Baba,
   
  Your reminiscences of student life at Armitage highlight the general challenges of boarding school. The abusive behavior of some senior students and the regimented life-style aggravated by an omnipresent and overly controlling school authority must have influenced the decision of certain parents who may have otherwise sent their children to the institution. 
   
  I used to listen to my sister narrate harrowing tales of punishment for the smallest infraction, and the excessive eating of mudaake or kanyaa by some. (Baba, I’m sorry I know this delicacy is irresistible to Jallows and we still have a few more hours to go before sunset).
   
  For a school that has produced some of the finest minds in our country, I wonder where Armitage should have drawn the fine line between what could be considered abusive behavior and the upkeep of discipline.
   
  The punishments notwithstanding, the humorous pranks and the dare-devil escapades would have made any youth jealous of your few moments of stolen freedom.
   
  Ajaaraama!
   
  Momodou.


Baba Galleh Jallow <[log in to unmask]> wrote:  [ This e-mail is posted to Gambia|Post e-Gathering by "Baba Galleh Jallow" ]


Armitage Revisited

By Baba Galleh Jallow

I sat for a long time looking at the notice before me. Armitage was 70. 
There was going to be a great reunion of ex-students at the school grounds 
that weekend. There has been a program on TV and a notice in the papers 
heralding the event. The Armitage Ex-Students Association had been having a 
series of meetings, which I could not attend. Good old Armitage, the ancient 
school for the sons of chiefs; Armitage of the mystic airs and incessant 
bird songs; Armitage of the musical nights and Saturday inspections! How I 
wished I could be there that weekend to relieve the sweet memories of life 
at Fuladu Kunda, the famous Hamlin!

My heart cried for Armitage, that melting pot of growing spirits in whose 
bubbling bowels my character was formed, my life spiced with the salt of 
beautiful experiences. My heart cried for Armitage of the silent airs and 
the cool shades, for the tender walls of Grey Kunda, Saloum Kunda, Niani 
Kunda, Girls’ Dormitory, the chiming of the famous gong calling us to 
prayers, to the dining hall, to assembly, to the unfailing roll call at the 
mosque or announcing lights out. How I wish I could stand and bend down and 
prostrate again on the floor of that beautiful small mosque behind the 
physics and chemistry labs! How I wish I could, once again, listen to the 
roll call of the Mosque Committee Member every Friday, before marching into 
town for the congregational prayers. I remember how I never missed mosque 
and how I liked preaching upstage. I remember one night in the Assembly 
hall, how one boy went upstage and asked me why I liked preaching so much.

My heart cried at the sweet memories of my famous Nigerian classmate, Yunusa 
Lawal, whom we called Baba Jigida. There was no animal sound Yunusa could 
not imitate. When he went upstage, he would expertly respond to the floor’s 
requests for dog! horse! chicken! cat Yunusa cat! Ay Yunusa Chinese! Yunusa 
Indian! And Yunusa would make funny sounds imitating these animals and 
languages. And how we laughed and clapped! Baba Jigida! Baba Jigida! we 
would shout and Yunusa would plunge into his favorite show, an agile and 
aggressive show of karatemanship accompanied by shrill cries of yaach! 
tassum! tassum! From the floor we shouted Yunusa Iron fist! Eagle Claw! Ey 
Yunusa Monkey style! Yunusa Tiger Paw! Ey deadly kick! And Yunusa would 
expertly throw his fists and swing his legs and roll on the floor and loudly 
shout, imitating Kung Fu and Shaolin martial arts masters. Outside the hall, 
Yunusa liked challenging everyone to a karate contest. One day I 
intentionally dealt him such a heavy blow on the back that he asked me 
whether I was playing. That was the last time he challenged me and anytime I 
saw him and sanni paar, Yunusa would say ah Baba! I am tired and walk away 
or cleverly talk of other things.

A biting nostalgia gripped my heart as memories of Bahind, where we used to 
go late at night or in early mornings to heat our rice run through my mind 
like blades of pain. I heard the sizzling of the cold rice as it heated up 
and the smell of edible fat wafted through my nostrils. God! How I hated 
Edible Fat! How I complained every time the powerful smell of melting Edible 
Fat was carried from the kitchen and transported through the windows of our 
classrooms! I remember lights-out when only the councilors and a few favored 
junior boys who were generous with their dumpeh and their futo and mudaake 
were allowed outside. I remember the hash clanging of the metal bar against 
the head of my donkey bed, waking me up for dawn prayers. All Muslims went 
for dawn prayers because there was always a roll call and the prospect of 
some mountainous punishment like cleaning the toilets, the dining hall, or 
scrubbing a whole block till it shone and would not stain even a tissue 
paper! Christians had to attend mass every Sunday!

Nostalgic memories of musical night came drifting across the screen of my 
mind and pulled so hard at the strings of my heart. The general excitement 
on campus, the freedom in the air, the blaring music, the shouts, the 
clapping and the shuffling of dancing feet wrapped me up like an enchanted 
mist and transported me back to Armitage, my Armitage. Memories of Jungle 
rose through my heart like a resurrected forest. It was over the fence and 
via Jungle that we made our illegal night escapades into town. The penalty 
was expulsion if found in Jungle and definite three weeks suspension if 
caught in town. But all the same, we jumped over the fence and stole out to 
town under cover of darkness, through Mansuanka kunda to buy cigarettes or 
enjoy some meal at a friend’s house. There were outings on Wednesday 
afternoons when we were all free to go into town – in uniform of course – to 
do whatever we wanted. If you were caught without a uniform, three weeks 
suspension – and come back with your parents to suffer some 6 to 12 lashes 
and possibly clean the assembly hall or toilets!

I remember when one day, the strict Mr. Pa Diouf of Modern Maths fame caught 
me smoking in the dormitory. About six of us were smoking in my corner, but 
I had the misfortune of just taking the cigarette from one of the boys when 
I heard a voice at my window say “give it to me, give it to me.” The other 
boys melted into the darkness and I was left holding the offensive butt 
which I reluctantly handed over to Mr. Diouf. What a fear-filled and 
sleepless night that was! Fortunately, our strict principal, the late Mr. 
Abdoulie Ceesay, alias Mborr, was not in town and the vice principal, Njie 
Physics, citing my good record, gave me only one week’s suspension. I dared 
not go home to my village, of course. My father would kill me! Somehow, I 
managed to stay around town and after the longest week of my life, forged an 
elder brother to act as my parent and was accepted back with stern warnings. 
“You are very lucky,” Mborr said to me. “If I was here you’ll go for three 
weeks.” That would have been terrible, for I had already missed my first 
paper in the end of term exams… One other day, when I was Deputy Seyfo, I 
just turned a corner after an illegal escapade into town when I came face to 
face with Mborr’s dreaded land rover. I dashed behind a wall, but not before 
Mborr spotted me with his keen eyes. The next day, Mborr called me and said 
“Seyfo, lawmakers should not be lawbreakers.” “Yes sir,” I replied and he 
asked me to go. I have never forgotten those memorable words.

I remember all those beautiful places we used to go for studies. I was 
unused to studying in the library and chose instead to spending the 
afternoons reading in the surrounding bushes or at riverside even though 
here too, was strictly out of bounds. There were such places as first 
irrigation, second irrigation, and Oyoko clan where my friend Mass Jobe and 
I used to study, and when we had money, prepared clandestine attaya. Attaya 
was banned on campus at the pain of expulsion because charcoal used to be 
untidily littered everywhere. When daredevils like Kills and others stole 
sheep or goats, riverside was where they took it for roasting and feasting.

I remember how Mborr began every address at assembly with a Latin quotation. 
How Yunusa made us laugh when he mimicked Mborr with fabricated Latin 
phrases! Every Latin phrase expressed a moral story on which the principal 
would base his address, more often than not, centering on the fact that some 
of us were doing this thing or that, and that if ever we got caught…. But 
while we feared the terrible prospect of getting caught and facing Mborr, we 
nevertheless sneaked into town and swam in the river and prepared attaya in 
the bushes and smoked in the dormitory. And there were always those wizards 
who smelled cigarette smoke from amazing distances and came scouting in the 
dark for the source of the enchanting smell. Even a single pull was enough! 
One cigarette served as many as ten people! There were some boys who were so 
crazy as to jump over the wall and sneak into Girl’s Dormitory which was 
strictly out of bounds for all boys except prefects on Inspection days!

How so very sweet and innocent those days were! Those days when we walked or 
ran to End of Island in search if sideme and baobab fruits! Those days of 
the numerous mosquitoes and creamy pap! Those days of Mba Khaddy with her 
delicious bread and liver, Mam Mojel, that blind old woman who lived alone 
in a dilapidated hut by the roadside! Those days of mischief-making when I 
perfected the art of mockery. I had a near fight with Njagga Khan whom I 
persisted in calling him Oh ye who believe! Njagga hated IRK (Islamic 
studies) and so did not like me calling him Oh ye! I used to laugh so much 
at Baba Karamo, the big boy who, at a false alarm that Mr. King was coming, 
dashed under the bed and came out looking so funny. How I laughed when 
Ousainou John found a small tortoise and brought it to our dormitory, 
keeping it in a big tomato tin half-filled with wet mud. Mbonaat! I would 
shriek after lights-out and the entire room would burst out laughing. Ous 
would loudly threaten saying, “Yow Galleh, dang ma paree yab teddu. Legi tey 
ma nyuss la!” and I would say I’m sorry. Every morning, I would go to Ous’ 
bedside and seriously ask “Ous naka Mbonaat bi…”

I remember my old school and classmates, Agama Agama, Bambo Daa, Zim, Baba 
Jigida, Mama Ibeji, Angel, Sana Blood, Clear, Pussy Cat, Carlos Complex, 
Paco Girl, Crafty Ben, Kim II Sung, Jesus Christ, Iry Man, Man Mountain, Lux 
Baba, the great mathematician. Almost everybody at Armitage had a nickname! 
I hear the defiant voice of Seyfo Ndongo Sillah saying “If you think you are 
brave, come and attack me” when he imposed mass punishment at the Assembly 
or Dining Hall. At Armitage during debates and symposiums, if one student 
made some noise, the entire student body was asked to kneel down; and God 
help those who refused to obey, however big he was. Big boys who came to 
Armitage were still Green Leaves and could be punished for no reason at all 
by the smallest of prefects. At Armitage, the rule was always OBEY AND 
COMPLAIN!

I hear the laughter that greeted Angel’s announcement one day at the dinning 
hall that all those without teas should raise their hands …. Everyone 
thought teas was wrong English and henceforth, whenever Angel went upstage, 
we all would repeatedly shout teas! teas! Often, we all ended up on our 
knees on the dinning hall floor…sometimes with our hands up, our eyes shut, 
our mouths wide open! Only at Armitage!

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