Ade's Chronicle.
It was a sunny Saturday afternoon. The sun was threatening to cook all that was under it. It was one of those days when everybody wished they had put on their birthday suits but the society would have thought something else was wrong.
I was sitting in my room in my boxer shorts with a hand fan in my hand blowing me a portion of the hot air when Rotimi walked in. ''Ade, make we run go Mushin now,'' he said.
Rotimi was my friend of twenty five years. Our friendship had started from our primary school days. We had been inseparable since then. Our families had through us become one.
We both came to Lagos after our university education in the north. We had left Ibadan telling our parents that we won't return home until we made it. How do we make it except we first get a job?
Our parents still paid for the one room self contain we are living in. The house is situated on a popular street in Yaba. It is not too far from the popular Yaba market; hence, we strolled to the market frequently to pick up clothes and stuffs.
Rotimi was a graduate of Accounting and I had read Economics. We both graduated with second class upper division and we had both dreamt of working together in the same establishment.
Presently, we had dropped our C. Vs. in all places droppable and the news of tests and interviews had began to trickle in. But to keep body and soul together- since our parents' ten thousand naira a month allowance won't keep us for more than two weeks- we took up a teaching appointment with a private secondary school not too far from our house.
The pay, you ask? Okay, thirty thousand naira a month each, for teaching Economics and Financial Accounting to the Senior classes and Business Studies and Shorthand to the Junior classes forty times a week each, was the bargain. The lesson plan writing was what we hated most. But we had to write it. The good thing about the school was that we could take up extra private classes, which we did, at our own personal rates with the individual parents. We charged five thousand naira a month.
The Senior students were something else, they never allowed us breathing spaces. Spoilt children looking for who to spoil them the more. What a pity!
Rotimi did his part. I must confess I did mine too. But that is a tale for another day. We did things...
I was sitting in my room in my boxer shorts with a hand fan in my hand blowing me a portion of the hot air when Rotimi walked in. ''Ade, make we run go Mushin now,'' he said.
Rotimi was my friend of twenty five years. Our friendship had started from our primary school days. We had been inseparable since then. Our families had through us become one.
We both came to Lagos after our university education in the north. We had left Ibadan telling our parents that we won't return home until we made it. How do we make it except we first get a job?
Our parents still paid for the one room self contain we are living in. The house is situated on a popular street in Yaba. It is not too far from the popular Yaba market; hence, we strolled to the market frequently to pick up clothes and stuffs.
Rotimi was a graduate of Accounting and I had read Economics. We both graduated with second class upper division and we had both dreamt of working together in the same establishment.
Presently, we had dropped our C. Vs. in all places droppable and the news of tests and interviews had began to trickle in. But to keep body and soul together- since our parents' ten thousand naira a month allowance won't keep us for more than two weeks- we took up a teaching appointment with a private secondary school not too far from our house.
The pay, you ask? Okay, thirty thousand naira a month each, for teaching Economics and Financial Accounting to the Senior classes and Business Studies and Shorthand to the Junior classes forty times a week each, was the bargain. The lesson plan writing was what we hated most. But we had to write it. The good thing about the school was that we could take up extra private classes, which we did, at our own personal rates with the individual parents. We charged five thousand naira a month.
The Senior students were something else, they never allowed us breathing spaces. Spoilt children looking for who to spoil them the more. What a pity!
Rotimi did his part. I must confess I did mine too. But that is a tale for another day. We did things...
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