Jackpot!
I’ll always be grateful for the kind of classmates I had in secondary school. If there’s any game I know how to play, I owe it all to them. Police and thief, ten-ten, suwe, but especially Whot, that timeless game of cards.
I particularly loved playing Jackpot because of the suspense, and the dramas that always unfolded.
Now, Jackpot is played in different ways, depending on those playing. But this is how we played ours, and to me, it remains the best game of cards ever.
We usually had eight players, sitting in an octagon kind of circle, spread out in class. You could either sit on a chair or on a desk. It didn’t matter if it wasn’t your original seat and it’s best if your back was to the wall too. Then we’d pair up in twos. Four duos, eight players.
At the beginning of the game, each player drew four random cards from the shuffle. Then the game would begin with one person — say ‘A’ — who’d pick another card from the shuffle, then after deciding on the set of cards to gather, ‘A' passes a card to ‘B’, then ‘B' to ‘C’, then ‘C’ to ‘D’, and so on.
The goal was simple.. it is either you, or your partner gather perfect four cards of the same shape; maybe four circles, four crosses, four rectangles or whatever shape, then that’s a Jackpot!
The fate of your Jackpot! depends on the cards you picked at the beginning but in the long run, your win depended on what you got dealt by the rest of the players.
The twist is you don’t get to sit close to your partner. But before the game began, you both had to agree on a secret sign which could be a word or phrase, or a gesture to let them know you had your perfect four because your partner would be the one to shout “Jackpot!” on your behalf.
The catch was, the signal had to be subtle.
If the other players noticed your sign, they will call you out and you’d have to drop your perfect four and pick from the shuffle again.
So at every moment, you were watching yourself, your partner, the rest of the players, and your cards all at once.
We usually chose people we liked the most as partners, which felt like a good strategy but it was also friendship. There was a day, I paired with my friend and we agreed our Jackpot sign would be to complain about something as subtly as possible. So when I finally gathered four triangle cards, I pulled out my water bottle from under the desk and complained that Genevieve had almost finished my water. I expected her to shout “Jackpot!” but instead, she offered me her own water. I was frustrated I couldn’t drop my winning cards with a flourish but then, I knew she was just being my friend.
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Some people, like Deborah Bello were the best person to pair with because she had this calm and subtlety that within minutes, if she wasn’t the one shouting “Jackpot!”, then it was her partner.
Then there was Ozioma the queen of misdirection. She would pull stunts to make it look like she had her perfect four, just to bait someone into calling her out. And when they did, she would reveal two different cards, and laugh while the misled had to change one of their cards as punishment. And still, somehow, she and her partner would end up shouting “Jackpot!” when it was least expected.
And then there was Joanna, the laughing gas. The worst person to pair with. Joanna was always laughing, so it was far too easy to tell when she had her perfect four or when she was close.
The game was always tense ‘cause a single twitch or one nervous laugh was enough to give you away.
Sometimes, if opponents caught on too quickly, you and your partner had to change signs mid-game, you just have to improvise on the spot. Then there were the distractions: a deliberately dropped pen, an argument about rules, loud complaints, accusing someone of cheating — anything to shift attention just long enough to signal your partner. And hanging over all of that was the risk of shouting “Jackpot!” too early. One wrong call, and the punishment cards would undo all your hard work.
The whole table was a drama really. The chaos, bluff, laughter, suspicion, and trust all building up to that one loud, risky shout of “Jackpot!”
But beyond these characters, the game itself had its own theatre. The beauty was in the choices we made, the partners we trusted, the risks we took, and the way everyone’s fate was tied not just to the cards in their hands but also to the people around them. That was what made it unforgettable.
Looking back now, Jackpot reiterated again that life too is a game of cards. We don’t choose the cards we’re dealt at first, but we do choose how we play them and with whom. We don’t always sit close to the ones we depend on, yet we still have to trust they’ll catch our signs.
Sometimes the people we count on miss it completely, like my friend with the water bottle. And that was the thing about Jackpot. It was never just a game. Those afternoons were rehearsals really. Rehearsals for the trust we’d need, the risks we’d take, the people we’d pair with, the signs we’d give in communicating our wins and struggles. Rehearsals for the people who’d help us win or watch us lose. All of it mattered.
Sometimes we win by subtlety and sometimes by risk. But sometimes, winning is not even in the perfect four, but in the partner who sees us, even from across the class.
In the end, the objective is simple: win, or at least, don’t fold too easily. The cards matter ‘cause they shape the game. But the players matter more ‘cause they decide the story.
