School of Health Technology, somewhere in Sokoto State.
The Lecturer 1 hands over a list to the new Lecturer 2 who will be teaching Global Health and Health Promotion to the school's 300 Level students. The list has the names the 409 students she'll be teaching.
She walks into the class, greets and introduces herself. Then she writes UNICEF and WHO on the board and asks for the meanings of these acronyms. Her question is met with blank stares and head shakes. She repeats the question. The reactions are the same as before. She's stunned.
One of the students raises his hand.
"Malama," he says, "I will interpret. They don't hear you. Ba turenci."
He become her de facto interpreter and course rep, translating her English to Hausa. But his English leaves much to be desired. There are many words he can't interpret.
In those instances, he shakes his head regretfully and says, "Malama, I no know. Continue."
She's been here for a couple of months, yet has never had up to thirty students in attendance. The date for exams are fixed. She walks into class for revision and nearly chokes.
More than 600 students have filled the class to the rafters. They've shown up for exams. After the revision, she returns to her office but is thronged by hundreds of students. They all have one question.
"Nawa ne? How much?"
How much will she take as bribe, so they can all pass the exams?
As she struggles with shock, her course rep whispers in her ear. There's an unwritten rule - she cannot charge more than ₦2,000. Just like the rule for handouts. Can't be more than ₦500, no matter how many pages.
An International Secondary School, somewhere in Edo State.
The accreditors from the Education Board arrive from the city. They're taken past the dilapidated school buildings to the Principal's house. There, they're treated to a lavish feast fit for a king.
Jollof rice, meat, fish, soups, swallows and dripping bottles of very cold soft drinks, beer and wine.
"Relax and enjoy. I'm at your service," says the principal, as a smarmy grin splits his face from ear to ear.
The accreditors munch and swallow, chug and belch. Life is good.
For the next two days, this is their routine. One of them goes out for a walk and runs into some students.
"How are you? Which class are you in?"
"Class," says one of the students.
"Yes. Which class are you in?"
They all give him curious glances and shake their heads.
"Do you understand my question?"
Before they can respond, he is joined by one of his colleagues. She speaks the local lingo. She asks them the same question.
"Oh!" they chorus in their language. "We're in SS2."
Both return to the Principal's house. They eat, drink and sleep.
The next morning, they wake up to thick brown envelopes stuffed with naira notes. There are other gifts, as well as neatly packaged bags of foodstuff.
The accreditors return to the city and log in their official observations. Excellent school. Good teachers. Great facilities.
Look at all the typos! 😭
I apologize.
P/S:
These are true stories.
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People would be angry/bitter at uncles & aunties for not taking care of them but not with the parents who had them with no future plans. Your parents have 8 kids but your uncle with 4 kids is wicked because his children travel for summer when you haven't paid school fees. How???
"A friend's elder sister was married off at a young age so he could go to Uni. He's working now & is burdened with raising his sister's children & the other kids his parents kept having while he was at Uni (the youngest is barely 6).
It's a very long, lonely road ahead for him."
That said, Black Tax is EVIL!
It's not older/richer child responsibility. It's not love or duty. It's not parental enjoyment of the fruits of labour. It's EVIL.
This thing, where parents heap their heavy burden of other children on the first child or the child who earns more.
Single Man: "A woman whose bride price I paid can't control me."
Married Man: *reads post and shakes his head. He's running late but can't leave because Madam is wearing a new dress. He must zip it, patiently take 100 pictures of her from different angles and all must be fine*
Single Man: "My mother gave birth to nine of us. She didn't stress my dad. No pregnant wife can stress me."
Married Man: *goes out at 1:03am to buy party Jollof 'cos pregnant wife has been crying for it, while saying that he doesn't love her, their baby & she wants to die*
Single Man: "I'm self-sufficient and quite domestic. I don't need any woman's help."
Married Man:
"Honey, have you seen my brown socks?"
"Baby do you know where I kept my blue tie"
"Where are my car keys?"
"Sweetheart, when is the conference ending? I miss you so much 😭"
Uforo, Kagiso and Zawadi invade the UK from three different sides.
Zawadi, an accomplished General, arrives at London first. She sticks the Kenyan flag at the top of Buckingham Palace and claims it for Kenya.
On behalf of Nigeria and South Africa, Uforo and Kagiso claim Wales and Scotland respectively and share Northern Ireland.
English is declared too local a language; Ibibio, Xhosa and Swahili are now taught in schools. Pudding is abolished, replaced by Afang, nyama choma and phutu
African archeologists storm England on an expedition. They locate the tomb of Queen Elizabeth I at Westminster and hire white locals to raid it. They cart away her remains, back to Africa and stick them in a museum. British folk now travel to go see it.
This isn't his first time. He's not the first man to do this. Many women in Nigeria have terrible hotel stay experiences.
Male receptionists do proposition female guests and give out their room keys/numbers without permission to male guests who like them.
"So, there is this young man I buy materials from in the market. I met him after my last customer showed me shege (I bought materials in a particular colour. The client wanted another colour and he refused to change it, even though I was a loyal and regular client).
Anyway, this new customer is very honest and has no wahala. Even as prices of fabrics have gone up, he tells me which oned are his old stock at old prices and the new ones with new prices.
I was surprised to find that he's a Hausa boy in a predominantly Igbo business.
When I asked, he told me that he came to Wuse Market as an Almajiri years ago and was doing wheel barrow work. He often carried load for one Igbo man. The man started relying on him to run errands and then asked him to do Nwa Boy under him.