USUAL VICTIMS written by Muyis Adepoju

At twenty-five, Princess still believes in the Nigerian dream. She hurries through her morning chores as she plays in her mind a thousand different ways about how to tell her students that the planned excursion to the national zoo had been postponed for the fifth time in a single term. The heated discussion she had with her principal a day before kept interrupting her thoughts as she brushed her long hair in front of the equally long standing mirror. She had been furious when the principal, a dark stoic man, had told her that she could spend her whole life trying to get an appointment with the commissioner of education and that she might die in the process.
‘There is no better way to go!’ She thundered at the principal with arms akimbo. The eerie silence that followed cut through the tension in the stuffy office like a hot knife gliding through butter. The relationship between them had blossomed when she was still a Corps member, observing the mandatory one year compulsory service for her country after graduation from the higher institution. It had been easy for her to be liked because she had given more than was required of her in a scheme that was slowly biting the dust. She was so dedicated to her temporary job that the school board with the support of the N.Y.S.C. lobbied for her to stay behind after the service year as a permanent staff. She stayed not because it was better than leaving but because there was nothing out there. In her family alone, there are three university graduates that are still roaming the streets. Some families have more. Early on in her school days, she had promised herself not to be a victim of circumstances. So when she was posted to a remote area in the western region of the country to teach in a government owned secondary institution, she decided to stay on if asked. She had consoled herself with the theory that things would eventually get better and she would get a better job. Albeit the theory still remains so with the stark reality that it just might get worse, Princess remains undaunted in her noble quest of imparting knowledge on her unassuming students. Now three years on the staff of the school, she finds herself pitching her tent with the school children rather than with the school staff. Everything she does for the benefit of the children in particular and the school in general has always come with a price. She fights all the time to get things done. So this confrontation was normal.
The short ride to school is uneventful. She has now in her mind a convincing story to tell her students as she alights from the motorcycle in front of the school gate. She walks straight to the staffroom to sign the attendance register with mixed feelings. She exchanges greetings with her colleagues and one of them informs her that the principal wants to see her.
In the principal’s office, she sits down in one of the rickety arm-chairs facing him and makes to apologize for her outburst the day before. But he waves his hand, signaling her to forget it as he launches into his speech.
‘I used to be like you when I was your age, Princess. I tried to make things work. I questioned authority. Because you want to know, I will tell you. These children will be victims all their lives. They will be at the mercy of corrupt government officials who will use the money meant for their education to send their own children abroad. Who cares about them? They are the usual victims.’
‘I do.’
Princess would go out on a limp and get her students their much anticipated excursion. It would be her baptism into the world of activism as she would lose her job in the process. But later on in life, she would tell her children that nothing compared to the looks on the faces of her students that day when she finally told them that they would make the excursion. And she gave everything she could to get a replay of that undiluted show of gratitude that only selfless service deserves all her life. Her N.G.O (USUAL VICTIMS) had put smiles on the faces of thousands of children in the country and she had twice rejected the call to serve as the commissioner of education in her state. She would coyly reply that she had done that once during her N.Y.S.C year.
‘Whatever you do that puts a smile on your face in the morning and makes you sleep peacefully like a baby at night is a job worth keeping.’She would later tell her children.
But for now, she will just leave the principal’s office, go to her classroom and serve the usual victims their pack of lies.

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