By My Dearest Teachers,
Permit me to start on a self-admonishing note, in the last three decades and a year; I have been self-centered, ungrateful and less considerate. At every turn, I have taken a bit of you without uttering “thank you “.
Many a time, I have taken your teachings for granted, discarded your selfless advice at my own peril and take your admonishment with too much pinch of a salt. Today, I apologise because I know better.
Two years ago, I took a fast bend and entrusted upon myself the responsibilities you have gleefully carried out over the years – teaching, nurturing and hoping. The solemn decisions which I do not regret brought to me this dry reality and truth about the sacrifices you have made, the patience you have exhibited and the love you have shown even without knowing me from Adam. Then I ask myself, why must teachers reward be in heaven? Teaching people to be better by giving so much of yourself with little or no reward should not be a postdated check. You all deserve to be celebrated every day, every minute, surprisingly, the people you set out to teach are often embittered about the way you handle them and our government has not been fair to you. Aren’t we all myopic? Again, I apologise.
Today, I remember with nostalgia, the days “Edet Still Lives in Calabar” and Uncle Pat still brings Five Alive juice to class. Back in Primary Three at St. Patrick Nursery and Primary School (now Noble Stars International School); I learned there is a price for knowing and a lifelong lesson. Then, the proprietor of the school, popularly known as Uncle Pat had this tradition of bringing undiluted Five Alive juice to class to be shared in small cups with pupils who successfully read a paragraph off the notorious Macmillan English Text Book or answer his smart quiz, of all the days he brought the juice, I cannot remember ever winning even though I often salivate. It might look like nothing now but then that Five Alive juice was a big deal, a price to long for and a victory to cherish. Dear Uncle Pat, then I always thought you were mean, now I know better, I am sorry for not saying thank you.
But the person I actually owe more from those days is Aunty Cole Oluwaseyi Margret (Aunty Cole for short). Unknowingly to her, she must have been the first person to notice my slow unassuming start to life. While my classmates were already good with written words, I had a simple challenge of putting words together, I just forget anything I was taught. It was Aunty Cole who made me sacrifice my break time to learn. For absolutely nothing, we often sit back to revisit passages and in my innocence, I thought she was being callous to deprive me of a most cherished break time play.
Aunty Cole, I cannot remember ever saying thank you and I doubt if you will ever remember. Dear Ma, if you do come across this, I am sorry for not appreciating your sacrifices, I am thirty-one now and I know the value of your little time. The foundation laid is what I am building upon.
In this same line, I acknowledge Mr. Ganiu Alashe, former Head Accounting Department, Lagos State Polytechnic (aka Pason Weree – Cane of a Madman), how do I describe those beatings that look like unending suffering. I remember I often question why God made me so dull, in Iya Tosin’s House in Ireshe, Ikorodu, it was always a “fight to finish”, the fear of Brother Ganiu is sure the beginning of learning. Sir, thank you for not sparing the rod, those sacrifices you put into beating the madness out of me are sure paying off, I am still learning but I thank you profusely.
I remember Mr. Akarakiri whose effort got me into Ikorodu High Secondary School, I remember Baba Maths with his dreaded beating skills, I remember Mr Bakare my Biology teacher, I remember Mr Odunalmi with his approach to mathematics, my Government Teacher (Mrs – I cannot place the name again), she was the first to put in my mind that when a government is not people orientated, then it is not government, just call it something else she once said.
Surprisingly, despite the quality of people who took me in High School, yours truly failed out, a clear betrayal of all efforts to make me somebody. I apologise to all the teachers that taught me back then, I am sorry for wasting your efforts.
Getting to Lagos State University was a different ball game; I came in contact with the best minds that can inhabit a University system and also the very worst. The first lecturer to have a lasting impression on me was Prof. Abubakar Momoh (aka You Know What? Che Died), he is a true definition of passion to impact knowledge, I remember some of us often joke that he sometimes bring himself to near tears when we don’t seem to understand what he is teaching.
To him, a student must be complete and vast; you just have to know everything. Thank you Prof even though I am still trying to place your dialectic materialism and socialist communism within the scheme of today’s governance, things are not just what we were taught in class.
The Comrades are not “comrading” anything. I would not forget Dr. Surajudeen Mudasiru (aka Egelia for always starching his shirts to a point of notice), that baritone voice you often used to explain issues still echoe, “when a group is stated, everything is stated, when I mean everything, I mean everything” (for those that can decode).
Thank you for the troubles I put you through during my stay in LASU. I remember Dr. Fatai Abiodun (Baresi), Dr. Aderemi Adewale (my project supervisor, your flexibility in dealing with students is out of this world. Thank you), Dr. Paul Sewa, Baba Gbagbose, Barrister Adaboyan, Dr. Moshood, Baba Ibadan(a very British revolution) amongst many others; you all made university days worthwhile giving of yourself without looking back for a thank you.
Today’s note is for those who taught me within the four walls of Western Schools, I have hundreds who taught me out of it, those I have encountered growing up and in everyday life. If I don’t hear the call as soon as I expect, I shall write someday about some of the things the street taught me.
At three decades plus one and due to your collective teachings, I know I cannot live by assumptions again; things have to be on the fact value, humans no matter who they are must be respected and valued. Your sacrifices have made me who I am, even though I might not be the angel you wished for to bestow to the world but be assured I will never be the devil you never prayed to have. There will be failings, near disasters and near irreparable mistakes but with your teachings and the Lord’s guidance, I hope to survive, after all I have been surviving in the last thirty-one years.
As I step into my thirties, many may say responsibilities and stepping away from my twenties cannot make me take blanket risks again, but the world before me is still wide open, I still have the liberty to fashion my life my way after all life expectancy peaks at 54. Learning is continuum, I thank the teachers I have not met and thank the world more for accommodating my excesses in the last few years.
For every words that will be written, every text that will be sent, and every calls that will be made, I appreciate it in advance, this love you all show, is also a lesson, I only pray that my pride will not make me take you all for granted. I am human and fallible; when I do offend, please do forgive for I am just a child of thirty-one years old.
With love from me to you my Teachers. I remain indebted. May your efforts individually and collectively never be in vain.
Be Safe.
Sulaimon Mojeed-Sanni(SM-S)
#BabaUbuntu #OkoMJ
