THE BOY WHO ONCE HATED ENGLISH (Fiction)

THE UNIVERSITY OF LIFE 

CHAPTER ONE: THE TRIAD 

Hubert, Abike and Ebube were returning from a holiday coaching class on a cool afternoon. The two girls both had their bags hung on their backs, while the boy had a small box held dangling in his right hand. Both girls wore crew cuts, as was the prevalent trend in the schools of the time. Abike wore a skirt and a blouse, both brown, matching her pair of sling backs. Ebube had a cream gown, complemented by a pair of cream clogs. Hubert had a white short sleeved shirt, neatly tucked into a pair of black trousers, with a pair of moccasins. They were chatting companionably as they walked side by side on the left side pavement of a long, tarred road. That was one of the many road safety measures that had been repeatedly sung into their ears in school: First, use the pedestrian crossings, and always look both ways before you cross, and never assume that the drivers will see you. Second, it's safer to walk on the pavement if a road has such; though a car that has lost its control could still mount the kerb, the risk may still be lesser. Third, it's safer to walk on the left side of the road, so you could watch for oncoming traffic, than to back the vehicles. And many more... 

”I never had the pleasure of knowing my father,” Abike began, after a long silence that followed the gossip about events at the class. “He died when I was just three months old. I was seven when my mother also died, leaving me orphaned. At that tender age, I became a vagrant. I never knew any of my parents' relations. My mother said her parents disowned her because she married my father, defying the choice of husband they made for her. And my father's relations, according to my mother, had all been killed during some intra-ethnic wars that ravaged their village many years ago. So I had no one to run to. I fearfully wandered the streets day and night, braving the hostilities that abound on it.” She paused as they all made to cross the road 

At the other side of the road, she continued, “It wasn't until I was ten that help miraculously came my way. I was rescued from the street by a couple, who later took me in and adopted me as their daughter. I got to know later that my new parents had been married for fourteen years without a living child. They had had two children before, but the two, coming at different times, had emerged from the mother's womb as corpses. And since the second still birth, no other child had come again. For seven years now, they have nurtured and cared for me. The unconditional love they have shown me has recompensed me for all the parental love nature had denied me. I can never thank them enough.” She chuckled. 

“Hmm. We seem to have something in common,” Ebube said. “I lost my father too, but I was four when he died. He was a successful business man, as mother told me, and despite the short time we spent together, there was a very strong bond of affection between the two of us. My mother told me he did call me his treasure, and whenever she remembers him, she still cries. At his death, his relations, according to my mother, made limitless promises to do heaven and earth for her and me. She said she knew the promises were vain, as they were being made, because the same relations had hated her very strongly while my father was alive. They had accused her of keeping their son, my father, away from them. One month had just elapsed after my father's burial when the relations returned threateningly, wanting all that my father bequeathed to us. For fear that the vicious people might attack us spiritually, my mother simply let them have everything.” 

“Everything?” Abike cut in, astonished. Ebube nodded “Why are all the fathers' relations like that? Always cruel to the wife, as if the tragedy of losing her husband isn't enough burden for her to bear. All they all covetously care about is the bequest. What a world we are in!” She lamented. “Why are all our cultures always so rigged against the woman?” 

I wish the table could someday, be turned on them; the men!” Ebube said, and Hubert chuckled. “I was grown enough,” she continued, “when I learnt that those kinsmen of my father's had been torn apart by the controversial bequest. My mum was happy that she and I were safe after all. She's my best friend.” She quickly turned to Abike and said, “Don't be jealous eh, you are my best friend too.” 

“Would you stop being childish for once?” She snapped jokingly 

“Jealous about what?” They all laughed. 

Silence grew between them, as they neared a long untarred pedestrianized road. Almost at the same time, the two girls looked at Hubert quizzically and accidentally chorused. 

“Hubert?” 

“Won't you tell us your own experience?” Ebube snapped. ”Didn't we all agree we were going to share experiences close to our hearts today? Isn't that why Abike asked their driver not to come pick us, so that we would have all the time in the world to ourselves?” 

“Yes. I know,” he said somewhat apologetically. “I was just trying to think of a very touching experience.” A brief period of silence followed. 

“I lost my mother in my first year at Thatcher College,” he began. “She died an avoidable death, during labour.” 

“Avoidable? What did you mean?” Abike curiously cut in 

“She had a protracted painful labour, and when the child eventually came out, the placenta stuck within.” 

The girls contracted their faces in horror. 

“The quack doctors battled inefficiently to save her life, but failed. Death rode on their inefficiency and took her away. The baby followed her the second day.” 

“I'm very sorry.” Ebube said 

“I'm very sorry,” Abike also said. 

He nodded to acknowledge their sympathy. “Her death, as well as the baby's, still haunts me,” he continued, “because I usually have a guilt complex, believing, I, in a way, had a hand in her death.” 

“How?” Ebube asked 

“My father had just spent a lot of money to get me into this school before the incident. I always think if he hadn't spent so much on my admission, he probably would have had enough money to get my mother some better medical treatment. He settled for the cheap medical service, simply because the expensive cost of getting me enrolled here had emptied the family's pocket. I had earlier overheard my mother advising him to enrol me at a cheaper school, but he insisted Thatcher College was the best school, to him, and there, he would enrol his only child.” 

“Even at that, you shouldn't see yourself as the cause of her death. What will be will surely be.” Abike said preachily. 

“I wish humans had control over what happened to them.” Ebube added 

“That incident made me resolve on reading Medicine. By the grace of God, I wish to be a great physician and give free medical service to mothers, before, during, and after labour. I will like to do that in honour of my mother.” 

“You believe that will assuage your guilt?” Ebube asked, with a faint touch of mockery. Hubert nodded. At the entrance of the untarred pedestrianized road, Hubert and the girls parted ways. While he hurried home, the girls sauntered on. They all were students of Thatcher College.