For so many of the adolescent children in the then East Central State of Nigeria in the 70s, like myself, the dream was to attend one of the famous secondary schools founded by the missionaries. East Central State was made up of the present South East states of Enugu, Imo, Anambra, Abia and Ebonyi.
A great number of us who grew up in the Coal City of Enugu which was the capital of East Central State wanted so desperately to attend such popular colleges as College of Immaculate Conception (CIC), Enugu; Christ the King College (CKC), Onitsha; Denis Memorial Grammar School (DMGS), Onitsha; Holy Ghost College, Owerri; and Bishop Shanahan College, Orlu. There were other frontline colleges that attracted so much of the interest of adolescent male pupils then including Government College, Umuahia; Government College, Owerri; Trinity High School, Oguta; St. Augustine’s Grammar School, Nkwerre, and so on.
In 1974, I sat for common entrance examination conducted by the East Central State Ministry of Education. It was my first external exam. I had prepared adequately for the examination as I was eager to gain admission into secondary school from primary 5. I got into the examination hall confident as ever. I was convinced beyond every reasonable doubt that I performed excellently well in that examination. Unfortunately, when the results were released, I did not receive mine. This compelled me to engage in retrospective reflection of what could have happened. Eventually, I had a leeway, as I was able to untie the mystery surrounding my unfortunate situation. I recollected that immediately after receiving my question paper, I started solving the questions from the back page even before we were officially permitted to write. My primary focus was to answer all questions as correctly as possible. Hence, when we were ordered to commence writing, I rushed to the front page to concentrate on providing the answers without writing my examination number. I completed the examination early with a sense of satisfaction that I performed very well. I did not see any need to go through my work again. Perhaps, I would have detected the serious anomaly or omission if I had done so. I went ahead to submit my paper exuding the confidence of a top-performing pupil. I paid dearly for it when I had no result. Thus, I had to spend one more year to complete primary 6.
When I eventually wrote my next common entrance examination, I was extremely cautious not to allow a repeat of my previous unfortunate experience. I had to first of all exercise great carefulness to write my examination number before proceeding to scrupulously provide answers to the questions. This time around, I passed with an aggregate of 30. The results were contained in a very bulky edition of the government-owned Renaissance Newspaper, which was used to publish the annual common entrance examination results for the entire East Central State. That year’s edition was the last before the first splitting of the state into Anambra and Imo States.
Unfortunately, I was to encounter yet another setback. I had selected as my preferred choice of schools most of the top-rated colleges in the state then, as enumerated earlier. Very sadly and regrettably, I found my name listed for admission in an unknown school, Community Secondary School, Eziama Obiato. Not only that the school was not among the choices that I made, none of my nuclear and distant family members had ever heard about the existence of the school prior to this time. It was after my father’s relocation to Owerri, the capital of the newly created Imo State, that, he eventually got to know where the school that I was posted as one of the pioneer students in 1975 was located. He discovered the newly founded secondary school to be lying somewhere along the Owerri-Onitsha expressway in the Mbaitoli LGA axis. Before this discovery, I had secured admission to Bishop Shanahan College (BSC), Orlu, in Imo State.
The process of gaining admission into BSC was not an easy one. In fact, it smacked more of a miracle, or a product of providence than any other factor. We were well over one hundred pupils who sought to be admitted to the reputable college. There were just about a paltry ten vacant admission positions to fill. The selection process after the rigorous screening of qualified candidates was by balloting. The school authorities had written “yes” and “no” on squeezed pieces of paper which were dropped in a hat placed on a high table. The candidates formed a single lengthy line for the purpose of taking turns to pick the squeezed papers from the hat.
I had taken a position on the long queue somewhere not too far from the rear. As majority of the candidates were taking their turns in picking the squeezed papers which mostly had “no” inscribed on them, it was gradually getting to my turn. Curiously, I found myself giving up my position and retreating backwards. Eventually, I found myself occupying the last spot on the queue. I simply couldn’t muster the courage to pick before the other candidates. My heart kept skipping a beat. I was just fidgeting. The fear of missing the opportunity to attend this illustrious and imposing college scared me so stiff.
My perceivable nervousness irritated my father (who was present), visibly. My father’s maternal uncle, Nze Simon Okwara and another prominent kinsman, Chief Peter Duruobishiri, both of blessed memory, who had accompanied us to BSC, Orlu, were no less infuriated that I was relinquishing my positions on the queue and retreating to the rear. In the end, there were just two of us left on the queue to pick the remaining squeezed pieces of paper in the hat. From the number of candidates who had successfully picked the “yes” ballot, only one more “yes” paper was lying in the near-empty hat. The second remaining one obviously was a “no” paper. It was now very dicey for the two of us left on the queue. The young boy that was there with me was the first to stick out his hand to pick one of the outstanding papers. Upon opening the squeezed paper, he was confronted with a displeasing “no” inscribed on the paper. Everyone automatically knew that the lone paper left there in the hat contained the final “yes” inscription. When I picked and opened it with bated breath, I was expectedly greeted with a “yes” inscription. This loudly and miraculously heralded my admission into the prestigious Bishop Shanahan College, Orlu. There was thunderous ovation from the crowd for me. My father’s face was suddenly lit up with smiles that had hitherto eluded him since I was acting funny on the line. His uncle and Chief Duruobishiri were not spared of this new-found excitement. We all returned home that day in a very joyful mood.
Preparations for me to return to the famous institution followed thereafter in earnest. Eventually, I began my secondary education in one of the schools I had a fancy and fantasy for, an institution founded by the Catholic Missionaries in 1949.
The experience during my admission exercise into BSC, Orlu left me with a fundamental lesson. I learnt from the drama of how I gave up my positions on the queue until I found myself occupying the rear position and yet getting to be lucky to clutch the piece of paper that announced my admission to BSC meant that, sometimes, it’s not our struggles or eagerness to achieve our goals that hold the magic wands. It made me to believe strongly in providence. Therefore, it pays sometimes to be patient and calm as we purse our goals in life. Aggression and desperation may not necessarily provide veritable and potent pathways to our expected goal destinations. The drama of my admission to BSC taught me a huge lesson in patience and providence.
Joachim OLUMBA, a retired Comptroller of Immigration Service and a Knight of St. John International wrote in from Owerri, Imo State.
