BEYOND MASUD (CHAPTER 2)

Titled – “The Duality of Emotions”

The rising sun ushered in a new day, illuminating the faces of the young scholars who resided within the hallowed halls of Federal Government College Idoani. Masud, the diligent acting Hostel prefect, was among the earliest to rouse himself from his slumber. He rose with purpose, a duty weighing on his shoulders as he set about awakening his fellow students to begin their day before the formal school hour. This ritual, a longstanding custom of the college, imbued a sense of discipline and organization that was essential to the day-to-day running of the establishment.

Masud’s voice reverberated through the halls ” line up outside”, a clarion call for the junior students to assemble outside. In a flurry of hurried movements, the students swiftly fell into formation, eager to avoid the wrath of the line leader. As the morning sun peaked over the horizon, they set to work on their allotted duties, swept into the rhythm of the day’s tasks. Time seemed to accelerate as the bell rang, signaling the end of their shift and the start of breakfast.  As if possessed by a singular instinct, the students moved in unison, a flurry of activity as they scurried to dress in their uniforms and follow the strictures of school protocol. The minutes ticked by with relentless speed, each second a reminder of the impending deadline. Habib, standing guard at the dining hall gate, cast a stern glance at the stragglers, his foot poised to lock the door with military precision.

Masud stepped into the dining hall as if he were striding onto a throne room floor, his posture and demeanor an embodiment of authority. The moment he appeared, his fellow acting prefects sprang to attention, greeting him with a synchronized gesture of deference and esteem. Their acknowledgement of Masud’s position was as solid as the ground he stood on, a testament to the respect he had earned within the community of students at Federal Government College Idoani.

Despite his status as a mere hostel coordinator, Masud was bestowed with an honor rarely granted to others: the privilege of delivering the prayer before breakfast. This unique responsibility spoke volumes about the esteem in which he was held by his peers and the faculty alike, elevating his status to that of an unofficial leader among his classmates. In this moment, his voice carried the gravitas of a seasoned imam, infusing the dining hall with a quiet reverence as he led the young scholars in their morning ritual.

As Masud took his seat at the breakfast table, his friends Olaniyi Seyi and Ayo Philips made a point of joining him, their faces creased with concern.

“We heard about what happened, Masud,” Seyi said, his tone gentle but insistent. “Are you doing okay?”

Ayo chimed in, his voice curious and probing, “When was the last time you called your mom before that day?”

Masud paused for a moment, reflecting on his last attempt to connect with his mother. “Well, the last time I called was on her birthday, June 11.

Masud’s voice became soft and pained, his face clouded with remembrance. “I couldn’t talk to her. My sister explained that my mom was too sick to take calls at the time. She’s been so ill that even the sound of her voice would be distressing for me. So, my sister offered to wish my mom a happy birthday on my behalf.”

Seyi and Ayo exchanged a worried glance, the magnitude of Masud’s heartache palpable in the space between them.

Idris joined the group at the table, his presence registering with the others as Seyi turned to Masud, his expression one of careful consideration.

“If anything had happened to your mother,” he said, his words measured and calm, “I’m sure Mr. Badmus would have known. Come to think of it, He’s your guardian here in school. And if that were the case, he would’ve reached out to you directly.  The image of Mr. Badmus flashed across Masud’s mind, his demeanor as enigmatic as ever. “There he is, standing just there, looking as unperturbed as ever. If something had happened, wouldn’t he be showing signs of grief, signs of distress? The fact that he appears completely unaffected just doesn’t add up,” Masud remarked, his words tinged with frustration.

“You’ll have to go and ask him right there”,

Idris’ suggestion hung in the air like a looming presence, its weight felt by all those gathered at the table.

“How should I approach him?” Masud asked, sensing the importance of the task that had fallen to him.

“Just be straightforward,” Seyi advised. “Say that you’ve heard rumors about your mother’s health and that you want to know if there’s any truth to them. If he’s hiding something, he won’t be able to avoid answering you forever.”

“That sounds like a solid plan,” Ayo added, nodding in agreement. 

Masud rose from his seat, his resolve strengthening as he absorbed the support of his friends. With a newfound purpose, he strode across the dining hall floor, his steps ringing with determination. But as he approached Mr. Badmus, a wave of apprehension washed over him, and he forgot the manners that Mr. Badmus so valued.

The question burst forth from Masud’s lips, raw and unfiltered: “Sir, my mother…is she okay? I’ve heard rumors that something’s happened to her, and my father won’t tell me anything. I need to know what’s going on.” The intensity of his emotion punctuated each word, his normally composed facade crumbling under the weight of his concern.

Mr. Badmus’s disappointment was palpable as he turned his focus from Masud’s inquiry to his uncharacteristic boldness. His tone, previously conciliatory, hardened into rebuke.

“Where did you hear this? And don’t think I haven’t noticed your recent activities online. Who’s phone have you been using? You used to follow the rules so strictly, but lately you’ve been breaking them left and right.”

Masud, chastened by Mr. Badmus’s words, felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. It seemed that his need for answers had eclipsed his judgment.

As Mr. Badmus’s voice thundered through the dining hall, the students who had been quietly eating their breakfast turned to witness the unexpected scene unfolding before them. Their eyes widened as they took in the sight of Masud being publicly reprimanded by the one figure in the school who was known to be his greatest champion.

“Leave my sight this minute,” Mr. Badmus boomed, his face etched with anger and disappointment. Masud, his shoulders slumped in defeat, turned and made his way out of the hall, his footsteps echoing with the weight of shame.

As Masud exited the hall, the cold air of disappointment enveloped him, punctuated by the concerned voice of Salimat.

“Masud, what happened in there? I’ve never seen Mr. Badmus that upset,” Salimat inquired, her brow furrowed in concern.

Masud, his spirit deflated, could barely meet her gaze. “Salimat, I tried to ask him about my mother. But I think I went about it the wrong way.  He’s…disappointed in me. He even noticed that I’ve been using a phone in school.

Masud’s tears flowed freely as he poured out his heart to Salimat, his frustration and sorrow spilling over in a torrent of emotions. But Salimat, with her practical nature, quickly sought to snap Masud out of his despair.

“Ahh… Stop crying, you’re a man, Masud,” she chided gently, a half-smile on her lips. “Crying won’t solve anything. You just need to pick yourself up and find another way to get your answers. It might not be easy, but you’re strong enough to handle it.”

Like the strong arms of a brotherhood, Habib and the rest of Masud’s close companions gathered around him, offering their support. They enveloped him with their collective presence, shielding him from the prying eyes of their fellow students as they made their way to the assembly ground.

The scene was a poignant one—the bond of friendship carrying Masud through the fog of his despair. Each step they took echoed with the determination to help Masud find a way to the truth, no matter how difficult it might be.

As the sun continued its arc across the sky, the weight of the morning’s events seemed to dissipate, at least temporarily, as the attention of the student body shifted towards a pivotal moment in the school calendar: the official ceremony where the acting prefects were formally badged.

The atmosphere hummed with anticipation, the students chattering excitedly, their bodies radiating a warm energy that filled the air. Despite the tumult of emotions still churning inside him, Masud found himself buoyed by the ceremony’s infectious spirit.

The festivities in the hall continued to swirl around the new prefects, the resounding cheer of their classmates a cacophony of congratulation. Yet, as the students began to file out of the assembly, a more solemn occasion awaited the newly minted leaders.

The principal, her expression stern but kind, beckoned them into a private meeting, along with a select few of the most senior staff members. She fixed each of them with a piercing gaze, as if to underline the gravity of her words.

The principal’s words rang out with clarity, a cautionary tale to those who were now entrusted with the mantle of responsibility. Her tone brooked no disagreement, the sharpness of her words slicing through the lingering excitement of the morning’s celebrations.

“The role of a prefect is not a license to lord over your peers,” she said, her eyes flashing with an unspoken warning. “It is a duty to serve them and to lead by example. The moment you abuse this power, you will be stripped of your position and privileges.

As the principal’s parting words of congratulations reverberated through the hall, the atmosphere became charged with jubilation once again. The newly badged prefects beamed with pride, their chests swelling with the recognition of their hard-earned roles.

Yet, amid the swirling sea of happiness, Masud remained an island of melancholia. The shadows of his personal troubles hung heavy on his shoulders, casting a pall over the once-bright morning. His friends and classmates, who had observed his gradual descent into despondency, grew increasingly concerned for his well-being.

To be continued…