Water was life in Old FGC—and the borehole was the battlefield.
Every evening, juniors queued with buckets, hoping to fetch enough before nightfall. The queue was long, tempers short, and fights common.
Kalu Egbe stood in line, bucket in hand, sweat dripping down his back. Nedu was ahead of him, Fireboy behind.
"Make this pump work fast today," Nedu muttered.
Suddenly, a loud voice cut through the queue. "Make way!"
Senior Dankaka pushed his way to the front, two empty buckets swinging.
Fireboy whispered, "Wahala don land."
A junior at the front, bold or foolish, didn't move. "Senior, we dey wait since. Abeg, small pity."
Dankaka's eyes flared. "You dey talk back?"
He swung a slap, sending the boy crashing into the dirt. "Na me go pity you?"
Silence gripped the line. No one dared move.
Dankaka filled his buckets slowly, smiling. Then he turned. "Any junior wey talk again, next be you."
He walked off, leaving the line in chaos.
Kalu helped the fallen boy up. "You dey okay?"
The boy nodded, tears in his eyes.
That night, the hostel echoed with anger. Juniors grumbled, Fireboy paced.
"We too dey fear," he said. "Dem dey treat us like goat."
Kalu clenched his fists. "If we ever fight back, we go need each other."
Nedu added, "Water go always bring war."
Next evening, seniors returned to the queue, demanding buckets.
Kalu stayed silent—but he watched, and he waited.
To be continued...