I understand Mr Rauf Aregbesola, the Osun State Governor is Ijesha. I don’t know if he spent his early years in Ilesha like I did. I also don’t know if he attended any primary school in Ilesha like I did. If he did neither, then I can proudly tell him that mine was a beautiful experience. My school was what we called an ‘Awolowo School’ in those days which meant education was largely free. It was the main school in its catchment area which also meant that all eligible children irrespective of parentage—rich or poor, educated or illiterate, Christian, Muslim or Pagan—made a bee-hive for the school at enrolment time. Aregbosola My school was blind to all kinds of discrimination, or anything that made anyone stand out. The school uniform was Khaki on khaki; no shoes and no belt. I don’t know if the last two were proscribed but I can’t remember anybody wearing them. Break time provided us with a free meal so that nobody resumed from break hungry.
The language of choice was Yoruba, often the Ijesha variety—even among the teachers. There was a uniformity that went beyond our khaki wear. We did sports together, ate together, played pranks against each other and roamed the streets together. Not once to the best of my knowledge, was anyone made self-conscious of his religion—there probably were many Ifa worshippers—or race because we were obviously not all of the Yoruba stock. We were taught common values of respect, hard work and honesty. We also learnt how to take our civic responsibilities seriously. It was from this background and this school that many of us went to some of the best secondary schools in the country—two went as far as to Government College Umuahia. I came to Lagos where my education in communal living continued. Our school uniform was khaki on khaki with white on khaki as day wear. They were supplied by the school which further ensured uniformity.
We were allowed white canvas shoes or brown sandals. Provisions were strictly prohibited. We were given pocket money weekly with which to buy snacks during the school break and provided with a weekly laundry service so nobody had laundry done from home—in any case we were ninety per cent boarders. Everything was done to provide a decent, but uniform standard. It was not until later that I realised that many of my contemporaries were from very rich homes. Some were children of High Court judges, Ministers and very senior government officials. But the school made sure there were no material or even spiritual advantages. We were governed by rules and bye laws. And because it is a mission school, some of those laws included regular chapel worship which we, Muslims, Pagans and Christians —all hated and tried to circumvent whenever we could get away with it. But we all knew the score if we were caught. Nobody was given a lighter punishment on account of religion or pedigree. Many of my school mates have found themselves in the public space over the years. It is from their names that I now realise their ethnic and religious inclinations. In school, we were just boys who competed socially, academically and in sports against each other. Many of us, including the Muslims and free thinkers, are fiercely proud of our alma mater today—regular chapel worship notwithstanding. When people of my generation say that school life was the best, it is because we were able to enjoy a life untainted by the prejudices of our parents and the harsh realities of the outside world.
We mixed well and enjoyed each other’s company without realising any ethnic, religious or even financial difference. It was when we evolved into adulthood that we realised that there were different cut-off marks to different institutions and positions depending on your geo-political location. The outside world made us witness the insidious introduction of ethnic and religious balancing and why certain jobs and positions might never be ours. All these leave us with fond memories of our childhood days when race mattered not, colour of skin mattered not, religion mattered not. To deny the young ones their childhood innocence by prescribing a dress code that differentiates between Muslims and Christians at their critical adolescent age is to deny them those memories that I and those of my generation hold dear. It is a very uncharitable thing to do. It is a very unkind cut that will scar the childhood memories of these kids forever. After all, none of us was born a Muslim or a Christian.
We become Muslims and Christians because of our parents and guardians. Why should we deny a child’s natural instinct of reaching out to another child irrespective of colour, race or religion? Why should he be made aware that the kid next row is different from him and might even be an enemy? A child should be allowed, at least for a while, to see the inner beauty in a fellow way farer and share the joy of innocent friendship with them without experiencing the artificial barrier and bias that society places on people of a different race and belief. When he sees his fellow student, he should see a person, a human being not a Muslim or a Christian. As it is, Nigeria is torn almost apart by ethnic and religious differences. We need to start building unity and trust. We are not going to do it by prescribing discriminatory uniform which only accentuates the differences. We must begin to emphasise the notion and belief that I am not holier than you because I am a Christian and I am not better than you because I am Yoruba. Let us teach our youths the correct measuring stick for assessing their fellow Nigerians devoid of tribe and religion. Ogbeni Aregbesola, I don’t know about your childhood and adolescent days. I don’t know what artificial or physical barriers blocked your horizon. Mine was without these unnecessary barriers. They were happy-go-lucky years and I think I am a better person for it.
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