"Congrats, K.K. Lux!" Ugochukwu hailed Kelechi, one of his more flamboyant classmates, as they walked towards the main dormitory block after prep.
Kelechi, grinning, tilted his head with exaggerated curiosity. "How did you hear about it? I only got the letter this afternoon."
"Letter?" Ugochukwu paused. "I was talking about your farm harvest, of course."
Kelechi rolled his eyes and flicked his fingers dismissively. "Farm harvest, my boots! Who still wants to be a farmer after grinding through Government College?"
"Whether or not you want to be a farmer…"
"I've declared it a thousand times. I'm going to be the Government Chemist for all of Nigeria. The moment I snag my Grade One in School Cert—preferably with exemption from London Matric—I'll head to Cambridge. Or Oxford. Do my Honours Tripos in Chemistry. Then come back to chase out the last white chemist in office."
"We know the whole speech by heart," Ugochukwu replied, grinning.
"I'm flattered. Means I'm convincing." Kelechi's grin widened. "In fact, all of you should steer clear of chemistry tests from now on. I need clear skies to fly."
Ugochukwu laughed. "When did I become 'all of you'? You this tortoise."
"Ah! Aproprinquo!" Ugochukwu mimicked their English master's odd pronunciation.
Kelechi faked a scowl. "You still on that tortoise wahala? Since when did it become 'taught us'?"
"Since Mr. James declared it so, just like 'pomade' is now 'p'mard'. You go to Nkwerre market and ask for 'p'mard', and see if they don't hand you chalk instead!"
"Let me get to Oxford first. When I return, I'll twist my tongue like a real Brit. But for now? Tortoise it is."
Ugochukwu chuckled. "Anyway, I heard your yams nearly matched Akpabio's."
"I didn't weigh them, and I don't care. You think I till the soil for fun? I strategically picked the plot beside Akpabio's, watched him work both, and in exchange I claimed full mazoo rights on the corn!"
"You and Emeka are the same. Except that Emeka doesn't even care about the corn."
Kelechi looked intrigued. "Doesn't like corn?"
"He says Nigerian corn is what they feed to cows in the U.S. Not sweet enough."
"This same corn? Including amiacha? Who raised this boy?"
"He refuses to eat ube too. All because Chikwe pranked him with a courtma variety that numbed his tongue. Now, even when I offer him ejigh ato, he won't go near it."
"And coconut?"
"Too hard for his precious teeth."
"White boy problems."
"Well, his mother's British, so…"
"Better than you bush boys pretending to be British!"
"Easy now! I may be from a bush village, but at least I understand our lessons."
Kelechi's smile wavered slightly. Academic banter always made him uneasy. He shone in chemistry but floundered elsewhere.
"Come," he said, changing the subject. "Let me show you something. Thought that's why you congratulated me."
They strolled into Dorm A. Kelechi unlocked his locker with flair and pulled out a pristine pair of Clark's sandals, creamy soles polished like they had never known dust.
Ugochukwu lunged and grabbed a sandal. "Wahala! I'm wearing them to Sunday chapel!"
Kelechi shot after him like a firecracker. The dormitory echoed with laughter and thudding feet as they circled the iron bunk beds twice before Ugochukwu surrendered.
Back at his locker, Kelechi pulled out a certificate bordered with faded brown floral designs. "Behold! I am now a proud member of the League of Ovaltine Drinkers."
Ugochukwu's eyes widened at the elegant calligraphy. "What does one do to join this noble society?"
"Simple. Just drink twelve tins of Ovaltine."
Ugochukwu eyed him skeptically. "You? With your spaghetti limbs?"
"Rubbish!" Kelechi protested, clutching his medal. "It's not about weight. You just need to send twelve foil tops to the League."
"Sounds like a club for the rich."
"Come on, you've got a scholarship. Plus, didn't your farm yield well?"
"Everything was taken to the school store this morning. But the cost of the seed yams will be deducted. Boys like Akpabio—who farmed more than two plots—are the only ones smiling."
"Akpabio, ah. The guy works like a donkey. Even during term time, he does laundry and errands to survive."
"At least he has an uncle who's well off. You'd think he'd get some help."
"Maybe he does. From the 'Hammer' school of suffering."
Ugochukwu smirked. "Your Ovaltine League can wait until I roast my four golden cobs. Left them in the kitchen."
When he arrived at the school kitchen, the cobs were gone. Not even the husks remained.
"Who took my corn?" he asked. No one answered.
Eventually, one of the older cooks took him aside and whispered, "Swear you won't say a word."
"I swear."
"It was Wale."
"Wale?" Ugochukwu's jaw dropped.
"The prefect?"
The cook nodded. "He roasted all four. Ate them with palm oil and salt. Didn't even share."
Ugochukwu clenched his fists. Of all the people...