Mmiri na ezo, Anwu na eti,
Oko Nnuona no na mpio!
Mmiri na ezo, Anwu na eti,
Oko Nnuona no na mpio!
Ugochukwu chanted as he sprinted gleefully around the dormitory block, feeling the refreshing chill of the sudden downpour soak through his skin. The surprise of rain in the middle of a bright Sunday had sent ripples of excitement through him. Still clad in his white chapel attire—short-sleeved shirt, crisp trousers, and gleaming white canvas shoes—he dashed about barefoot, his shirt stuck to his back, trousers abandoned on his bed in favour of his blue underpants. He hadn't even paused to fold his precious trousers. Fun called too loudly.
Rain and sunshine—a rare marriage. It echoed the old rhyme from his village in Umuagu, recited by children whenever heaven wept while the sun smiled:
"Mmiri na ezo, Anwu na eti, Oko Nnuona no na mpio!"
No one knew who this mythical Oko Nnuona was or why he dwelled in the compound's runoff corner when rain and sun danced together. But to Ugochukwu, it was simply the anthem of a boy's freedom.
His sprint became a scrub, rubbing his skin with swift palms, as though the droplets might rinse away the final traces of his troubles—the nightmares, the whispered fears at home, the shadows that followed the name Mazi Oke.
Where were his mates? Surely Emeka or Arinze wouldn't miss such rare fun. Maybe Emeka was with the laundry crew, and Arinze on his usual Sunday errand to the chaplain's quarters. Ugochukwu smiled—those errands kept Arinze in fresh meat pies and secrets.
"Ugochukwu! What madness are you doing?"
The voice cut into his moment like a cold slap. He halted, blinking away water, only to see Emeka staring, dumbfounded.
And then—more faces. Gboyega, Karibo, Benneth, Josiah—his dorm mates, watching from the doorway with mixed amusement and embarrassment. He wasn't home anymore. He was at Government College.
"You've been doing a full ritual dance out here?" Karibo teased. "Your guardian wants you in the Prefects' Room. You'd better move—fast!"
Ugochukwu approached the entrance to the Prefects' Room cautiously, anxiety bubbling beneath his wet skin.
"Good afternoon, please," he said, his voice more respectful than confident.
Wale looked up from his book, breaking into an amused grin. "And how are we today, young man?"
"I'm fine, please. I was told you wanted to see me."
"I hear you've been up to some mischief lately, eh?" Wale's tone was teasing but edged with formality. "A report came through about you. Pretty serious. Wait a second…"
Wale stopped mid-thought as another prefect strolled in. They exchanged nods. Once the newcomer settled, Wale resumed, guiding Ugochukwu toward the bright-red Flame of the Forest tree that decorated the lawn.
"There was a report from Daramola. He says you were rude to him."
Ugochukwu's heart pounded. "No, please," he said, eyes wide.
"Tell me your side," Wale said, leaning against the tree trunk.
"I went to my dorm yesterday morning to prepare for inspection. I found my comb broken on my bed. One of the boys said he saw Daramola throw it there."
"You remember the boy's name?"
"Yes, please. But he begged me not to mention it. He said Daramola might ambush him at night."
"Go on."
"I picked up the broken pieces after parade and went to Daramola. I asked him what I did to deserve that. First, he acted like he didn't know. Then I told him others saw it, and he got defensive. Said I should be grateful a senior even touched my comb. Then he threatened to 'shatter my jaw' if I didn't disappear."
"Did you say anything after that?"
"Only… I said that a senior should be able to afford his own comb."
Wale stifled a laugh, shaking his head. "You shouldn't have said that."
"But is it fair, sir?" Ugochukwu's eyes welled. "He didn't even apologize, and I'm the one in trouble."
"You're lucky the prefect he reported to came to me first," Wale said, his tone softening. "Otherwise you'd be serving two hours of punishment. One of our traditions here is respect for seniority. Even when they're wrong, there are ways to go about it. But don't worry—nothing will happen this time."
"Thank you, please," Ugochukwu said, bowing slightly.
Wale smiled and handed him two shillings. "Buy yourself another comb."
"Thank you very much, sir."
"And remember," Wale added, placing a firm hand on his shoulder, "if you have a complaint, speak to a prefect—respectfully. No shouting. No stubbornness. This is Government College, not your grandmother's compound. Understand?"
"Yes, please."
Wale's tone shifted slightly as he asked, "Now, what's this I hear about you running around like a rain-crazed goat?"
"Oh!" Ugochukwu blurted, "I was just enjoying the rain. I wasn't naked—just in my pants."
"You're no longer a primary school child," Wale said, gently but clearly. "You're in a prestigious institution. Look around—did you see anyone else outside half-naked?"
"No, sir. I'm sorry. I won't do it again."
As soon as he cleared the Prefects' Room, Ugochukwu thumped his head gently with both hands in mock punishment. How had he forgotten his status so quickly? The day had started so innocently. Now he had a warning on record.
But beneath his embarrassment, there was a smile. A small one. Because now, he felt more than just corrected—he felt seen. Not just as a boy from Umuagu, but as a young man learning the ways of something greater. Government College wasn't just about books and blazers.
It was about the weight of tradition, the test of character—and maybe, sometimes, even knowing when not to chase raindrops in your pants.