay for textbooks before the course forms are signed. I just wonder if someone needs to force me to buy a textbook that could determine my fate in such a course. I could have written on the ridiculous “dues” fixed by executives across faculties, departments and halls of residence, how they forced freshmen to pay for items that make no sense. You know, I could have written of that woman in my faculty that refused me course forms because I had not paid the faculty students’ association “due”, deliberating ignoring the “school fee” receipt that says I had paid for faculty registration.
You see, I could have written on the approaching Students’ Union elections; how some have buried decency alive, how they exhibit symptoms of rational kwarshiokor because of some national cake that will be shared come 2015. I could have written, once more, that some of those aspiring for positions at the students’ Union executive level need to buy white cocks and go wash their heads by the riverside, just to appease the bodies that have been praying that Nigerian students return to their original positions in intellectual circles and stop being propounders of ideals that you only hear of in palmwine shacks.
I could have written on the future of this country, using this community and my colleagues as pedestals for viewing the future. I could have documented memories of a union whose wandering spirit earnestly seeks reincarnation, dancing to those dirges called “jingles”.
I could have penned these thoughts that invaded my privacy, appointing themselves as bodyguards; I could have documented them if not for the multiple assignments some visiting lecturer gave us in the last class. Moreover, jotting these thoughts is not my business.
“And then one evening
as I sat down to eat my yam
a knock on the door froze my hungry hand.
The jeep was waiting on my bewildered lawn
Waiting, waiting in its usual silence.”
