Life in the barracks is pretty much like everything everyone thinks it is and still at the same time, not what everyone thinks it is, at least not in the eyes of a teenager. In a sense, it can almost feel like a glorified face-me-I -face-you set-up, with everyone trying to be friendly while at the same time, staying out of everyone’s business. This was a thing with the adults at least. We the young ones are superbly carefree on this.

Well, a subtle perk to living in the barracks is the fearlessness that comes with the place, I guess this is what informs the general cliché word ‘Barrack Boys’. Where this may sound like a description or a category, in a sense it is a subtle profiling as the name comes with a lot of vices with it. To me, however, it was just like another place, or just maybe we were not scared by what scares an average person. We at some point in time have seen what a cell looks like, seen a gun up close, watched criminals paraded, or if you are as lucky as me, watched an average gunfight happen, just like in the movies, I don’t mean Nollywood movies though (bombastic side eye).

All in all, fearlessness comes with a serious problem; stubbornness. We were pretty much daring, heck, what is the worst that can happen? However, one thing worth noting is the sportsmanship and brains scattered across the barracks, at least mine. This and the thought that ‘barrack boys’ are unserious and up to no good. I had a lecturer many years later who was surprised to have a ‘barrack boy’ in his class. This surprise was sort of insulting, as well as the remarks that followed because somewhere there, he couldn’t believe anyone could come out of a barracks into a federal university of high standing, which is ridiculous because there a lot of people leave the barracks for different tertiary institution.

My favourite part of the barrack life is the sportsmanship. There was a lot to do, and a lot of ways to play, be it high jump, sometimes long jump, running, football as we all know it, and football in various unconventional ways. There were a lot of ways we could play football. We had something called sets, where we all banded in teams and played against each other. There was one post too, and as the name dictates, there is just one goalpost with different teams and a fixed goalkeeper. We also had 4 posts and the worst of them all, KOLO.

Kolo is not your usual game of football. I can’t even guess what was going on in the mind of the person who first brought up the idea. This game unlike every other game has no winner or involves no winning. It was a pure evil game that left many almost in tears. The rule of the game is simple. The aim is to pass the ball between the legs of any of the participants, while at the same time making sure, no one gets to do that to you. In a case where the ball rolls past the legs of anyone, the person is open to being beaten for as long as he can run and touch a designated poll, only then is the person free from being viciously attacked by the other participant, evil right?

I know you are thinking who gets involved in such a game? Remember, we aren’t the average teen scared of being beaten as much as it is fun to do it to others. I also participated in this game multiple times, and for a long time, my luck was there to help me and keep me safe, while at the same time, I got multiple opportunities to join others in dealing with those unfortunate enough not to keep their legs closed. The game really is fun until you are the one being chased by a gang of willing hands, ready to land slaps on any part of your body that they can get to.

My luck was doing fine up until one day. The game had been going on for a while, and unknown to me, a number of them had their eyes on me, as it just always seemed like I am always on the side of those doing the beating and never really on the side of the person receiving the beating. Oh don’t get me wrong, I have had the ball pass through my legs on some occasions, but I was always fast enough to get to the designated poll without anyone getting to me. My luck and fast legs were keeping me safe until this one time. Someone kicked the ball while I wasn’t paying attention to the game. I tried to run towards the poll, and so did everyone else, putting themselves between me and the poll. It was at that moment I knew I had fucked up. It was me against about ten other people and there was no way to get to the poll without running into these excited evil teenagers, eager to unleash their deepest desires on my body.

As though they were following command, all ten of them charged at me with full force, and seeing as there was no way forward, I ran backwards and they chased after me like someone chasing after a thief. There was a pedestrian gate not far away that led outside the barracks, and I ran towards it thinking these incarnates of the devil will yield and turn back, but instead, they continued in pursuit.

As I strengthened my resolve to not stop running until they all give up, so did they strengthen their conviction not to stop until they have me. It was like the biblical story of the 40 men who committed to staying from food until they had the apostle Paul killed. It was both scary and embarrassing as people who were going about their business outside the barrack were scared seeing a group of boys running without knowing what was wrong.

I was determined to keep the race going till my enemies all give up, and at this time, all of them had stopped and turned back to the barracks, all of them but one. It was now a race against one person, and this person was determined not to give up, just at the time when my lungs were beginning to blow out from exhaustion. The farther away from the barracks I ran, the more I hoped this boy would give up, but the stronger his conviction to not give in.

I couldn’t go any further, so I gave up, I stopped running hoping he’d either be as tired as I am or at most land a few slaps on me and let me go. I forgot you don’t hope on the devil, at least not this devil. Instead of hitting me, he held me and dragged me back to the barracks while we both panted and gasped for air all the way back to the barracks. It felt like I was a lamb being led to the slaughterhouse, and I was quiet, not because I was a willing sacrifice, but because I was too exhausted to say anything. And as we got close to the barrack, I noticed some of the people who stopped chasing after me had stayed by waiting to see what the end of this chase would be. As they saw me, pure evil joy welled up inside them and they jubilated while running towards us as we walked towards them. In a matter of seconds, it was no longer one person holding me and leading me back home but a band of people who couldn’t wait to get home and bring their heart desires to fulfilment on my back.

Immediately we walked inside through the gate, the first hand landed on my back and several other hands followed. I was beaten like it was jungle justice and the first opportunity I saw to break free from them, I took it and ran as my life depended on it, running towards my salvation, the poll, and they all chased after me. With the effort they put into this second chase, one would almost think they were not satisfied with how many slaps I had received the first time, and I wasn’t going to give them the satisfaction of a second round of beating. So on getting close to the poll, I stretched out my hand to touch it and just as it was about to, a big slap landed on my back, and the instant pain sent impulses all over my body. I touched the poll and was free from this persecution. I smiled as everyone had a good laugh, but inside I was holding back tears and anguish, not so much from being beaten earlier, but for the last slap that landed on my back at the brink of freedom.

I wasn’t going to let it all go, I wanted vengeance, a chance to deal with someone else, and so I picked up the football and the game resumed, as I was determined to have the last laugh. I wanted vengeance, and just like the bible says ‘VENGEANCE IS MINE, says The Lord’.