It was the last Saturday of the month when the Lagos chapter of old boys’ association of St. Pius X, Onicha-Ugbo, holds their monthly meeting. It is a convergence of a particular set, class of 84.
The hosting method is rotational. This particular day, it was my brother’s turn to host. The house was full, not because of the visiting old classmates but because of some children whose parents (our family friends) attended a wedding ceremony and left them with my nieces, Ebele and Mimi.
They were five children whose age range was between three and seven years. The youngest was three years old.
Mimi and Ebele, who are both teenagers, played the perfect hostesses and guardians to their younger guests.
I came in to meet them in the middle of their play. I took the position of an observer. As it is common and natural with children, everywhere is home. There were no holds barred, no inhibitions and they were free and had space to express themselves. They had been playing before I came in.
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I met them in a conversation where they were choosing types of professions. It was quite interesting to watch them in their true nature, devoid of inhibitions. It was an expression of who they were and what they wanted to be when they grow up. It was an absolutely engaging time out with them. The fact that they were ignorant didn’t stop their power of expression.
They had started this session of play with the song, indicating different choices of profession. Obviously, it was a replay of the drama in their school.
“I want to be a nurse so I can treat people,” said Kachi, the seven-year-old girl. She introduced her choice with the behavioural pattern of nurses and dramatised how she would treat her patients. She ended up by saying, “I want to make money so I can build a big house for my mum.” Applause greeted her performance.
It was Efe’s turn. He was a smart little boy of not more than four years. His slight challenge was inability to pronounce some words perfectly. Nonetheless, he was as active as every other child. His introduction was great. He defended his choice of being a teacher well enough but didn’t get to pronounce the word teacher correctly. “When I grow up, I would like to be a cheecher.”
As soon as he said this, the others literally fell over themselves in mockery of the mispronunciation. Initially, he braved up in defence, but the more he pronounced, the more they laughed, especially his younger ones. This, Efe found embarrassing. I knew trouble was brewing. A big bear hug and praises for his choice of profession and the influence of teachers in our lives quelled his anger. He walked away with pride, especially when I informed them that without teachers’ influence, no professional can be.
“But why do you want to be a teacher?” Mimi asked him.
“So that I can spank Kene very well,” came his response.
“Wonderful. Oh, only so you can flog Nene?” Mimi remarked.
“No, No, mummy, our auntie said that you don’t flog. You spank,” Obiora corrected and went on with some newly acquired phonetics.
“Mummy, it is not basket. It is baskit. You are a nerse, mummy; not a nurse. Our auntie told us in the school”
For Ike, his choice was understandable. His preference for specific cartoon characters was an indication of what he would like to be when he grows up. I was told that he liked power bikes and military gears.
He had once told his father’s friend, who is in the military, of how much he liked to be like him.
The guy finally got him a camouflage of the military uniform. To say that he was excited was merely stating the obvious.
“I want to be policeman so that I will shoot people,” Ike said in his husky voice.
“No, my dear, you will not shoot anyone,” I corrected.
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“Mummy, but I like police and soldier. Please, buy me car and buy me police station,” he pleaded.
“No, Ike, nobody buys a police station. A car, we can buy for you, but not a police station.”
Okay na, mummy, I want to be a lawyer when I grow up,” Ike said making a second profession. I thought that was a plan B and, perhaps, an afterthought
“That’s better,” said Ebele, who had silently watched the drama all along. “I like that, too,” she informed. “Although, that’s not what I want to be in future,” she quickly corrected. And with a sense of pride and triumph, Ike took a bow amid applause, too.
Dede was the last and the smallest. She was a pretty little girl of about three and a half years old and everyone’s pet.
At the mere mention of her name, she raised her hand and exclaimed in her tiny little voice.
“Mummy, I want to be a fish,” this, naturally drew thunderous laughter.
“What?” “fish?” “Is fish a profession?” “Ahhhhh!” they all chorused.
“Yes na, Mummy,” she turned to me for some defence. “Is a fish not good?”
“Yes, sweetheart but a fish is not a profession or do you want to change to a fish when you grow up?”
The whole conversation began to make sense now. And she screamed, “No, no, I am not a fish. I don’t want to be a fish. I want to be a doctor.”
As soon as she pronounced this, her cousin, Ekwi, protested, “I want to be a doctor too. I said it first. I don’t want you to be a doctor. How can you be a doctor when I first said that that is what I want to be?”
“Okay, I want to be a lawyer so that I can go to school,” Dede laughed, sensing that others who laughed may have done so because she didn’t get it.
It was such a funny scene. Ekwi had argued with so much energy and conviction, as if there was prize money attached to it. I wondered what all the fuss was about when two people can read medicine in a family.
With tears streaming down her cheeks, Ekwi pointed out that medicine was her initial submission and Dede had no right to take same position with her.
The kids were simply amazing. I was privileged to be have spent such quality time with them.
