THE CONFESSION
By Edudzi Akadzro
It was a fine morning. For the day it was, I can’t recall, but the year was 2011. The year American Christian radio host, Harold Camping, stated rapture and Judgment would take place. The month was March, a week and some days before the Basic Education Certificate Examination (B.E.C.E).
I was a final-year student at the time. My colleagues and I sat at our desks with heads buried in books. We were making hay while the sunshine, for the day of accountability, was fast upon us.
Months ago, the classroom would have been busier and noisier than a market square — a clique of girls hysterically discussing a Nollywood movie shown on TV Africa over the weekend, a gang of back sitters religiously discussing a football match, myself and a squad I shared a feather with energetically pulling a prank here and there, happily being a nuisance to others, while the big mama of the class sat in solitude reading a romance novel with her apprentices on the other hand busily memorizing the lyrics of a latest hit single -in the absence of a subject teacher. Oh, boy! Take me back to the days I was nicknamed, “Chinese Pensioneer” by the headmaster!
A few hours to midday, we were in the fields, hurriedly cutting the grass to catch the last sunshine for our hay, before the rains kick off, similar to how politicians in Africa would hurriedly and shambolically tar a dusty road rigged with potholes overnight as the election approached, when we heard a knock on the class’ door.
As courtesy demands in most African schools, the class stood up and welcomed the guests in our usual sluggish chorus. In front of the class were our proprietor and two subject teachers in the company of two elderly men and a woman who were total strangers to us. The class was ordered to take our seats after welcoming the visitors. Our Religious and Moral Education madam, whom I can say plays the role of a chaplain in the school, briefed us on the purpose of their visit that morning.
“We thank you, lord
We thank you, lord
We thank you Jehovah almighty…” The tallest of the strangers, who was later introduced to us as the head pastor of a certain church whose name I have forgotten, lifted the Christian worship song and the whole class simultaneously stood to our feet once again and joined in the singing.
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After some time, the singing came to an end and prayers followed. From one prayer topic to the other, we kept binding and destroying the devil and the ways of any evil spirit that wanted our failure in the upcoming exams. We were all in the spirit and prayed fervently. For it is written, “the kingdom of heaven suffers violence, and the violent take it by force.” Well, not like I understand the above statement though. But I can assure you we “could have killed a lot” in that mood.
A song or two was sung to thank the lord for an answered prayer. The pastor then pulled out a bottle and lifted it to the heavens (the roof of the classroom which had its white painting peeling off) and said a prayer. It contained an anointing oil. It was at this stage my heart skipped a beat. For whatever reason, scenes of how people rolled on the floor confessing their sins and bad thoughts after an anointing oil touched their heads began to play in my mind. I became anxious.
The anointing of heads commenced. Those in the front row took turns walking to the front of the class to be anointed. The oil dripped from their heads, down the chin as they went back to their seats. I was not surprised there was no confession from those lots, as they happened to be the few good nuts amongst us.
The anointing service continued and my fear grew. It was soon the turn of a colleague I would prefer to refer to as, a “Man of letters.” He was dark and loved by the ladies. Immediately the oil touched his head, I expected him to scream, start rolling on the floor, and confess how both class girls and junior girls scribed him enticing words. One of such letters we (class boys) once found in his things had the admirer telling him to keep his smiling face which we mischievously turned, “keep your smelling face.” Nothing happened to the dude, he walked to his desk with a forehead that shone like the dog star in the night sky. My fear was never subdued.
It got to the turn of a main man of mine. One who shared in most crimes with me. At this stage, I have begun to shiver. Several questions run through my mind. What if he starts to confess, mentioning names of all the boys that followed him home whenever we were sacked for school fees to watch adult content? I quickly asked the lord to forgive us of our shortcomings and make my guy sail through like Mr. Dark and lovely. And, God did! But my fear persisted!
As the oily heads kept increasing with my fear getting out of control, I thought of what could be the worst possible confession that could be forced out my mouth by the oil.
Would it be how I pretend not to love/enjoy it whenever the class boys teased me with my class crush’s name?
Is it going to be how I have crushed on almost half of the class girls as well as girls from lower classes?
Or would it be the numerous polygamous relationships I have had with the class girls in my dreams?
What about that day I got furious after being lashed by the proprietor and planned to pull down the school building to make room for a public KVIP someday in the future when I’m stupidly rich?
I was signaled to come forward, and as I walked lazily to the front, I muttered a silent prayer.
As the oil dripped down, I licked the droplets that fell on my lips with contentment as I walked toward my desk.
