Growing up in a family where education was valued, I recall being called the smartest in my family. Looking back, I realize several factors contributed to that; however, when I was in junior high, it was assumed I was smart because I read a lot.
That seemed like a reasonable reason to me; after all, readers are leaders, and if I took the time to read, it seemed reasonable for me to take the lead. I was 9 years old at the time and had just finished primary school in Gombe State, in Nigeria’s north eastern region.
My parents had made a list of schools to consider when deciding on the best Junior school for me. Except for one, the schools listed were all boarding schools located far from home but within the same state.
Among the schools was Bethany International College, which was owned by a Yoruba man and had the state’s most refined boarding facility. My parents eventually decided that I would attend Bethany because of the financial implications. I was both excited and sad because going to Bethany would entitle me to special treatment from the principal, who was also a friend of my father’s, and it would also mean I wouldn’t see my primary friends anymore.
I grew out of the latter feeling and braced myself for my new reality, after which my family planned for my return to school. I was my Father’s favorite, so the entire family was involved in the make-up process that led to my resumption.
My first year of school went well. As previously stated, the principal was a friend of my father’s, and upon resumption, I received special treatment and was shielded from bully seniors, unlike my classmates. I had more food because my parents were allowed to visit once a week, and I got everything I needed at the time.
During this time, I stayed in the hostel closest to the Principal’s house (which was intended for primary students), while the majority of my classmates stayed in the central school facilities. My grades were good at the end of the first year, and I was considered ready for the central hostels.
I started my second year and was transferred to a central hostel, but I still had access to the Principal and all of the previously mentioned benefits. The hostel facilities were not as good as the one I had previously stayed in, and I was exposed to bully seniors who knew I was attached to the Principal but still bullied me in some way.
That entire buildup in the weeks and months after did not sit well with me. I told my parents that the hostel wasn’t as good as the one I had previously stayed in. My complaints to the Principal were ignored, as I was transferred to the matron in the central facility, who for some reason favored senior students.
Apart from the treatments and the occasional bullying from seniors (which was generally the treatment of juniors), I still thought I could stay in school because my grades were still good, albeit slightly lower than my first year grades.
My parents supported me and showered me with as much food and love as they could. Because of them, the third year was not as bad as the second, when I moved into the central facility. I received better treatment and was now more willing to confront senior threats, using the excuse of reporting them to the Principal to avoid punishments and bullying. I had more control over the treatments I received, but not over my grades.
My grades had dropped dramatically by this point; I was still in the top ten in my class, but that was too low for my parents compared to my days as class leader. I told them about the chores I had to do every day at the central facility, which left me tired and with little time to read.
It was at this point that I admitted to wanting to transfer to a new school. My parents, who supported me, withdrew me from Bethany while another admission was processed for me at another school, this time in Ilorin.
I knew I’d miss my friends and the memories I’d made with some of them, but I was excited to start a new school in another city. And, having made my decision, I traveled to Ilorin with my parents and enrolled in my new school.
My final days at BIC were not as enjoyable as the first. Looking back, I wish I had stayed in the hostel closest to the Principal’s residence, because the change of hostels changed everything for me.
