Chapter 7

                                           Ritualists

BEPO joined Stardom Schools after a stint at Beesway Group of School,
located on the outskirts of Lagos. He wondered if he could ever forget his
clash with the Beesway management regarding an error he spotted in the
school’s name. As the senior English teacher, he had pointed out that the name
ought to be ‘Beesway Group of Schools’, not ‘Group of School’. He noted that the
phrase ‘group of’ implied more than one school; therefore, the singular noun was
incorrect.

“Sir, it is like saying, ‘a group of man’ when we mean ‘a group of men’,” he
explained to the director, Mr Egi Meko. “Or like saying, ‘a collection of bag’ or
‘a bevy of bird’ instead of ‘a collection of bags’ and ‘a bevy of birds’.”
“Which one is bevy?” Meko asked, as if that was the only aspect of Bepo’s
argument that interested him.
“It means a large group of people or things, like ‘a herd of cows’ and not ‘a
herd of cow’.”
The director thanked the ‘learned linguist’ – as he often called him – for
the observation. Then he asked what precisely the senior English teacher
wanted him to do. He knew where Bepo was headed, but he feigned ignorance.
In the recesses of his mind, Mr Meko laughed derisively because he could not
contemplate changing his school’s name in any way. Firstly, he reasoned, that
was the name on all the school’s facilities and documents. Secondly, it was the
name registered at the Corporate Affairs Commission and the Ministry of
Education.

“The most important reason I cannot change the name of my school,” Meko
explained to Bepo, “is that the name was divinely inspired. If I would put it
another way, I will say it has a spiritual undertone. I believe you understand,
because you are not a kid. What has ‘group of school’ got to do with the quality
education we impart here? Do you know how well my students have been
performing in external exams, talk less of internal examinations? Group of school!
Are students complaining? No. Are parents complaining? No. Are the external
examiners complaining? No. Is the government complaining? No. So, Mr Bepo, the
Englisher, let’s leave the matter as it is. I know there is no word like Englisher. Just
joking with you.”

“Ironically, there is, sir,” Bepo struggled to correct his boss, even if he had to
overlook the error in ‘talk less’. He knew what the director should have said was ‘let
alone’.
“You don’t mean ‘it’?” Meko exclaimed, ostentatiously, pronouncing ‘mean it’ in a
way he believed was super British or American.

“I do. It is even in the dictionaries. It refers to a person who translates from a
foreign language into English.”
“Wao! That means I am almost an Englisher too,” the director said and added,
“considering I even used the word off head.”
Bepo skipped a breath as the erroneous phrase, ‘off head’, struck him. But he
did not think the atmosphere was right to begin another round of corrections.
Besides, he felt the first grammatical blunder, which the director ought to have
accepted most readily, was being downplayed.
Bepo wondered: what was the big deal about changing ‘Group of School’ to
‘Group of Schools’? First, the management could start by effecting the correction on
the school’s signboards on the premises, then move on to all files, books, and so on.
It could then proceed to the Corporate Affairs Commission, the Ministry of
Education, and other relevant bodies.
After the unsuccessful encounter, Bepo again raised the matter with the boss
on a few occasions because the grammatical palaver was happening in his subject
territory. It was particularly insulting to his pedigree as the senior English Language
Teacher in the school. But something happened that finally made Bepo shut his
mouth.

During a meeting of the school’s Parent-Teacher Association, a parent raised
the matter, backed by some others. As she spoke, the director fixed his eyes on Bepo,
who sat in the front row. The look was fierce and furious. The director appeared to
be asking: “So, you have taken your madness to this level?”
Immediately after the meeting, the director summoned Bepo to his office and
accused him of plotting to destroy the school through his ‘too-know’ mentality. Bepo
explained that he never did what the director had in mind. That is, tell the parent
about the error in the school’s name.
“Eléfoó, ò’ ó, ní òóò. Ó léfoó òun kìí ș’ efó ààtàn. Ta ni kò mợ pé ara ló ń fu u?” the
director said, referencing a Yoruba proverb about guilt. It told the story of a
vegetable hawker whose produce was plucked from a filthy dumpsite. A buyer
simply calls out to her, having no intention of probing the source of the product. But
burdened with guilt, the hawker declares: “These vegetables are not from any
dumpsite.”

Bepo did all he could to convince the director that he never discussed the matter
with any parent. He even swore, touching the crucifix that hung from his neck. It
was Bepo’s characteristic way of declaring, ‘I am saying the truth, the whole truth,
and nothing but the truth.’ Whenever he desperately needed to make a point, he
reached for the object. While that was enough to make some people believe him, the
director remained unconvinced. “You can choose between working here and
criticising the name of the school that pays your salary,” he said with a tone of
finality.
Bepo’s experience at Beesway was quite tumultuous, but it wasn’t because he wanted to correct the ‘Group of School’ blunder that he left. He walked away
voluntarily because of a matter he considered ungodly. He was not a great
churchgoer. All the same, he believed he was close to God. When his wife was still
in Nigeria, she used to lure or coerce him to go to church on Sundays. He often left
her behind at the auditorium as he habitually disappeared once the service ended.

Seri was a member of three groups in the church and usually attended post-service
meetings. Bepo was originally a Catholic, but the woman convinced him to join her
Pentecostal Truth Tellers Mission. However, as soon as she relocated to the UK, he
returned to his Catholic faith, where he felt at home.
It was 2:30 a.m. The almost pin-drop silence in Ojikutu showed nature
maintains a disciplined order, no matter the place or time. Here was a Lagos suburb,
ever busy during the day and night. Now, it was calm, save for an intermittent
whistle-blowing by some security guards.
Bepo lay on his bed in his room at the Beesway Staff Quarters. He had forced
himself to bed at 12 midnight. But sleep just wouldn’t kiss his eyes. He had slept
lavishly in the afternoon, it being a Sunday. Whenever he spent long hours in bed
during the day, he was sure the night would find him miserable, searching elusively
for even a nap. He wondered what he must do to fall asleep. He thought about
sedatives. Sadly, he had none in the room. He was aware that doctors rarely
encouraged their use. The drugs could, among other risks, lead to addiction. But at
nights when the goddess of sleep became too miserly for him, he cared less what
any doctor thought. He would toss a capsule or two down his throat. Moments
afterwards, he would snore.
He rose from the bed and headed for the refrigerator in a corner of the room.
He needed a cup of cold water. That might do the trick, he thought. He had switched
off the light in the room. He barely needed it as rays from the floodlights positioned
at different corners of the premises lit the room faintly. He peered through the
window, his dry eyes viewing much of the ample space that included the assembly
ground. He moved closer and drew the blinds sideways. Suddenly, the floodlights
went off. Every light at the length and breadth of the school premises was off. What
happened? Yet, Bepo noticed that lights were still on two hundred metres or more
away from the school.
As the puzzle lingered, Bepo thought he saw something move in the dark. It
looked human. Then he saw another, and another, and yet another! What could they
be? He studied the shapes intently. As the movements continued, it became clearer
what the mystery was. Of course, they were not ghosts. They were humans. But who
could they be? He stared harder through the darkness. His eyes were not betraying
his mind. A torch flashed through the void. Bepo’s confusion thickened. It was 2:51
a.m. No student was expected to be out at such an unholy hour. No teacher, either,
or any other resident, for that matter.
As his eyes attuned to the darkness, Bepo picked out five men. He also made
out a sizeable whitish mass, moving alongside the men. It was a cow. Apparently,
one of the men was holding the leash. Bepo, glued to the spot, watched in
amazement. The men stopped. Five minutes later, two other men appeared. It seemed, initially, that they had walked out from Mother Earth. Not so. The duo had
climbed out of a pit. There was a brief moment of inactivity.

What could they be doing? What could they be discussing? Two men moved to
the rear of the animal. No sooner had they positioned themselves than the beast
began to inch towards the pit. What was going on? Bepo wondered, mystified! They
certainly were not about to bury a cow, he thought, bewildered.
He turned swiftly from the window. He grabbed his crucifix and hung it on his
neck. A T-shirt lay beside his pillow. He put it on, complementing the night trousers
he wore. Bepo shoved his hand under the bed, retrieved a broad-headed double-
edged machete and was soon descending the stairs.

“Who are you?” a voice questioned out of the darkness as Bepo walked with
resolve, yet cautiously towards the figures. If his ears were not playing any pranks,
he was sure the voice was familiar.
“I ask: who are you?” the voice repeated.
“Di…Di…Director!” Bepo exclaimed, astonished. “Director, are you burying the
cow alive?”
“What! Who is this?” one of the men barked. The indignation in the voice was
unmistakable.

“Will you keep your mouth shut?” another man ordered simultaneously. “And
get away from here, immediately, before we make you regret!” a third voice roared.
“You again…Mr Bepo? What business brings you out at this hour? Is this the
students’ hostel you are supposed to be minding?” the boss asked. As the director
spoke, the men quickly turned away from the intruder. Resolutely, they hastened to
finish the grim task, pushing and pulling harder.

“No! Director, you can’t! This is cruel! This is barbaric! Ungodly! You shouldn’t
bury that thing alive!” Bepo affirmed.
“Get lost! How is that your problem? Are we burying a human being?” the
director fumed.
“Even if it is not human, it is living. Director, this is wickedness! Inhumanity!”
A man who had lurked in the dark, unseen, approached Bepo from behind, club
in hand. He raised the weapon and brought it down hard on Bepo’s right wrist.

The machete fell to the ground as a sharp pain coursed through Bepo’s limb. Two
other men rushed towards him. There was a brief struggle. And soon, Bepo was
on his back. Even in the darkness, he could make out the shape of the machete
positioned menacingly above his head.
“Handle him gently! Gently!” the director ordered.

“Oga, no, sir. I said no, sir,” one of the men replied defiantly. “If he wants to go
down with the cow, why should we stop him?”
Bepo recognised the voice. It was the man who had threatened, “Get away from
here immediately, before we make you regret!”
He knew it was time he disappeared from the scene. The director pacified the
angry accomplices and helped the senior English Teacher back on his feet. He led
Bepo to the room from which he had stormed out earlier like a crusader and
returned to his men to finish the dark assignment.

A million thoughts danced crazily in Bepo’s head. The remaining hours before
daybreak felt longer than he had ever imagined. The burying alive of a cow, the
threat against his life: everything seemed like fiction. Did that happen on the school
grounds? Was that the director he thought he had always known? What was the
reason for the bizarre action? Why did they have to bury a cow alive? What did they
hope to achieve?
He had heard tales of eerie rituals carried out by some school owners and
patrons of other businesses. Shortly after he concluded the National Youth Service
Corps scheme, he and a colleague set up a neighbourhood school. The colleague was
a teacher in a public school. Since Bepo had not found employment, they decided to
start small in the education sector. They rented a two-bedroom flat, and Fruitful
Future School was born. The dream unfolded slowly, but enrolment grew during
the third session. They ensured fees were lower than what was obtained in the area.
They also tried to up their game, using marker boards at a time when most of their
competitors were hooked on chalkboards.

Bepo also introduced a business trick he learnt at a school in Warri, Delta State,
where he observed his National Youth Service. Pupils were encouraged to teach
their parents a topic when they returned home. The topic, of course, was among the
ones they must have learnt during the school day. Parents particularly found it a
novel idea. It reassured them that quality teaching was taking place at Fruitful
Future. Thereafter, good news about the school spread. And before the end of the
third session, the number of pupils had grown to over 70. The fees stayed minimal.

Some parents defaulted, but Bepo and his colleague saw a great prospect for the
school.
Mr Ogo, a parent, visited him in his office one Monday morning. He, Ogo, had
recently paid the third and final instalment of his son’s fees. The school permitted
such a mode of payment. As he walked in, Bepo, the HM (Headmaster), felt the man
had something important to share with the management.

“I know you are trying hard. Many people are saying good things about your
place,” Mr Ogo said, as he muttered prayers for the HM and the school.
“Thank you,” Bepo responded.
“Yes. But there is something else you need to do.”
“Thanks. Like adverts?”
But Mr Ogo was not thinking about adverts. Bepo could not believe the crux of
the meeting. The parent had come, offering to perform a rite that would
supernaturally flood the school with pupils in no time. What was the magic? He
would sprinkle a few grains of corn at the corners of the school, following which
unprecedented enrolment would follow.
“And what would happen to the grains afterward?” Bepo asked, not because
he was keen about any ritual. He was simply inquisitive.

“Nothing much. You need not mind them again. What is important is that the
process will translate into abundant enrolment. Students will be trooping in from
left and right,” Mr Ogo emphasised. The parent cum magician added that the money needed for the rite was not much: just N35,000.
Bepo and his colleague refused to buy in, even though the man persisted.
Shortly afterwards, Mr Ogo withdrew his child from the school. Bepo believed
Fruitful Future would become great without ritualistic shortcuts. He believed the
same success would apply to many other good schools in the country. With
experienced teachers who are well paid, an environment conducive to learning, an
inspiring curriculum and a good school-parent relationship, any school would grow
and prosper. He knew schools that were so committed; they even had Saturday
lessons for students who cared to attend. He knew schools that engaged specialists
to team up with their teachers whenever the WASSCE and NECO challenges drew
near. He knew schools that motivated their teachers with inspiring health, housing,
and retirement packages. There was even the well-reported case of Heroes’ Haven,
which offered a two-bedroom apartment to any teacher who spent up to 15 years in
the school! So, why should he and his colleague delve into any ritual to build up
Fruitful Future?
Sadly, the school did not last as, about two years later, access roads in the area
collapsed. Apart from prolonged neglect by state and local governments, a giant
water pipe ruptured, making the environment a mess. As time passed, frustrated
residents began to move away, leaving the place to the helpless who could not
afford Fruitful Future’s tuition, low as the fees were. Unfortunately, the headmaster
and his colleague could not raise substantial funds to relocate from the area. The
lofty dream thus ended as they were forced to close down the facility, while Bepo
resumed at another school for his first professional teaching experience.
Ten years later, however, Bepo sat one evening watching the news on TV, when
it was reported that one Mr Ogo murdered a civil servant: a woman who had
consulted him over the infertility she experienced. Having been married for seven
years without a child, the woman approached Ogo for a spiritual solution. Over the
course of a year’s ‘treatment’, the spiritual doctor received N9,000,000 as a fee from
the woman, promising the charms he gave would make her pregnant. However, the
drought lingered.

Disappointed, the woman insisted on a refund. When the child manufacturer was
not forthcoming, she threatened to have him arrested. As the narrative went, the
spiritualist, one afternoon, invited her to his house on the pretext that he was ready
to make a partial payment in cash. At this point, the news anchor warned that some
viewers might find the upcoming images disturbing.
The camera turned to the scene of the murder. It was a lush garden in the
spiritual doctor’s backyard. He drugged the client and then ushered her into a chair,
which, unknown to the woman, was deviously placed atop a grave-sized pit. No
sooner had she fallen in than two cudgel-wielding accomplices appeared from their
hideout and clubbed her into a stupor. She was still breathing when they sealed the
pit.

Bepo thought the face of the suspect on TV struck a chord. Yes! He had seen
that face before. But where? Just then, the cameraman zoomed point-blank on the
alleged culprit. And there, flanked by armed policemen, with hands cuffed, looking like a fowl drenched in a rainstorm, was Mr Ogo!
Bepo sighed heavily as his mind wandered back to the Meko’s saga. He was
depressed and confused. He contemplated reporting the Beesway director to the
police. But was he ready to face the impending battle? He wondered if he could
muster enough resources to mobilise the police and probably some other law
enforcement agencies. Did he have the money to ‘push’ the case all the way? He
knew he could be asked to pay for the paper on which he would write his statement
at the police station. He knew he might be asked to fuel the police vehicle with
which officers would go and arrest the suspects. Did he have enough financial
strength to withstand the director in protracted court cases?
It occurred to him that he could contact relevant agencies or non-governmental
organisations, like those involved in animal rights. But did they exist in Nigeria? He
was not sure. What about the Ministry of Health and the Ministry of Education?
Yeah, that could be it. After all, the director was endangering the pupils’ health. But
was he ready to launch into the river? Was that the prime thing he wanted to do
with his life? What if the big man became desperate and began to fight him in
strange ways? By the way, what was the motive behind burying a cow alive in a
school? Did he, Bepo, know? Was he sure?
He was still reviewing these thoughts when his phone rang at 9:07 a.m. He had
neither taken his bath nor performed any chore, let alone resumed work. The phone
rang twice again: it was the director. “Good morning, Mr Bepo. You have not
resumed at the office today. I asked the secretary to call you. Can you see me in the
office now?”
The call compounded Bepo’s dilemma. He never said he would come to see
him. He didn’t say he would not, either. But what could he do? He knew it was time
to leave Beesway. Thus, before he showed up at the director’s office, about two
hours later, Bepo had moved his belongings from his room and the staff room.

The director apologised for the assault Bepo suffered and explained that what
the senior English teacher stumbled upon at night was nothing dangerous or
fetishistic. He said it was part of a special prayer for his late father, who had given
him the land on which the school was built.
Bepo did not answer him a word.