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How I Was Nicknamed ‘Awoko’ And How I Got Beat Up For Being Garrulous

© Sulyman Abdulkabeer (Agaka)

    In my view, a child who’s left to be living at Riwaq (Hostel) in a modrosah is a stubborn one. That was my thought from my childhood when I was enjoying the breeze of life under the umbrella of parenting. Until one lovely afternoon when I returned from a childhood outing as usual and my dad called out to me, to start packing my belongings that I would be traveling.
    “To where and why so sudden and soon like this?” I yelled while my mom uttered no word and gave me some cash while helping in packing my belongings. I couldn’t comprehend it at all, it seemed like I was about to be sold out as a slave.
    Some minutes later, I saw one Mallam (Cleric) coming out from my dad’s room and I greeted him prostrating, as an act of African culture to respect the elders.
     “So, Atanda, you will be leaving with this man and be a good child, I’ll be checking on you,” my Dad said in the presence of my mom and some family members.
    I could see the hidden tears rolling off my mom’s cheeks as she reached out to me and hugged me tight.
    “You’ll be fine and okay, Atanda, I’ll also be checking on you.”
    It was all like a drama to me because I couldn’t understand anything, I just believed that my parents wouldn’t do me harm by sending me out so, I followed the Mallam and we set off to his house at Isale Aluko within Ilorin, Kwara state even though I didn’t know the name of the place then.
     That was how my story began like an orphan under root of another parents. I was a boy of ten and I hadn’t known the tragedy of life. When we reached our destination, as I dashed off the car, a boy who seemed to be of my age came to helped carried my loads.
     The boy later became my room mate in Mallam’s house. The atmosphere looked strange to me as everywhere was crowdy and clumsy. I met with kids and adults, boys and girls with different learning materials. Some with Wala (reading wood), some with Quran and some with literal books.
     I spent two days smelling everywhere without talking just remembering home and crying, everyone laughed at me.
     One fateful day, two young boys came to me and scoped me out of my brain to buy corn and peanut from a woman who sells such in our arena. I was fooled and spent my money buying them the corn.
     “Them no go tell person, you’ll soon be wise., a senior whispered at my back and everyone bursted in to laughter
    I was adapted to the new environment in no time. I started showing them my true self, I used to disturb everyone and narrated to them some stories. Sometimes, I’ll just gather people of my age and spare them some crusade sermons, some valid and invalid discussions, just to put smile on their faces. I hate being left alone with my thoughts.
    The young boy whom we used to sleep together in Mallam’s room (Sodiq) gave me a talkative name. He called me out amidst our jungle one day and shouted,” Abdulkabeer, “you’re a parrot (Awoko) why? e never tire you ni, abi na only you dey Ilekewu., he yelled at me and ran away because he knew what I could do.
     The whole crowd bursted into laughter and stamped the name in congregational voice, “Awoko.” I was infuriated.
     I was nicknamed Awoko but no one dared calling me that except two of my seniors: Alfa Ridwan and Alfa Agboji. The former mentioned senior was jovial while the latter was strict so I couldn’t stop them from calling me that. I had no choice but to accept everyone call me with that, the name became popular in my hood even in the entire Isale Aluko in Ilorin, kwara state, most of them didn’t really know my real name but Awoko.
     Awoko was not a bad name and I was not the first person giving a nickname. Some would say “Awoko Anobi., one of our teachers would say “Awoko Mualim” and some would say “Awoko Kewu., the name filled everyone’s mouth and I couldn’t escape it anymore.
    This name didn’t mean talkative alone to some, it means Brilliant one who’s charmed with Parrot as source of knowledge and turned to garrulous one brilliantly. Anyone they called it, fine, I was not charmed maybe that’s just my nature, talkatively brilliant.
     The day I got a beat for being garrulous was an unforgettable day as the scars of the beating can never be erased from my body and whenever I see the scars, it brings back the memory to my brain and I’ll laugh loudly, painful laughter.

    It was on one sunny and calm afternoon, when everywhere was silent and calm. I have become a senior but junior senior. As usual, I gathered my junior ones whose levels hadn’t reached mine but some were my mates with age and started teaching and lecturing them about metaphysical thoughts (paradise and hell). Everyone was calm while listening very thoughtfully as I continued bombing the streets.
    When it came to the matter of hell with its sorrowful and lamenting palaver, everyone would mourn with gaped mouth and when it’s about paradise, everyone would be happy and would shout joyfully. That was how the matter began to rise when everyone started over reacting about paradise and started dancing, “I’ll marry untouched girls and I’ll be enjoying the fresh drinks” everyone kept saying it loudly and dancing for an unseen hereafter.
    Unknowingly to us, Mallam (our mentor) was asleep inside and our chattering noise had woken him up.
    We all knew how the life revolved in Madrosah, everything we had to do must be mannerly operated but we’re out of control this very afternoon. He (Mallam) sneaked out of the room and no one even noticed on time until we nearly moved to him while shouting.
     “Abdulkabeer, I know you’re the cause and effect of this and you’ve been warned several times. Today is your last chance, everyone lie down flat., he said and he called out three of our seniors to come drag us flat while he brought out Mr white in his pocket; mr white was the name we used to call that callous wire that marked most of our fresh skins. It was like hell!

    My strokes was the uncountable one as I was dragged like a toad before the hands of these giant seniors while my body was nakedly receiving the strokes, I saw hell, the opposite of paradise!
    No one to render pleas for us and even if anyone tried it, they’ll later regret of doing so. That’s the nature Madrosah (Islamic school). I was beat up satisfactorily and I couldn’t stand up again by myself after the beating. Different scars were marked on my body; I cried blood!

    I couldn’t stand up again on my feet after the beating, if not for the sake of our Eleha(Mallam’s wife) who helped me out of the floor and effleuraged my body with Ori (traditional cream) and I was placed on a box to sleep. After I woke up from over 5 hours of sleeping, no one told me to be maintaining my speech as I became a taciturn lad up till now.
    It doesn’t mean that I didn’t again but on a needed occasion and in a needed matter; even if I’m to do so, I’ll make sure everything set meticulously.

    Prophet Muhammad (S.A.W) said, “It’s not good for a good Muslim to stumble in a hole twice.”
    Everything must be scaled, not too much and not too less. That’s why you always see me going on my own without meddling in any unconcerned matter. Madrosah had taught me beyond much I can share (Lessons).

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