“Senior, lemme not lie”

I don’t know where this guy might be today. He didn’t finish in Command like we did. I don’t think anyone would have noticed his absence at all because he was a very invisible fellow, even among his friends. But he had great use when it came to breaking the rules. He seemed to have the duty schedule of soldiers on guard as he was hardly ever caught outside school. And thanks to Command, if you were not caught red-handed, then you were innocent, but a suspect. He always had a way with crime and was always lucky with the authorities.

I still have very clear, and fond, memories of him. Radios were contraband. He had 2: one AM only and one AM/FM. This was at the beginning of the advent of 24 hours radio broadcast in Nigeria: Ray Power 100.5 FM was championing the cause then. Sunday and Wednesday nights where the days love songs were played on the programme Soul Serenade. We would gather round his radio and chitchat till past lights out. Sometimes, I would fantasize away in the serenity of the dark, quiet dormitory. Occasionally, we would be dispersed by senior students but that didn’t deter our ‘happy moments’ because Command was really rough. The motto should have being “Knowledge and discipline by force”. Too many times we scuttled away from seniors leaving behind our dear radio (the one with FM) but he never did. Not that he loved listening to it that much. His favourite station was Radio Nigeria an AM only station at the time but he never left it behind. I guess it was his point of contact, and importance. He also came in handy when we were too scared to risk jumping the school fence to get food outside, yet too hungry to bear it.

He had great use in deed but never in times of trouble. He never had the heart to take whipping from seniors, or the authorities so, we permanently ensured not to get caught in the net with him. Though, we could never be too careful. He would give anyone up without a thought and, surprisingly, never hid the fact that he gave up people almost voluntarily. Fortunately, all my stints with him were without the authorities.

The real reason I write this today is his stereo-type confession: “Senior, lemme not lie…” then the rest is history. I even recall how he would raise his mended right hand as though he was responding to a classroom question. I still remember him with warmth. Not that we were best of friends of any sort but there was something strange about him; that which I still know not. I truly hope this life treats him very well. If you ever run into him, please give him all my regards. And tell him that I appreciate knowing him. His name is Elijah Adekunle.