Morning assembly was a ritual of dust, noise, and empty words. Hundreds of students stood in crooked lines on the cracked concrete parade ground, uniforms wrinkled and sweat-soaked. The school bell's clanging had summoned them before sunrise, but already the sun beat down like punishment.
Kalu Egbe stood near the back of the line, his one sandal scraping against the ground, his other foot bare. His belt was gone too, still in the possession of the senior who had promised to return it "when water finish." His stomach rumbled, but he stood straight, eyes forward.
On the raised platform, the vice principal of administration, a weary-looking man named Mr. Eze, cleared his throat. "As we begin today, let us remember to maintain discipline. Senior students should lead by example. Juniors should respect authority."
Behind Kalu, Nedu snorted. "Lead by example ke? These people dey mad."
The morning announcements dragged on, a mix of threats and hollow promises. Then came the national anthem, sung without passion. Voices mumbled through the lyrics, some barely mouthing the words. A group of seniors leaned lazily against a wall, ignoring the anthem entirely.
As the anthem ended, Senior Presso sauntered past the lines, belt in hand, his eyes scanning the juniors. He caught Kalu's gaze briefly and smirked.
After assembly, Kalu trudged to class, his one barefoot stinging against the stones. The teacher, Mr. Bako, arrived late, as usual. He carried no books, only a faded cane.
"Today we revise mathematics," he said. "Open your books."
Kalu opened his, the pages smudged and curled. But he could hardly focus. Hunger gnawed at him. His eyes kept drifting to the window, where birds chirped freely. He wondered if they ever went hungry.
Midway through the lesson, a sharp knock came at the door. A senior student stood outside.
"Sir, sorry to disturb. I need that junior boy... Egbe."
Kalu froze. Mr. Bako nodded without looking. "Go."
Outside, the senior pulled him aside. "You dey form runner abi? You no hear when I call yesterday?"
"Senior, I..."
"Shut up. Come dormitory now."
Kalu followed in silence, past other classes, past teachers who saw and said nothing. In the dormitory, the senior pointed to a bucket. "Full am. Borehole now."
"But class..."
"You wan chop slap?"
Kalu took the bucket and walked away.
Later that day, in the hostel corridor, Kalu found a group of juniors gathered, whispering.
"Na everyday this thing dey happen," one boy said. "I no sure say this school get principal."
"Principal?" Nedu laughed bitterly. "The man no fit stop mosquito, talk less of seniors."
"Abi you no hear? Last week, one junior report senior to staff. That boy no fit walk well again."
Another boy added, "Dem say teacher warn am sef. 'Don't bring trouble here.'"
Silence fell. The weight of fear sat on them like chains.
Kalu sighed. "So wetin we go do? Just dey suffer?"
Another boy leaned close. "I hear say another principal dey come. The last one resign sharp-sharp. This one... dem say him be soldier."
Nedu raised an eyebrow. "Soldier? Na FGC or barracks we dey?"
They laughed, but it was laughter laced with doubt.
Efosa joined them, holding a smuggled meat pie. "Una dey yarn soldier? Na lie. No principal fit change this place."
Kalu asked, "You sure?"
Efosa bit into his pie. "Sure pass. My elder brother finish here. Him talk say seniors na gods. Na only when dem graduate you fit breathe."
The boys went quiet.
That night, the dormitory air was thicker than usual. Sweat, fear, and hopelessness clung to every surface.
As lights went out, the sounds of the dorm rose—whispers, creaking bunks, soft cries.
Senior Big Mouth strolled in. "Ehen, light off. Now make we collect water. Juniors, wake up!"
Groans followed, but no one disobeyed. Kalu stood, weary, grabbing his bucket again.
As he stepped out, he muttered, "Nna m ichi oke... this school no get conscience."
The system was broken—no one was coming to help.
Or so they thought.
To be continued...