My boarding house dairy—of protests, protestantism, starting a church, falling in love, missing out and more (Part I)
Like I recalled in a gathering of friends a few hours ago, I began my secondary school life with a scandal, or at least that’s what I called it. A certain 12-year old classmate of mine, a girl, would compose and sing my name loud at the tap where we all gathered to fetch water.
“Victor, Victor, we should be having sex…”
That became the subject of a viral story all round our little campus of not more than 100 kids and 10 buildings. I would spend so many weeks scared and bearing a weight of guilt. I looked forward to how, in a matter of days, the principal would call for me and send me home, to never return. I would laugh it off many years after because I had indeed committed no offence and was not responsible for whatever made her see me in her dreams.
We lived a timetabled life. Wake up 5.30am, walk across the football pitch shivering in cold in what was in the middle of a forest towards an open auditorium where we had morning devotion. Every other hour followed with designated activities, including when we had to sleep for 1 hour in the after. Wahala for who no feel sleepy.
Our religious sessions were those mornings as well as Chapel time on Sundays. It was a Anglican-diocese-owned school and we sang the hymns and followed the proceedings.
Oh Lord my God when am in awesome wonder… I never knew what that meant till date.
At some point in maybe JS2, I suddenly felt a rush of revival in me. It was fueled by stories my dad told of how they founded student fellowships in the most difficult situations. Our church was RCCG and as a part of the pentecostal fold, we naturally looked down upon the creed-led Christianity of the Methodists and Anglicans. Don’t even get us started with the Catholics.
So I gathered a number of my classmates and juniors. I can’t remember if I did a handwritten poster or letter to be passed around. Whatever I did, I know the very first gathering was impressive in number and had close to half of the entire student population cramped up in one classroom to listen to a sermon and sing along to a service called by a fellow student, which was me.
In a story that still plays out for me as a weakness till date, but adequately covered by my business partner, I put all the time in the publicity of the first service and none on preparing my sermon.
That dawned on me only a few minutes to the being called out by who I had appointed “church secretary”. So I went up, while flipping open a random page of the Bible.
“Let’s open our Bible to the book of Matthew, Chapter 7, verses 1 and 2. ‘Do not judge, or you too will be judged. For in the same way you judge others, you will be judged, and with the measure you use, it will be measured to you.’ This is very important to keep in mind when relating with others. May we be blessed. Let us pray”.
Not a sermon I was proud of but we had begun something and I was proud of that feat. It made my first ‘major’ act of protest, looking back and unknown to me at the time. I had felt the school’s spiritual fire was too weak and I had to bring the students together like my father did in his youth days. We had to call upon God in our own voices and not by some creeds we read from books.
You want to know what the school did in response? They blamed themelves for freeing up that 1-hour period we found ‘so free in our timetable we could create a fellowship’, and turned it into… wait for it… a fellowship, led by the school’s chaplain in the chapel.
One service, one verse, one Christ our saviour.
My next act of rebellion, years after, had a pen in my hand and not a Bible, and it began with an announcement from the Federal Government. The school never saw this coming. Same as you.
Let me know in the Comments if you want Part II.
