Black History Moment III, and I told you the X-Men were at My School

Foreword: With no forewarning, or accompanying apology, the elements have introduced me to a plethora of amazing writers. I kid you not when I say I discover new ones every day. Regardless of the painful realization that they make me self-conscious, doubt the purpose of my existence, and cower in a corner beneath a rock, with no desire for sunlight, I’ll post the link of one before I start my blog posts, at least till I run out (or forget)—and I doubt I’ll run out.

So… Grey Mural. I’ve spoken to him like, twice, and the first time I just accosted him outright, with: ‘Why are you so intelligent?’ I may have added a please; I’m polite like that. And, always in character, he gave me an intelligent answer. Check him out. He’s too wise. It’s almost annoying. Without the almost.

On our side of the table, everyone had nicknames.

It wasn’t my fault. It wasn’t the girls’ fault. The boys, mainly (because I want to give them a level of anonymity, let me use their initials. Before I branch out to their nicknames. Ei. Branch out. Why?). S and K, and their female buddy, who was also at the table, V, would return from class and come for dining with laughter-laden renditions of the day’s antics. And the rest of us would talk about it. Albeit in whispers. And while huddling closer together. And, perhaps, accompanying our cover of the same song with a few sporadic chuckles. Or a lot of sporadic chuckles. But, point remained, it was not our fault. They brought the news. We just…built on it. We reacted. Good news gets people to react.

But K said we were gossiping.

So he decided to give us girls nicknames, after the three wickedest women in Bible history he could find. Because he’s such a problem solver.

But of course, with the entrance of monikers for the lasses, meant we girls, sweet, equality-seeking girls, had to give the lads some. *shrug*

Eve

That’s definitely Eve’s picture.

To be fair, I think K was on to something when he said we were gossiping. Eve was the chief gossip. And what pride she wore her role with! There’s an art to gossiping, you know, that not a lot of people have mastered. The few who have, understand that there’s a science to the delivery of their rumour, so that even if the news is lacklustre, their audience are hanging on to their every word. Eve had that down pat. From her affectionate tap on my arm to get my attention, to her meaningful face distortions, and the giggles that leapt out in perfect punctuation (chai I think I’m doing spoken word), she was a master of the craft.

She also had something of a dbee stomach. It probably came with belonging to the House she did. The rest of us were as kankpe as they came. When we were nom-nom-nomming on the life-saving delicacy that’s beans and plantain, she would just nibble her plantain small, or not at all, and stare at us, a queen watching her hapless subjects.

She was an athlete, and not just on the tracks. We used to play Uno at our table. Yes, we were amateurishly non-school like that. And she used to slay. We should’ve told her it was just for laughs, and there would be no surprise trophy at the end (I mean, if there’d been a surprise trophy, we likely would’ve just done the big boy and girl thing and given it to Weng—somebody who needed it more), so that she’d relax small. But auntie said, no, like it was Wimbledon.

Eve used to chug that pint-size paper wine called Apple & Eve, too, so… Eve was digging her nickie.

Adam

That’s an obvious nickname, no?

We didn’t give it to him though, now that I remember. This was K again, as he…observed the natural flow of things. You see, Adam nursed something of a crush on Eve.

And that’s why I leave him anonymous so that if he wants to sue me for defamation, he’s got no case.

Besides being the occasional supplier of Eve’s Apple & Eve, Adam was a brainy one. (Come to think of it, our table—our side of the table; no disrespect to the guys on the other half, but we didn’t interact that much for me to know—had a healthy serving of smart people. They probably just threw me in to balance things out.) Like, brainy oh. I would know. I was in his class. First dierr, he got it aah, he was tired (all of us were tired!) and one day he threw it away. That was the only chance someone else got to be first, when he pulled a JK Rowling and opted out of the race. He used to go for competitions to represent our school and all. Ei.

He was also on like, every team. Debaters Club… Debaters Club is all I remember.

I refuse to think that I’m growing old.

I was tired of him kraa. And it’s not like he’s stopped too. I’ll not mention what he had in WASSCE, because, well, someone might ask me to mention mine, and…I mean, who cares about WASSCE anyway? We’ve grown past that. Yup. Definitely.

Delilah

Yes, K named one of the girls this.

I don’t know how Delilah justified her name though. I don’t think she did. She was demure, pure, always had a book in her hand—James Patterson, Dean Koontz, sketchbook, cheque book—minded her own business. Pretty much.

Ha!

Delilah was one of those weirdly smart-alecky ones, who, if you were arguing with her, would watch you lay out all your arguments, brag about how you’d already won, observe with masked interest as you caught your foot in a tiny loophole, tripped, tried to stand up but only dug yourself into a bigger hole. And then she’d bury you.

She used to do things, magic things. With a pencil, and a pen. Mostly she’d hide them, but we curious minds always dug out the newest thing she wrote, or drew, and pleased ourselves by ripping her ideas to shreds. Or praising them, where appropriate. Balance, Michael Dapaah advocates.

And, no, she did not deceive men.

She deceived everyone.

More on that later.

Or, never. *delivers another shrug*

Samson

Things are coming back to me in digestible, coherent fragments. We did not give him the nickname either. Samson picked it for himself.

Yes. After Delilah had received her knighthood, by our eventual table-head, K, Samson decided he wanted to be called that. Samson.

Why? The world will never know.

The thing that strikes you most about Samson is his intelligence. (I know, I’m saying intelligent a lot in this post, but, trust, it’s not because I want to. It’s because it’s there.) It’s not the first thing that hits you, but it’s the one that stays. 

Because the first thing that hits you is his too-knownness. He wasn’t a typical braggart, throwing his weight about, moving with a swagger and a chip on his shoulder (Googles chip on his shoulder to be sure it’s contextually correct—okay, it’s wrong; take two!)…

He wasn’t a typical braggart, throwing his weight about, moving with a swagger, full stop. To be honest he looked like a quintessential gentleman. In which case I guess that was the first thing you noticed about him. His gentlemanliness. Crisply ironed shirt and trousers, slow, self-assured gait, occasional glasses. It was when you got to know him small that you saw he was too-known. Herh.

I want to blame it on the House he was in, because they were possibly the richest in the school, but even if Samson had been a day student, I know he’d have been too-known still.

Sometime, Eve and Delilah decided to ask him for money for water. It’s water. They expected coins. Dude gave them five cedis. They thought they were doing something when they said they won’t give him change. Samson looked at them and said with a lift of his shoulders, ‘It’s you who need money. Not me.’

Oh.

There’s a lot more to say—and a lot more people to cover—but I know how internet attentions spans are. So, I shall truncate this.

Although, truth be told, it’s not so much for your “too long, I didn’t read” tendencies, as for my hunger that has got to be sated.

Again, check out Grey Mural.

Peace.

I’m tempted to say Hyde.