ALVAN HALL (1)

Alvan Ikoku and Eni Njoku halls stood like twins behind Nkrumah. They were the Franco hostels; a name derived from the name of the construction company that erected them. The two hostels were just separated by a vast parking space fenced with neatly pruned ixora flowers. In front of the flowers were women sitting on benches and basins of hot Okpa sending out weak smokes in front of them. They were six women chatting freely. Some boys played snooker game under a huge umbrella tree at the centre of the car park where only an abandoned rusty blue Toyota car parked. The huge umbrella tree housed too many birds’ nests dangling on its branches. The chirping of birds filled the entire compound as if competing with the deafening sound of motor cycles that came in and out of the premises. The sweet aroma of popcorn tickled the nostrils of everyone around as the popcorn maker at the entrance opened his showcase to serve a customer. At intervals, wild winds carried in awful smell of dried faeces from the uncompleted building beside Nkruma hall but no one cared. Melvin would soon get to know that the uncompleted building was called white house. he would soon get to know that the building was an alternative toilet for the boys hostels. People moved freely around there; going in and out of the hostels. Okadas drove in and dropped people and zoomed off again. It was a hub of activities in the boys’ hostels. At the back, the walls of Alvan Ikoku and Eni Njoku halls seemed joined together. Close to the wall connecting the two hostels was a big water reservoir tank, which perhaps dispensed water to the two hostels. There were some boys on top of the tank, drawing water from it like from a well. Just like Nkrumah hostel, Alvan-Ikoku had a rectangle centre with rooms in rows. Unlike Nkrumah hostel, the centre was not decorated with flowers. It was a football field with small goal posts at each end. The goal posts reminded Melvin of street monkey-post football games; the kind of football game they called nkwatankwa because of the energy needed to play it. Melvin had stopped playing the street monkey-post football a long time ago; it was not that he didn’t like the game. He couldn’t play because other kids at the play ground made jest of him and called his father “okom-kala-gutter” and other sarcastic names. He couldn’t play because he fought every time he went to the play ground; fights that could not stop more people from making jest of him; fights that could not wipe away the shame he felt; the shame that stood rooted like deep tribal marks on his face. He stopped fighting because the more he fought the more sardonic names they coined for his father; the more the number of people that mocked him increased; the more enemies he made. It was like everybody wanted to fight. The last time he played foot ball was at Uncle Ukandu’s and he was surprised when a member of his team called him “obara-kaikai” and said he was born with liquor blood, just because he missed a goal. He fought the boy and got a broken lips and the corner of his eye that was stitched by an armature chemist. The stitching had left a scar on his face; the scar he always stroked and watched in the mirror with disgust.

Melvin smiled to himself as he watched the play field where he could start playing again and nobody would call him names. Nobody knew him here. There was nobody to mock him. Alvan Ikoku hall was very dirty. The play field was carved out with short pavements that created a path-like veranda in front of the rows of rooms. Across the pavement into the play ground where weeds grew freely, were dirty patches of decaying garri and other left over foods and dirty cellophanes littered everywhere. Melvin walked towards the end of the veranda near the staircase; somebody poured down dirty water from the upper floor and the water hit the pavement and splashed on everybody close to the veranda. Melvin jumped back immediately and the other students around there cursed in the air. They didn’t see the person that poured the water.

      “Landlord! Zuo!” somebody screamed.

      “Your father!” another shouted in the air.

      “Who be that pig? Zuo!”

       “why una go dey pour water like animals na?” queried another.

       “e…e…concern you?” somebody retorted from the top and laughed out loud.

Of cause it would be vain to go searching for the person; he might have ran back into his room. That was the way things were in Alvan Ikoku hostel. People lived freely and did whatever they liked in the boys hostels.