Today, East Ridge High’s senior and junior students are about to engage in a football showdown. They have been preparing for this event since the start of the term, and it is their last match as students of the school. The juniors’ best players will graduate soon, but the stakes for this game are higher than ever—the year twos, unofficially acting on behalf of the juniors, challenged the seniors with a bet. The year twos collected fifty cedis from their classmates and they wanted the seniors to win or triple if they lost.
Myself and two other boys were the only ones who hadn’t contributed to the bet money. I understand why a lot of them paid the money; this is how teenage boys amuse themselves, spending their parents’ hard-earned money in a vain effort to appear cool in front of each other. This time, I was dragged into it, no matter how much I tried to stay on the sidelines. Jacob, a friend, asked me for some cash so he could pay his part of the contribution. He was one of the ‘representatives’, so he had to chip in more than everyone else. Normally, I wouldn’t have given him anything even if he begged me, but this shameless guy blackmailed me with information he had overheard from my conversation with the math teacher. With that, I finally agreed to loan him what he needed – plus some extra for interest.
The big day had finally arrived, and I had to go watch the game to determine if I’d get my money back or remain in debt. I’d never before been so devoted to a football club. Beads of sweat started building on my forehead as I switched from my uniform into ordinary clothing. Though the field was over half an hour away on foot, this moment, under such pressure, it didn’t matter. I must be there. My father would be infuriated to learn that I gambled with the funds instead of giving them to Sir Isaac as he’d requested. He would also be mad if he found out I put off repayment by fabricating financial difficulties and using my good conduct and excellent grades as proof.
The path to the field was mostly shaded by the trees on the side of the street. The students had gathered at the gate and were waiting to be escorted to the field. The headmaster allowed the match to happen because the seniors had pleaded unremittingly and were done with their exams. The only condition was that the outgoing sports prefects had to make sure the students didn’t go anywhere but the field and back. I joined the students as we waited for the sports prefects to come back.
“I heard the seniors have scored oo” one of the students happily informed her friend. “How did you know? Have you been to the park?” I asked grabbing her by the shoulder, my eyelids stretched as wide as they could. She, however, answered ‘no’, rudely sliding my hand off her shoulder, saying “I just heard it around”. I didn’t know whether to believe it or not. The prefects soon came, and we started our walk to the grounds. I was feeling restless, a ball of nerves knotted in my mind. I prayed what the girl said was false. I was tempted to run, but I couldn’t be the prefects’ scapegoat; not during their last days. I had only heard stories, but I prefer that to it being my story.
On any other day, I would have taken pleasure in hearing the hawkers shout their slogans like “Yes! Pure water” or “Plantain chips!” and watching the children chasing each other with glee. The melodious sound of moving cars in the distance and the loud conversations between shopkeepers full of laughter and political debates would have soothed me. But today it all merged together into an unbearable cacophony. Even the birds in the sky taking flight for home before dusk only served to remind me that I wouldn’t be able to rest until I saw how the game turned out. If Jacob hadn’t been around on this fateful day, I would already be dozing off into a peaceful afternoon nap.
If only he had been forthcoming and open, I could have found a way out. We met on the first day of school, and miraculously became shared a bunk bed. He quickly became the only person I knew since then. Because I never felt I had anything to keep hidden, I divulged much about myself to him; whereas, he mostly listened without saying much. When I saw him standing outside the teacher’s office that day, I didn’t really think of it as an issue – I trusted him to keep my secrets. It hadn’t occurred to me that blackmail was also an option.
We were about halfway to the football field when I noticed a group of senior students walking and laughing amongst each other. This wasn’t too unusual, as they had more privileges than us But why were they leaving? My intrigue peaked. The prefects ahead stopped them and exchanged words with them that I couldn’t make out from my vantage point. Eventually, they let the seniors go, and they went on their way towards the school.
I could only make out a few words from what the prefects were saying: ‘Dro…’ and ‘Injury’. If it was true, then this would be disastrous; Drogba being injured. Dro, short for Drogba, is the nickname for the captain of the juniors’ team. He is also one of the best players in the school’s official team. He was my saving grace on the team, so if I couldn’t rely on him anymore, getting money back seemed impossible. I thought of inquiring further, but not daring to due to there being no prior relationship between me and them, none that was positive anyway. Desperately, I stretched out an arm in an attempt to get one of their attentions. When they recognised it was me – their senior – the look of annoyance quickly scrubbed away and replaced with an apologetic puppy-look.
My blank but piercing gaze gestured him to move closer. On a better day, such mischief would have incurred a hefty penalty. I put my arm over his shoulders and menacingly leaned towards him. With a low voice, I asked, “What were the year-threes discussing?” He replied nervously, “Senior, I don’t know oo, but Prefect Michael had a very bad expression.” I pushed him away with a warning that we’d speak again later. We made our way up the two meter grassy hill and saw crowd of students and players around something on the pitch. The whispered commotion was grief-stricken. The Sports prefects ran towards them shouting about needing a first-aid kit. From this evidence, it dawned on me that my money was gone.
We reached the last turn before a two-meter climb up a grassy hill and descent to the sidelines of the field. I had already heard enough to convince me I had lost my money. During the descent, I saw a mix of players and students gathered around something on the pitch. Their unintelligible whispers, a tune of melancholy. The Sports prefects run towards the crowd, shouting commands that someone bring the First-aid Kit. More evidence.
I asked one of my mates, who was about a meter from the crowd, “Charle, what were the last scores before Oboy get injury”. “What are you saying, the match no start. Girome go hurt for some bush inside, and the way he dey bleed, them no fit to start”. Ahhh!
Read – Forbidden Fruit – A Short Story by Ogooluwa Jayeola, Nigeria
