Chapter 4: The Rule Book
The morning assembly on Tuesday started with the usual line-up of students in green-on-green uniforms, polished black shoes, and white socks pulled high—Bosol's unmistakable and immovable dress code. The school's motto, "God is our Refuge," glinted under the early morning sun above the stage banner, catching every eye and reminding them why they were here.
As the National Anthem faded, the Director stepped forward. He was a short man with a round belly and a slow, deliberate way of speaking. Yet, despite his calm voice, everyone quieted immediately when he held the microphone.
"Good morning, students."
"Good morning, sir," the crowd responded in a chorus.
"I want to talk about something very simple," he said, holding up a small blue book. "The Rule Book. You all received this on resumption day. Some of you have not even opened it. But let me assure you: ignorance is not an excuse."
Victory shifted uneasily in line. She had, in fact, used her copy of the rule book as a notebook divider.
The Director flipped a page and read aloud: "Rule 5: Students must wear white socks pulled up and black shoes properly polished every day. Sanctions apply for defaulters."
As if on cue, the Directress stepped forward, wearing her usual long Ankara gown and headscarf. She eyed the students with a gaze so sharp it could slice bread.
She pointed. "You there! Step out!"
A girl from SS1 shuffled out. Her socks were ankle-length and her shoes had dust on them.
The Directress frowned. "What is this? Is this a farm?"
"No, ma," the girl muttered.
"Two hours of cleaning the assembly ground after school. Next!"
By the time she was done, five students had been pulled out for uniform violations—including Fadeyi, whose shoelace had snapped.
Victory gasped. "Oh no, she's in trouble."
The Directress called out, "Victory, come and join her."
Victory blinked. "Ma?"
"Were you not whispering? If your friend is being punished, be punished with her."
The students chuckled quietly. Victory slunk forward.
Fadeyi whispered, "Next time, help me tie my shoe behind class, not during prayer."
Victory rolled her eyes. "I was trying to save you!"
The Director raised his hand. Silence returned.
"Bosol is a school of excellence. We do not bend rules for convenience. If you cannot follow small rules like shoe polish and socks, how can we trust you with leadership? Or with your future?"
That last line seemed to stab Ayomide in the chest. She adjusted her prefect badge-in-progress—she had designed it herself and kept it in her bag as motivation—and stood straighter in line.
After the assembly closed with prayer, the students filed off to their classes, some muttering under their breath, others laughing quietly.
In SS2A, Elumezie burst out, "If I hear the word 'rule' one more time, I will faint!"
Ajiboye replied, "Then don't faint, just obey."
"But what kind of socks law is that? Are we in the military?"
Ayomide interjected without looking up from her notes. "Rules bring order. Imagine if everyone wore anything they liked. Bosol would become a market."
Elumezie huffed. "Even markets have freedom."
Their conversation was cut short when Mrs. Ayoade walked in. She was the Literature and English teacher, known for her deep voice and love for proverbs. Today, she wore her glasses low on her nose and carried an A4-sized paper.
"Good morning, class."
"Good morning, ma!"
She adjusted her glasses. "We'll start with a writing task. Open your notebooks. Title it 'The Importance of School Rules.'"
Groans echoed around the room.
"Don't groan. It's your reality. Write the essay in not less than 300 words. You have 20 minutes."
Pens scratched furiously. Victory glanced at Fadeyi and mouthed, "This is because of socks."
Ayomide wrote like her life depended on it:
> "School rules shape students into responsible citizens. Without discipline, learning cannot take place. At Bosol, rules like dress code, punctuality, and respect for authority teach us accountability. If we do not take these seriously now, we may struggle in the outside world..."
Ajiboye, sitting in front as usual, added:
> "The rule book may seem strict, but it ensures we all learn in a safe and structured environment..."
Elumezie scribbled his opinion, though not as gracefully:
> "Some rules are too much, but I understand they help keep things neat and serious. No school wants to look like a jungle..."
When the time was up, Mrs. Ayoade collected their essays. "Some of you wrote like future authors," she said. "Some of you wrote like you were still thinking in bed. Either way, I'll mark them all."
She turned to leave but added, "Remember—rules are not punishment. They are protection."
As she left, Victory exhaled. "Today is all about rules. Are we in court?"
"It's preparation," Ayomide said. "For bigger things. If you can't keep small rules, how will you lead others?"
"Ah," Fadeyi said. "Spoken like a Head Girl in training."
They all laughed.
The rest of the day rolled by with double Biology and a heated class discussion during Government with a visiting teacher. But the events of the morning stayed with everyone—especially Victory and Fadeyi, who were still to serve their punishment.
At 3:15 p.m., the Directress stood near the assembly ground, watching Victory and Fadeyi sweep.
"Faster," she said. "We close by 4 p.m. and I want to see clean cement, not stories."
Victory wiped her forehead. "My socks are clean now, ma."
"Clean socks don't erase dirty habits," the Directress replied sharply.
By the time they finished, both girls were exhausted but oddly satisfied.
"That was brutal," Fadeyi said.
Victory smiled, dragging her broom toward the wall. "Maybe next time I'll polish your shoes for you."
Fadeyi laughed. "And I'll pull your socks up before you step out."
As they walked out of the gate together, they looked up once again at the motto that seemed to be watching them:
> "God is our Refuge."
And truly, in a school as strict—and as nurturing—as Bosol, that motto was more than just words. It was a daily reminder that while the rules were plenty, they were there to guide, not to trap.