The Three Musketeers

FIRST DAY WAHALA It’s 7:57 AM, and Bolaji and Shade rush toward school as the gates are set to close at exactly 8:00 AM. SHADE: I swear, if we’re late, it’s your fault. You didn’t get ready early and still wasted time eating breakfast. BOLAJI: I can’t leave without eating anything. How am I supposed to function on an empty stomach? SHADE: Abeg, you won’t die if you skip breakfast. They arrive at the school gate just in the nick of time. At exactly the same moment, Abdul arrives on a bike while Chidi jumps down from a keke. BOLAJI: I know say una go late. ABDUL: See this one. CHIDI: You too, you don late na. BOLAJI: But I reached before you na. ABDUL: E no mean. SHADE: Bolaji! Let’s go. They’re closing the gate! BOLAJI: Eh? Omo, guys, let’s go! They all rush inside just before the gates are closed. CHIDI: We made it! Their brief moment of joy is brought to an abrupt end when they hear the national anthem. Assembly has already begun. After the anthem ends, Mrs. Funke, who is standing by the gate, directs them to the back of the assembly, where they join a herd of students who had also arrived late. SHADE: It’s your fault. BOLAJI: Leave me alone. The secondary school principal, Mr. Abdullateef, steps forward to address the students. MR. ABDULLATEEF: Good morning, everyone. First of all, I’d like to welcome you back to school— As Mr. Abdullateef addressed the students, Shade noticed that the teachers supervising the assembly weren’t paying much attention to the latecomers at the back. An idea suddenly occurred to her. She glanced around, then slowly began making her way from the back of the assembly toward the main group of students. Keeping her head down, she slipped between the rows, careful not to attract the attention of any of the teachers. She made it. Shade had successfully sneaked into the assembly. She turned around and looked at Bolaji, who was still standing at the back with the other latecomers. With a mischievous grin, she stuck out her tongue at him. BOLAJI: This girl! Unfortunately for Bolaji, his reaction catches Mrs. Funke’s attention. MRS. FUNKE: You came late and you’re making noise? All of you should kneel down! BOLAJI: This girl! MRS. FUNKE: You came late and you’re making noise. All of you should kneel down. As the assembly concludes and the students march to their respective classes, Shade sees Bolaji still on his knees and mocks him again. BOLAJI: Stupid girl. The latecomers are given their punishment: they have to pick up all the rubbish littered around the school premises. As they work, Bolaji spots Shade on the second floor of one of the school blocks. He tries to hide his face from her, but she has already seen him. SHADE: Bolaji! BOLAJI: Oh my God. SHADE: Bolaji, well done! She laughs so hard that her stomach hurts, and she eventually falls over before returning to her class. ABDUL: How can there be so much rubbish on the first day of school? CHIDI: I wonder. They no dey sweep the place? BOLAJI: I will deal with this girl. Mrs. Esther, who is supervising the students, approaches the boys. MRS. ESTHER: Okay, that’s good. You can go to your classes. Next time, don’t be late. EVERYONE: Thank you, ma. CHIDI: Nawa, this school sef. Why they no sweep the place during holiday? BOLAJI: I tell you. This is nonsense! ABDUL: See guys, abeg, make we dey go. They head toward one of the school blocks. They enter the JSS 3 block, forgetting that they are no longer in JSS 3. BOLAJI: Abdul, you be fool. Why you bring us come JSS 3 block? You don forget say na seniors we be? CHIDI: Make we go check senior secondary classes. I’m sure we’ll see some familiar faces. They stroll through the senior secondary section, but to no avail. They don’t find any of their classmates. CHIDI: Which kind nonsense be this? ABDUL: Where everybody come go? BOLAJI: No be senior section be this? CHIDI: Na senior section. ABDUL: This is definitely the senior section. This line of classes, na SS1 classes na. BOLAJI: But I no see any of our guys. Abi they don move the classes? MR. MAXWELL: Exactly. The boys are startled by Mr. Maxwell’s sudden interference. He has been listening to their conversation for quite a while. BOLAJI: Good morning, sir. CHIDI: Morning, sir. ABDUL: Welcome, sir. MR. MAXWELL: Were you guys at the assembly grounds? CHIDI: We were late, so we couldn’t attend the assembly. MR. MAXWELL: No wonder. Well, the senior section has been moved to the new block. This is no longer the senior section. ABDUL: We understand now. Thank you, sir. BOLAJI: We’ll be on our way, sir. MR. MAXWELL: Where do you guys think you’re going? You think I didn’t hear you speaking Pidgin? Don’t you know you’re not supposed to speak vernacular in school? BOLAJI: We’re sorry, sir. CHIDI: We will not do it again. ABDUL: Sorry, sir. MR. MAXWELL: Sorry for yourselves. Go and kneel down there under the sun for thirty minutes. If you say sorry again, I’ll change it to one hour. The boys know protesting would be meaningless, so they comply. They kneel in the middle of the school premises, where they are visible to everybody—including Bolaji’s sister, Shade, who spots them and mocks them once again. BOLAJI: I swear, if I catch this girl ba, I go deal with her today. CHIDI: You no go shut up abi? If Mr. Maxwell catches you talking, he’ll increase your punishment. As the boys serve their sentence, a familiar face walks toward them. It appears to be one of their classmates. The boys look up at the person, and their faces instantly harden with disdain and resentment. It is someone they utterly despise—someone they have been at odds with since their nursery school days. His name is Farouq. The arrogant genius. The snitch. FAROUQ: Well, what do we have here? Can’t say I’m surprised. I’d expect nothing less from imbecilic morons like you. ABDUL: What do you want? CHIDI: Why are you here? FAROUQ: Rest easy, for I harbour glad tidings, regretfully so. BOLAJI: What do you mean? FAROUQ: I’ve come on the orders of Mr. Maxwell, who happens to be our new class teacher. The allotted time for your punishment has elapsed, and you runts are free to go—to my displeasure. CHIDI: See this one. Who you come dey spark English for? Abeg, guys, make we dey go. FAROUQ: Well, it is within expectations that nincompoops such as yourselves couldn’t possibly comprehend my splendid vocabulary and superior intellect. CHIDI: See this boy oo. You say wetin? ABDUL: I go beat this boy oo! Chidi and Abdul try to fight Farouq, but Bolaji stops them. BOLAJI: Just leave him. Let it be. FAROUQ: Violent ruffians showing their true colours. Anyway, I’ve conveyed my message and will be returning to class. BOLAJI: Wait, Farouq. Which class are we in? FAROUQ: Unfortunately for me, the four of us were all placed in the same class. That’s SS1B. Follow me. I’ll show you. BOLAJI: Oya na. Guys, let’s go. ABDUL: I go deal with this boy one day. CHIDI: I tell you. As they walk toward the class, a short, fair man approaches them. For some reason, the boys are terrified of the man. The man’s name is Uncle Mike—a name that all the students in the school dread. They are utterly petrified as he comes closer. FAROUQ: Good day to you, Mr. Mike. UNCLE MIKE: Farouq, how are you? FAROUQ: I’m fine, thank you. Mr. Mike looks at the boys, but they are paralysed with fear and can’t even speak. He scans them from head to toe and smiles. UNCLE MIKE: I see you boys want to be outlaws, right? Well, not in my school. You’re flying your shirts in my sublime presence? The audacity. The boys don’t realise it, but during the earlier scuffle, their shirts, which had been tucked in, have come untucked. CHIDI: No, sir, it’s not like that— UNCLE MIKE: Young man, let’s not waste any time. Just come here and touch your toes. The boys receive the beating of their lives and have to spend the rest of the day kneeling under the scorching sun. As expected, Shade and Farouq witness the whole thing and mock Bolaji, Abdul and Chidi as they are flogged mercilessly. The boys have quite the unfortunate first day back at school. MORALS OF THE STORY - Don’t be late to school. Come by 7:30 AM.- Little sisters no dey hear word.- Don’t speak vernacular in school—and yes, Pidgin also counts as vernacular.- Your shirt should always remain tucked in, or else you go hear am.- Don’t mess with Uncle Mike.

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