Childhood: The pupils of Corona School, Shamrock House, Bukuru, Jos - III

The bubble of childhood

It is strange that I find myself writing about the pupils of Corona School, Shamrock House, Bukuru, Jos again, a good 48 years since I left the school. This was prompted by two things, the need to publish a comment that had been left on one of my social media pages in 2010, that was discovered just a few months ago and an excerpt from a schoolmate’s father’s diary that gave an interesting context to the times in which we lived there.

We lived in Rayfield, a bucolic setting of tranquillity that was sometimes upset by graving cows beyond the fence of our homestead that could have been a ranch and a nest of wild bees that twice greeted me with a sting.

Our home had all the provenance of colonial privilege, a bungalow with 5 bedrooms, I think, painted white with green windows. A few outhouses called boy’s quarters and stretches of grounds and encirclement of fruit trees gave the appearance of an orchard, mangoes, cashews, oranges, figs, lemons, then pineapples and other things my dad planted.

No story of the bodies

What I read from the diary excerpt posted on Facebook also immediately dispelled my notion of Jos being so peaceful until the 1990s. In what must have been the late 1960s, there were disturbances for which her father was called upon to cater for the massacred, he counted 108 bodies that he superintended their interment in a mass grave. His colleague at the Bukuru Railway Station registered 398 bodies.

We as children were completely oblivious of these events either historically or contemporaneously as not even rumour reached us on the febrile environment in which we lived. The idyll of Rayfield presented distance and isolation even as our parents mollycoddled us with comforts and experience that dignifies our childhoods with privilege that could easily be the background of an Enid Blyton children’s story.

The Dent-Youngs in Nigeria

Be that as it may, I decided to do some digging around some elements of my childhood ensconced in the broader narrative of home and school. Our headmistress at Corona Primary School was Mrs Dent-Young, her husband was the head of the Amalgamated Tin Mines of Nigeria (ATMN), my father’s boss, where he was the Deputy Chief Accountant.

On searching for the surname Dent-Young, I found that the elder Dent-Young, Lieutenant Colonel John Dent-Young, a scion of an engineering family and a mining engineer from Bath, first arrived in Nigeria in 1912 as a surveyor with Northern Nigeria (Bauchi) Tin Mines, Ltd before joining the West Africa Frontier Force during WWI, after which he managed Gurum River Tin Mines, Ltd, then Ribon Valley Tinfields, Ltd before serving as the joint managing director of Nigerian Alluvials, Ltd.

His miners found the first examples of Nok culture. [Geni: John Dent-Young]

He retired in 1950 returning from Nigeria to England and died at the age of 65 in 1955. [NMRS: John Dent-Young]

His son, David Michael Dent-Young, a mining engineer also, was the managing director of ATMN, my father’s boss and he was made CBE in 1977 for services to British commercial interests and the British community in Nigeria. He died at the age of 82 in 2010. [Geni: David Michael Dent-Young] [The London Gazette: Honours 1997 – PDF]

Wherefore Corona

Speaking of the British community in Nigeria brings us to a broader history of the Colonial Service along with the many changes of names and departments in the last century. First, the Corona Club was created in 1899 for the support of overseas civil service officers with its own tie and cravat and it offered benevolence to dependants of members who died in service as ‘tropical diseases were less well-controlled until the middle of the last century’.

The Colonial Office set up the Women’s Corona Club in 1937 to support the wives of officers being sent to work in the Commonwealth, it was renamed Women’s Corona Society in 1950 and then Corona Worldwide in 1970, it retains the wider remit of supporting women going overseas for all sorts of reasons. [Corona Worldwide]

The Corona schools

With wives abroad, there arose concerns about children’s education overseas, and in most cases, there was no adequate provision that children were sent back to England for school, usually boarding school. In 1953, the Children’s Escort Service was created to chaperone children between the abroad and England and back to their parents when on holidays.

The Corona Women’s Society opened its first school for British children in Nigeria in 1955, rapidly expanding to include all children. Comments posted to my earlier blogs would suggest the Corona School I attended at Shamrock House, was first opened at Miango Junction according to Joe Miner whose story links up with another, quite likely in the late 1950s, William Gardner comments about attending Shamrock School, which I believe would be Corona Primary School at Shamrock House at the age of 5 in 1962. [Corona Worldwide: Corona Anniversary Magazine – PDF] 

Note: I just visited the Corona Primary School, Bukuru, Alumni group page on Facebook and the celebratory anniversary cake along with shirts worn would suggest the school was established in 1963.

Until a few days ago, I never thought to explore the history of the Corona name and its significance in colonial times. I cannot however determine if Corona is an acronym, a contraction of words, or its etymology. My research continues, but having more context to the people and the times of our childhoods makes for interesting reading that I did not know until now.

Related Blogs

Blog - Childhood: The pupils of Corona School, Shamrock House, Bukuru, Jos

Blog - Childhood: The pupils of Corona School, Shamrock House, Bukuru, Jos - II

Blog - Childhood: Standing up to the powerful

Another comment to present

My annotations for context or clarification are in parentheses []. Having also visited the old pupils/alumni page, I have updated elements within the blog and the comments.

9. Murphy Erebor – 22^nd May 2010 (From one of my social media pages, it might have been Facebook.)

Hi Akin,

You seem to be about my age and attended Corona [Primary School]. I was in Corona in 1971 and was in Mrs Feliciano’s class and Mrs Sanda’s class at a certain time. Do you remember Mrs Uku our principal? [I do remember Mrs Uku as the school disciplinarian (she passed on in July 2021 at the age of 87), as well as Mrs Obole, but not as our headmistress who at that time was Mrs Dent-Young. Mrs Agbelusi was my teacher in Primary 3, the class I started at.]

Well, I live in Abuja and am an architect by training. Nice to know you have good memories of Corona [Primary School]. I wish I had more pictures of my stay in Corona [Primary School] though.

Just read your blog, quite interesting, Corona [Primary School] was a very beautiful place. I wish I knew where one of my teachers was, Mrs Onyemenam was a very good teacher. [She was my teacher in Primary 5, I recently saw a picture of her on Facebook with a caption that she was 93, that was in January 2021. I had a tough and unsavoury time in her class. I had issues and she chose to embarrass me before the class.

Funny enough, Mrs Feliciano if you remember her the Filipino lady is still alive. [My memory fails me on that score.]. She is in her eighties and lives in the US with her daughter. Mrs Feliciano’s mother is also still alive and over one hundred years old. Her son Joel is on Facebook. You might also remember him. [Unfortunately, I can’t seem to remember them, but I love the stories that come together in these comments.]

Sarah Sanda who wrote on your blog works with the Nigerian Television Authority. I see her on TV almost every day because she is a newscaster.

Take care, my brother.

Regards

Emokpae Erebor

Childhood: The pupils of Corona School, Shamrock House, Bukuru, Jos - II

Nostalgia gets you here

After blogging for almost 18 years, your blogs become callouts to people in search of information, especially to do with their pasts. You bring up a search engine and would likely type in the name of your primary school or secondary school, flick through the results until one or a few references come up that takes you down memory lane.

I attended three primary schools, the Army Children’s School in Kaduna where I started, and my three memories are my first day at school when I ran out of class to meet my mother as soon as I saw her come to collect me after school, the Indian headmistress who cracked the knuckles of kids who had not cut their fingernails and that is how we all became nail biters, and when I hopped on a school bus just as my dad arrived to pick me up, we did a good tour of Kaduna before I got off.

More school memories abound

Then Corona School, Shamrock House in Bukuru, Jos, where I spent 3 memorable years and have the keenest recollections of childhood from class 3 to class 5, having jumped a class in my transfer from Kaduna to Jos. During this time, I have written a lot and have had many comments from others who have found my blogs. To that end, I have met up with some old schoolmates and even seen a picture of one of my old teachers who is now in her 90s.

We returned to Kaduna in mid-1975 where I attended the Sacred Heart Primary School for my last year, and though I was involved in a number of extracurricular activities and played the part of Pharoah in our production of Joseph and his Amazing Technicolour Dreamcoat, I was absent for 4 months taking common entrance examinations in the southwest of Nigeria for secondary school admission. I returned for the last month to take exams and passed in the top half of the class.

Compiling recollections for posterity

As I have sometimes lost comments posted to my blogs, especially when I have had to migrate it from another platform, I now move some comments into blogs of their own. The many responses I get for the Corona School blogs cover a broad period of time from well before the school was on that site where I attended to long after I graduated, none of that knowledge would have been acquired with the blogs.

I wrote the first one in 2007 and then a couple more in 2008 after which I compiled in 2009 into a blog with the comments left on it. I guess it is now time to do that compilation again, because of the new comments posted and one quite recently too. All these would be cross-referenced, for the reader to get the whole story.

Blog - Rayfield, Jos - Memories of a child (May 2007)

Blog - Childhood: The pupils of Corona School, Shamrock House, Bukuru, Jos (May 2009) – The first comment compilation blog.

More comments in a blog

Once again, I thank everyone who left comments on the blogs, I have compiled the more recent ones below, so from Armstrong, Joe Miner, Julie Sanda and the anonymous poster the first compilation, I now have a guest, Brenda and Marianne whose surnames I am not too sure of and William Gardner.

My annotations and comments are in parenthesis [], the comments are edited for basic grammatical and punctuation to improve clarity without losing context or intent of the original posters.

5. Guest – 24^th May 2012

WOW! Today, I googled the Yelwa [Club] pool out of curiosity and stumbled on your blog and was brought back in time. I also was there much later (1983) through my father who was a microwave engineer (Jay Clark) I was as student with Ms. Opara as headmistress. Thank you for your blog I will continue to read your posts.

6. Brenda (Gelul) from Holland – 24^th May 2012

Wow! Amazing reading all those memories.

I remember Corona School and Hillcrest [School] too. We used to live near the Corona School. My best memory is the chopones [I don’t know what these are] this woman used to sell near the school. We loved them and cost 1 Naira [each].

Most my memories are about the food I loved, the Nigerian foods. [I] miss Nigeria loads being born there and growing up there it will for ever be in my heart.

7. Marianne [Geluk} – 25^th June 2012

[This seems to be another lady from Holland with a similar story as the last, probably the same person, I don’t know.]

So cool, I grew up there too. Corona School then Hillcrest School. I remember the swimming pool.we used to go to the club [I suppose this is Yelwa Club] loads of with my parents and we ate pep [I have no idea what this is.] & chicken with all the other people. So many cool memories, still miss it.

8. William Gardner – 24^th July 2021

I came across this super blog. No idea if it’s still reviewed [It is.], my name is William Gardner, my parents, Jim and Ina. Just to say to say I have strong memories of my time at Shamrock School in Bukuru.

My parents were from Edinburgh, Scotland and my father worked in tin mining (ATMN) [Amalgamated Tin Mines of Nigeria]. Previously served with the West African Forces during the Second World War.

He was in the British Royal Engineers and was in Kaduna and Maiduguri in 1943 before the brigade was sent to Burma until 1946. My father and mother then went to Jos in 1947. I was born there, lived in Sabin Gida (Bukuru), Harwell houses (near Rayfield) and a few other places nearby. I remember going to Shamrock School when I was 5 in 1962.

My teacher was Miss Emby, then Miss Thorogood, and my last teacher I can’t remember her name. Yes, I remember Yelwa Club, snooker, pool, Sunday curry lunch, theatre also used for Badminton. I was sent back to Scotland in 1967 and went to private school and came out to Jos twice a year.

Really loved in being on so many airplanes. I remember the leaders of ATMN and their kids. Great adventure. Mum and Dad retired in 1974.

The Childhood blogs

Nigeria: Gone is the Jos I knew

Childhood: My aunts saw red

Childhood: The fruits of a chicken napping dog

Childhood: Driving the languages of sacrifice

The masterpieces of memory

Even more memories of a child

More memories of a child

Rayfield, Jos - Memories of a child

Trying to forget Remo Secondary School at 75

Skipping around schools

Much as I would have liked to remember, it is also forgettable, and that is why I find myself writing about it two days after the event. I attended three primary schools in Kaduna and Jos, in the north of Nigeria in the early 1970s.

The first primary school, the Army Children’s School in Kaduna I barely remember apart from the fact that the headmistress was Indian, and she would walk through assembly in the morning checking our nails then striking our knuckles with the edge of a ruler if they hadn’t been cut. What a child can do about their nails when it is a parent’s responsibility, I don’t know, but that is how we all learnt to bite our nails.

The uneventful year was soon eclipsed by our move to Jos where I attended the Corona School, Shamrock House, Bukuru, and I do have many memories of my being there having jumped a class straight to class 3 through to class 5. We returned to Kaduna for my last year in primary school at the Sacred Heart Primary School where I was away for 4 months in early 1976 attending common entrance examinations for secondary school admission in the south-west of Nigeria.

Never forget the injustice

Remo Secondary School (RSS), Sagamu won my pupillage in September 1976, in it’s 30^th founder’s year. My 5 years in this school, though eventful and interesting remains somewhat forgettable, for I maintain the minimal ties with the place and the institution apart from memories tragic, sad, and unsettling besides the fact that my set in the last year of the Class of 1981 were unjustly punished collectively for what a few miscreants did because the Parents Teachers Association was too lazy to conduct a proper investigation of the issue.

Beyond that, life in the school whilst having thrills left me with hardly any enduring friendships, I have met a few of my class and school mates, even have social media connections with them, but I have shunned all old student association meetings or involvements, this is a part of my history that will be recorded but not necessarily cherished to any extent.

For the little matter

Yet, because dates hold some sort of significance to me, the 4^th of February 2021 was the 75^th Founders’ Anniversary of RSS as the 1^st co-educational secondary school in West Africa, or so it is reputed. We had the school motto of 'For God and Fatherland', the former stands strong, the latter is constantly under review.

That I have visited the grounds a few times in my dreams as it then means for all my misgivings it did have a significant impact on me, I had the nickname of Pastor for most of my time there. Anyway, I am just journaling a piece of my past, there are more stories to tell, in the 40^th year of my exiting that place.

Childhood: Memories of Natural Hair Care

Note to reader

After a Twitter exchange where I commented on the plaiting of natural African-American hair, I was invited to write about the childhood memories I shared, memories from about 40 years ago where somehow I might have confused names and descriptions of the styles.

I penned a piece for the Natural Ever After site where the full blog with pictures appears, and you are free to post your comments there too.

The main article at Natural Ever After - Childhood Memories of Natural Hair Care

I know what Afro is

Walking down a street in Antwerp, I was happened upon a large shop front sign – Afro Hair Centre – the shop window was pasted with pictures of beautiful African American ladies but I was at pains to notice any that anything remotely natural for hair.

The pictures regaled me with relaxed curls of fanciful design and the amazing reality of globalisation where rural Indian and Brazilian women had travelled the world by reason of their long hair cut to serve an industry of hair extensions – I have felt like I have entered a haunted house each time disembodied lots of hair formed the merchandise of any outfit.

Many evolutions of hair design

It reminded me of when as a young boy hair was natural and the embodiment of amazing beauty, long before combing irons were heated on kerosene stoves and the hair laden with Vaseline was singed to straighten it for a new kind of look.

My aunt after secondary school became a hairdresser and with that came relaxers and all sorts of chemicals and sprays that the African woman punished her hair with to give it an unnaturally synthetic look, but that had become the new look.

Cornrows a plenty

As big brother when we lived in Jos, I had two sisters much younger than I and every fortnight I knew my play time will be usurped for a new kind of duty.

My mother sat on a chair with my sisters on a footstool just between her legs had their hair washed, combed, parted and designed for braided cornrows or plaits.

The cornrows had names, Shuku (bunched up in the middle), Ipako elede (A pig’s nape – with the ends to the nape of the neck), koroba (bucket, designed as a whirl from edges to the centre), kolese (Without legs – with the ends to the front just above the forehead) amongst other designs that did not particularly have names but provided artistic licence, in some cases the cornrows ended up in plaits, it was left to what was fancied at that time.

Threading the clumps

In the case of plaits, my job was to string the black thread from finger to big toe probably about 20 times and then cut the loop at one end to produce lengths of thread.

3 lengths of thread were then knotted at one end, the hair was parted into sectors and then manageable polygonal shapes, each section of hair was then plaited with thread from the base until the hair ends, the threads were then knotted to prevent the threads and hair from coming loose.

Sometimes each plait was left alone kinked into an L-shape a third way up the length, in other cases they were joined up in wigwam fashion or linked together with one popular design being called Eko Bridge – this was named after the new bridges linking the Lagos mainland to Lagos Island over the lagoon. Onile gogoro suggested a tall house, the plaits were bent to different sides of the head to give a different look, the options limitless depending on taste and aesthetics.

Changes to hair fashion

The plaits could also be coiled on a pencil to look like twirls, this was all natural and beautiful. After a while cotton threads were abandoned for synthetic tubular threads called colloquially called rubber but those plaits were fire hazards even if for a while they were fashionable.

As we moved into the 80s, plaits became unfashionable and most what you would find in rural settings as relaxers became the stock in trade of hairdressers, much as it seemed to make hair more manageable the cost of maintenance was high and where unprofessional services were used lots of women suffered 1^st, 2^nd or even 3^rd degree burns to their scalp.

The relaxers themselves have the most revolving and pungent odours, in some cases people were prone to emesis but after this foray into the unnatural and synthetic, some ladies are returning to appreciating the beauty of low-cuts or naturally braided or plaited hair without extensions or chemicals, and I think that is a good thing.

Childhood: My dread of guns

My gun history

I have had my day with the gun, handled one a few times and had a few pointed at me with menace. When I handled a gun, I was a child, hardly 9 and fascinated by the experience.

The time the guns were pointed at me, armed robbers had entered my home and we were under threat of getting shot before the armed robber in charge - they had ranks - dissuaded his troop because we had cooperated in their enterprise to willingly give up our things, albeit under duress.

We have lived to tell the tale, 24 years on.

Rayfield, a field of dreams

However, back to the childhood experience, we lived in Rayfield, a suburb of Jos and an almost relic of its colonial past where the Amalgamated Tin Mines of Nigeria had its headquarters.

Our house was an imposing white bungalow with 4 bedrooms and acreage of land where cattle grazed tended by nomadic tribes, with 13 mango trees producing different varieties, a fig tree, a guava tree, a cashew tree, a thorny lemon tree and much else, it is was almost too idyllic for reality.

The other family

Down the back dirt road beyond the tennis courts where my dad played and the golf course, a sport my dad never took up though he had the kit was another family where I went to play sometimes.

The kids were much older though when one of them arrived in my class we all laughed at his rather poor grasp of English; it just never occurred to us that anyone could speak English that badly.

The eldest was imposing, tall, handsome and smart, when we played family games, I always chose him as my father, the feelings are almost too silly to recount but that was how it was.

Guns for play

I never asked what might have happened to their mother but their father was a lawyer and he had a gun, it was a rifle, probably just over a yard long and it was loaded with pellet shot.

There was a big tree in front of their house and just at about the 6 feet height, the tree trunk branched out into a perfect Y and that is where we placed a tin can for target practice.

He sat on the steps in front of the house about 20 yards from the tree and held the gun for us because it was a bit heavy to keep steady; we then found the range and pulled the trigger. Having taken a few instructions from him, we were quite good at hitting the tin.

The memory that lingered

The last time I remember handling the gun is like a picture in my mind that has never faded and I do have some pictures like that from my distant childhood that prominently gets replayed like I am going through an old family album.

Everything was set as we usually did and there were more people at the house because there was a party and this was probably part of the entertainment, the fascination with guns.

It was my turn to shoot and confidently, I sought the target and pulled the trigger hitting the tin again but something was wrong with that arrangement especially with the adult supervision we supposedly had and the many children around the house.

My vivid mind with the sometimes dangerous ability to process more than is necessary rolled back the time to just before I pulled the trigger; there was a girl standing just below the tin; a poor aim, a distraction or some scatter shot and it would have been an entirely different story.

No toy at all

My world stopped and the burden of a fate unimaginable consumed my 9-year old mind, I never touched a real gun ever since even when I had opportunity and legal access to handle one.

The girl I remember quite well, she contacted me a few years ago after she read one of my other childhood recollections, I am glad she did and I doubt she realised how our lives could have been changed too radically to contemplate.

In my experience, I learnt enough about guns to know they are not toys no matter how much we like to toy with them.

Editorial: Governor Jang personifies vain jangling

Hands clapping or hands lifted up

There have been many times I have wanted to throw up my hands, rarely in resignation or under duress but in ululation and praise, it is a sign of adoration that is on a higher level of adulation than clapping in applause of activity or people.

More and more, I am coming to the idea than clapping for Jesus is the lowest form of appreciation that gets given to almost anyone, however, the lifting up of hands is different, rarely can that be in the praise of man for the boosting of their egos.

However, I seem to have digressed long before I have entered into the reason why I am blogging, it is about the throwing up of hands; this time in resignation, exasperation, cluelessness and rank incompetence.

This sometimes is figurative but it can also be seen in the gesticulations of the people concerned or expressed in the words of their mouths.

The Jos of my childhood gone

I have childhood memories of Jos in Nigeria; they are wonderful and as idyllic as one can ever get about a place in Nigerian in terms of weather, people, landscape, culture and much more.

Over the last decade it has been overrun with crises of religious and inter-tribal conflict leaving many dead and bringing back into common parlance the language of savagery; cannibalism has been mentioned; that is just a new low that is beyond comprehension that men could feast literally on other men and boast about it.

Plateau State of which Jos is the capital is not necessarily a state in anarchy, it has an executive governor and institutions of government that one would hope have the wherewithal to address the pressing issues of the people and bring pressure and mediation to bear on all concerned that peace might reign again in the state.

In the most recent outbreak of violence, Governor Jonah Jang was abroad literally indifferent and oblivious of his backyard in turmoil, then yesterday he had a meeting with the President to as it were brief the President on the issues concerning his state – one wonders if he had anything to share if he was not there to witness the problems.

Vain jangling and incomprehensibility

Meanwhile, the President had sent the military into Jos to quell the problems and after the meeting; Governor Jang was accosted by the press and asked a number of questions regarding the problems in Jos and it went thus.

Press: “Don’t you think the presidential directive was a subtle way of imposing the state of emergency?”

Governor Jang: “Well, go and read your constitution. I am not God to end Jos crisis.”

Press: “Was it not an indication that you have failed?”

Governor Jang: “Already the task force has been under the command of the president, therefore it is not an indication that the security has been taken over from the state. We hope to end the crisis.

Press: “People are saying that the crisis is out of control.”

Governor Jang: “Is Plateau the only place that has security problem? Security situation is all over the country, so why are you so particular about Plateau state.”

Press: “Do you trust him?”

Governor Jang: “Yes I trust him.”

The height of ungodly irresponsibility

This is a revelation if not a microcosm of what is wrong with wrong with those conferred with the honour of leadership in Nigeria, their inability to take on the responsibilities they have and make the best of their talents and resources to bring about change.

To the first question, by implication, the Governor who has executive responsibility for the state in terms said only God can end the crisis. This is a man who has been in power since 2007 who should by now know what the real problems are and if he were a tad competent should have been putting plans in place to resolve this recurrent crisis and make it history.

Now, there is a need for God in any situation depending on your religious persuasion but God uses people, people who are ready to assume the responsibilities they have and lead as they are supposed to bring to bear wisdom, knowledge, insight and ideas to solve thorny problems.

It would be absurd for a driver of a car on a seemingly dangerous road to expect God to take over the steering whilst he sits on his hands. It is more likely the driver with have a good grip on the steering and mutter a prayer to God to help ensure that he safely negotiates that road and is delivered safely to the end of that journey.

Pointedly a failure

To the second question, it probably should have been read has a statement because there is no doubt that Governor Jang has failed to grapple with the problem and basically he is completely out of his depth and he is probably standing in the way of more progressive people who probably are much more clever and able to address the problems Jos is facing.

In answering the third question, the governor went on the defensive; the perception by many is that the Jos crisis is out of control and beyond the control of the bench-warmers who sit in office but are powerless and overcome with paralysis of thought and reason.

Plateau State might not be the only place with security problems in Nigeria, in fact, it is not the only place with security problems but the press cannot be asking the Plateau State governor about problems in other places when he is the first citizen and the person in charge of the state under focus from whom one would expect answers that portray a man in his element with the ability to perform.

Shirking responsibility hoping for respite

What this exchange reveals is the usual cynical ploy of politicians to call on God’s name in vain and when out of their depth rather than own up to their inadequacies they foist the responsibilities for which they get paid handsomely unto God hoping to deflect further inquiry with the thinking that the mention of God will scare people into deference and a vague dread of the supernatural.

Well, it is just not good enough, there is a need for God to be completely removed from the Nigerian political space so we can clearly identify people who have the innate ability essential to be used by God or maybe we can have people who have the ability to use intellect and reason to approach seemingly insurmountable problems and begin to offer solutions that dissolve conflict and begins the path to reconciliation.

The unfortunate extension to this saga might well be the many other Nigerian politicians who like Governor Jang have resigned, are out of their depth being completely clueless and readily defensive using God as the bogeyman whilst the responsibilities they have been given are left without action and application but they shamelessly draw overly generous remuneration for doing nothing.

We cannot continue to tolerate such people in leadership, enough is really enough of these atrocious idiots in office.

This acknowledges that the Nigerian Vanguard Online published the news story of this interview with the title - Only God can end Jos crises – Gov Jang.

Childhood: The pupils of Corona School, Shamrock House, Bukuru, Jos

Memory jolts on safari

Somehow, I have never really finished writing about my childhood as it revolves around my schooldays and the experiences I had growing up.

However, as I think about those days the memories become more keen and reinforced, like for instance, I was on a jeep safari into the arid region of South-Eastern Gran Canaria and these jeeps were really Land Rovers – not the posh kind but the rough terrain ones that look like they could take a real road beating when it appears there is no road.

Each jolt was a reminder of the Land Rover that was our school bus that picked us up each morning and dropped us back at home each afternoon. Basically, Land Rovers were the vehicle of choice for mining companies and one was given over for a school bus.

However, the more important part of this blog is to bring together the additional information I have been able to collect about my school from comments left by others who attended the same school – I could not  forever leave them languishing in the comments areas when what they had to say was quite pertinent.

Many relocations of Corona School

I first attended the Army Children’s School in Kaduna for just under a year and then we moved to Jos, in the then Benue-Plateau State, from my reports, it appears I jumped the second year and started in Class 3 – the assessments must have qualified me for that jump considering I was a year below the class average.

It was Corona School at Shamrock House in Bukuru, we lived in Rayfield some 6 miles or 8 kilometres away.

Joe Miner who left a comment in October 2008 said he first attended Corona School at Miango Road before it moved to Shamrock House and then he was transferred to Hillcrest School which then was the top school in Jos.

Julie Sanda in May 2009 goes on to say she even attended Corona School before it relocated to Miango Road, when it was at Beach Road – these are pieces of information I never knew.

Relationships between their stories

Armstrong who seemed to be a popular sportsman at school attended Corona School some 8 or so years after I left the school he left a comment in August 2008 – I left Corona School in 1975 when we moved back to Kaduna.

An anonymous writer attended Corona School slightly later than I did and then moved to Hillcrest School when a place opened up for her in Class 3.

The stories are so intertwined as Armstrong lost his parents in a car accident and Joe Miner remembers that accident that involved a family, apparently, they were on their way to Kano Airport which was the international airport in the North of Nigeria – Armstrong happens to be Filipino.

More uncannily, Armstrong’s father was a maintenance engineer at Microwave Associates, Joe Miner is now the Managing Director and CEO of Microwave Associates still based at the same address on Bukuru Bye Pass.

Teaching the memory

Julie Sandy remembers the Dent-Youngs, Mrs. Dent-Young was the headmistress when I was there, and her husband was the Chairman of the Amalgamated Tin Mines of Nigeria where my father was the Deputy Chief Accountant.

I do also remember Mrs. Uku, though she was never my teacher, the teacher I most remember was Mrs. Onyemenam who taught me in Class 5, then Mrs. Obole who was the school disciplinarian and Mrs. Agbelusi who became a family friend, I wonder if her story requires a blog on its own.

Only memories remain

We all remember Yelwa Club which used to be the watering hole of all the expatriates, the company executives and their kids, apparently, according to the Anonymous comment, a Philistine named Joshua Dariye – a one time inveterate governor of Plateau State – erected high walls round the club and replaced the colonial style windows with aluminium ones.

Rayfield, that idyllic place where we lived with large expanses of grazing land, orchards and bliss has become a completely built-up area, I suppose all one can say is all these would only be memories never to be relived again but in the recollections gathered together as comments in blogs that reference those people, events, places and ideas.

I want to thank, Armstrong, Joe Miner, Julie Sanda and the anonymous commenter for sharing their memories and corroborating my recollections, their comments with my editions in parenthesis [] appear below.

The Childhood blogs

Nigeria: Gone is the Jos I knew

Childhood: My aunts saw red

Childhood: The fruits of a chicken napping dog

Childhood: Driving the languages of sacrifice

The masterpieces of memory

Even more memories of a child

More memories of a child

Rayfield, Jos - Memories of a child

The comments in the order they appeared on my blogs

1. ARMSTRONG left...

Friday, 8 August 2008 2:48 pm

Greetings to you Mr. Akin,

It’s nice to know that you were also a student in Corona School, Jos, Plateau State.

I was very impressed in how you described your past memories & past experiences of our School and very happy to know that I am not the only one who recalls these wonderful events that had happened to our lives.

I said this because, I was there also, but you were there ahead of me. My time was during [the regime of] President. Shagari in the early 80s' [1979 to 1983], but he was overthrown [in a] Coup D’état led by Major General Babangida [In fact, this coup was lead by Lt. General Muhammadu Buhari, the Babangida coup was years later] and that's when the military rule begun until we left Nigeria.

Of course who could forget that wonderful places, there was the Club House [Yelwa Club] just nearby where Mohammed Isa & I used to hang out and watch the British, German, Dutch and some Filipinos like me playing Snooker or Darts while they were drinking or holding a bottle of Rock.

And yes one of my favourite places was the Swimming Pool, just a walking distance away. I remember it well; Mohammed and I, together with other expatriate friends used to swim there once a month or if there was time.

And just a stone’s throw away, there was the Multi-Purpose Theatre Hall and guess what? It was time for the annual Festival of all Nationalities in Jos, to perform their own folk dance and songs.

I was one of the chosen dancers to represent my Country, at first I felt weird and uneasy, but I did it just fine!

Actually, I was a Break Dancer then; my moves were hand spin & back spin, but not anymore now.

I was one of the Varsity players for the Basketball team, though I'm not that tall but our head coach, actually she was a lady. She saw my talent and skills and put me in as a centre forward and of course we won.

Everyone was very happy in the school that day; they were shouting 'ARMSTRONG','ARMSTRONG'! Of course I was very happy and proud to bring glory to our school.

One event that I can't really forget is when our Headmistress accused me [about something] which I did not do at all. She put it in writing and on the record. Yes, I have a school record not only as a student and Varsity player, but also a record of Chasing GIRLS.

Was it my fault for being popular and with good looks? Actually she was very strict Mrs. Opara (British National) [I cannot remember this name], but she overlooked the situation and jumped into a one-sided conclusion, she didn't even bother to ask me of what really happened.

Is it because one of them was her niece, anyway it’s no big deal for me. [This interesting because perceived injustices meted out to us in childhood have a way of reappearing as milestones in memory, I have one pertaining to my secondary school.]

My father was an Engineer and he worked as a Maintenance Manager at Microwave Associates [located at] 26 Bukuru Bye-Pass Road. Sad to say my parents died in Nigeria, we met in a car accident on the way to Kano Airport.

Thanks for the opportunity for sharing my happy memories and sad moment on your site, I hope you like it and find it interesting. [I do find your story and memories interesting, thank you too for sharing, I am also saddened about your loss, but you seem to have turned out fine. My kindest regards.]

2. Joe Miner left...

Tuesday, 14 October 2008 6:44 pm

Hi guys,

Nice to read all these nostalgic stories. Jos has become a big town now. I was at Corona when it started off at Miango junction before it went on to Shamrock [House] and I moved on to Hillcrest [School].

I think we can all make Jos a much better place by insisting on certain economic and political values. We have had a riot that almost tore our peace to pieces, but we thank God it didn't. We must insist on peaceful co-existence and good neighbourliness.

For Armstrong, I didn't get your last name, and I would like to. I am currently MD/CEO of Microwave Associates, and we are still at 26 Bukuru By-Pass.

I remember many years back when a family was sadly involved in a motor accident on the Kano Road. I was in secondary school then. If they were your parents, you have my deepest regrets. Do keep in touch.

My email: address supplied

Enjoy yourselves my friends! [How uncanny, history and contemporary events wrapped up in a comment that is quite far reaching. Thank you, Joe Miner.]

3. anonymous left...

Monday, 16 February 2009 2:44 pm

Hey Akin

Haven’t read your blog in over a year, [was] bored in my office, surfing different sites. I decided to see what you've written since I was a frequent visitor, - When I notice your Corona School, Jos blog, and I [thought], 'I KNEW he was good peeps' [Don’t understand this phrase, but will leave it as is, must be some contemporary parlance].

I grew up in Jos too, a little later than you, I am a little younger (40,'young-ha ha), and I too have really fond memories of growing up there. My mum still lives there and we take our kids quite often - we live in Abuja.

Jos in the 70's and even the80's was a magical place, do you remember the squirrels outside at Corona [School]? [Not too vividly, but I do remember that we saw a few squirrels] I went there briefly, about a month before a place opened up for me at Hillcrest [School] in the 3rd grade [Hillcrest School used an American educational system, Corona School was more British orientated.].

I have such fond memories of Yelwa Club, mummy was a member of the Horticultural Society and flower shows were a huge part of our growing up [Never attended any of those but I remember more the Guy Fawkes Day bonfires that club arranged.].

I remember the theatre and the lovely wooden floors, the backstage dressing rooms which we thought were haunted and the pool – the deep pool – I must add, it was 13 feet at the deep end.

By the time I was a junior at hillcrest, we had our prom there, in the restaurant, not the auditorium, our theme was Mexican and I think my loathing for “quanta la mera” [It is really Guantanamera and it is Cuban, meaning the girl from Guantanamo, amazing.] began there, our pseudo Mexican band played it over and over and (you get the picture).

I left Jos at 18 - went to the US, and finally find myself, 40 years young, living in Abuja with my husband and our brood.

I don’t know if I should tell you what became of Yelwa Club or leave it an unspoiled memory in your head. Actually I will – two words – Joshua Dariye; the former and disgraced governor of Plateau State.

The first thing he did was erect a high wall around it, probably to stop us from seeing the ALUMINIUM WINDOWS he replaced the gorgeous old colonial ones with. Should I go on? No, I won’t, I’m lazy and I’m over it. This is the face of the new Nigeria

[How poignant, the memories we have of a post-colonial Nigeria long past when we fully took control of things and allowed the legacies to deteriorate. Thank you for sharing your fond memories, seems I’ll never know who you are.]

4. Julie Sanda left...

Thursday, 14 May 2009 1:13 am

Sitting alone in my hotel room on a work-related trip, I got nostalgic, I remembered my teachers in primary school - Mrs Mcphee, her daughter (Murray?) Mrs Uku, etc.

I remembered the Dent-Youngs, the Holticultural Society etc. etc., and decided to do a search for the Women’s Corona Society, and that's how I got to your blog – fantastic piece!

You won't recognise Rayfield now, the idyllic fields are almost all gone – Rayfield is FULLY built-up, there's hardly any demarcation between that area and Du [I cannot recollect where Du might be.].

What got me really excited was your recollection of school kids lining up the road by that railway crossing, waving Nigerian flags as the Head of State, 'Uncle Jack' would drive by in his convoy .[Indeed a shared experience, Yabubu Gowon was the Head of State of Nigeria from 1967 to 1975, he was an indigene of Pankshin, I think, anytime Gnassingbe Eyadema of Togo visited, they both went to his village.]

I was in Corona [School] too, started from Beach Road, moved to Miango Road junction and finally to Shamrock House in Bukuru.

Yelwa Club as you have been informed is gone, FOREVER. Foley theatre is no more (I know 'Muhammadu theatre' squirmed in his grave as it was being 'remodelled').

Thanks for sharing your memories. [Thanks for taking the time to share yours too, the story evolves as we get together the full story and timeline of all those who attended Corona School, Bukuru, Jos.]

[There was no way I could leave all these memories stuck in the comments section, so, we have a blog of comments and somehow it shows how recollections in blogs can lead to more corroborative participation by those who have shared similar experiences.

There is more to write about my childhood, it was eventful as a decade, with its years, its months, its weeks, its days, its hours, maybe minutes and one can still savour every second.]

Blog - Childhood: The pupils of Corona School, Shamrock House, Bukuru, Jos - II (August 2021)

Nigeria: Gone is the Jos I knew

Memories long gone

One of the dangers of sweet memories is to allow them to dictate your view of contemporary events. However, it is a lesson in life to appreciate fully and embrace the good memories on which to build expectations of the future whilst leaving behind those memories that shackle you to experiences you would rather not relive.

In fact, Demi Moore expresses [1] that sentiment better by saying, “The key is to hold onto the love you had and what you gained and don't get attached to what you lost.”

A time of adventure

The news of riots [2] in the city of Jos, Nigeria fills me with regrets of paradise lost, some of my formative and excitingly adventurous years were lived in the suburb of Rayfield, Jos.

This was a place where I could read a Famous Five [3] or Secret Seven [4] adventure and think this is possible in my backyard, then go out to have fun on my bicycle with friends.

I cannot understand what has become of Jos such that in the past decade there has been these religious riots pitting Muslims against Christians [5].

Jos was idyllic, temperate, it had in the 1970s a good proportion of Caucasians and it was probably the most anglicised city in Nigeria.

The then head of state, General Yakubu Gowon was from that area and I remember the many times he visited his hometown that we went out to the railway crossing at Bukuru waving Nigerian flags as he passed by.

The divisions emerge

Indeed, I could not have known that much about rivalries between the tribes, but there were songs that depicted some of the animosity between them, the Birom, the Angas, the Jukun and the Tiv as inhabitants of the then Benue-Plateau State.

There were the Hausa and the Fulani but they represented the union language of the region just as Muslims and Christians seemed to co-exist without malice, rancour or schism.

One can only lament the way that political forces that have no consideration and concern for their followers have exploited subtle differences between the people to foment savagery in rioting, unnecessary mob violence and killing.

The power brokers whose selfish interests are to fill their pockets and those of their sycophantic minions have been unconscionable to the extreme; as far as they are concerned, hell can reign in Jos if they cannot hold the reins of power, lives are dispensable as collateral damage to meet their needs but none of them would be found culpable for the heinous crimes that have been committed.

No concept of being Nigerian

One is also saddened that after 48 years of independence and after 94 years of the existence of the entity called Nigeria, the concept of Nigerian-ness has not taken root in the psyche of the people.

Tribal and religious affiliations still matter to many and they become the fodder for barbarian plunder, such that the riots brought on by one political party not winning a local election has been reduced to religious fighting between Christians and Muslims.

It begs the question why Nigerians cannot break free from primitive identities of tribal and religious affiliation to that which is borne out by progressive ideas, vigorous discourse, healthy debate and civilised engagement.

Is there a broad-based coalition?

The impression was that a Christian party had won in what was a predominantly Muslim area – the concept of a Christian or Muslim party must be abhorrent enough, but could there have been a case where the supposedly predominantly Muslim area did think that the other candidate was better?

This question would seem to elevate the standard of Nigerian politics to a level never attained before, but the possibility is there.

For self-appointed leaders of ill-repute to portend that they know the wishes of the voters long before they have cast their ballots would be to make the idea of democratic determination a moot point and completely irrelevant; this needs to change.

Seeking redress with civility

Ideally, there should be ways and means of challenging results of an election in a civil manner and processes put in place to verify to the satisfaction of all concerned if the tally of votes represents the clear wishes of the people.

That level of civility is unfortunately not in the capabilities of our political leaders and the ability to trust the results of our electoral processes has never really been in the gift and abilities of our electoral officials.

The opportunity to seek appropriate redress is ditched in favour of appealing to our basest instincts, excite the latent savage and feed the dormant beast, let the usually restrained animal lose on the innocent and defenceless and carnage reigns without bringing us anywhere near a solution.

The ungodly pretending to be religious

Hundreds of people killed in country where if God were to have a nap He would not find a nanosecond to blink for the number of times He is presumably called upon is amazing – people had replaced their prayer beads, rosaries, bibles and Korans with machetes and impliments that inflict grievous bodily harm and death.

The shocking thing is some leader would find ayah or verse to justify these actions in the name of God and all that is good.

I submit that the perpetrators are hardly Godly people by any stretch of the imagination, they believe they call on a deity and are in the service of some higher being but this is no religion, it is a just a horde of animals seeking a label of sorts and the greater shame it is of Nigerians to be portrayed in such bad light.

As for the childhood memories I have of Jos, they have become memories only - almost never to be the reality for kids in Jos today or in the near future – it is a sorry and sordid state of affairs, unfortunately.

Source

[1] Demi Moore at UK premiere of Flawless – Telegraph

[2] Nigerian city counts its dead after days of Christian-Muslim riots | World news | The Guardian

[3] The Famous Five (series) - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

[4] The Secret Seven - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia

[5] BBC NEWS | Africa | Nigerian city tense after riots

Childhood: The fruits of a chicken napping dog

Fruits of many trees

When we finally moved to Jos and settled in the suburb of Rayfield, we had a full house with Unculu (my paternal uncle) and other relations of my father that included his niece and kid sister.

Our colonial bungalow was set in grounds that included an orchard of mango trees, a lemon tree, a fig tree, a cashew tree, a few orange trees and lots of grazing ground for cattle.

There was a separate garage for the car and a block of rooms set aside about a minute’s walk from the main building which was the boy’s quarters – a colonial definition of apartments for servants.

Blood of thieves

Besides the help we had from our relations we had a maid servant who despite her work was offered the opportunity of schooling and a gardener who doubled as a watchman of sorts.

This however did not stop the watchman of being robbed once, where some of his family possessions were stolen and on one occasion a thief tried to gain entry to our house, broke and window pane and cut himself badly.

All the blood and the trail of blood from the scene of the crime was quite unsettling for me as a child, in fact, it was just as scary as when we found a bat squeaking in the kitchen sometime before.

Et tu Bruté?

However, one of the memories that stuck with me was of our very first dog, Brutus, a very nice cheerful dog that seemed to have a taste for chickens in the neighbourhood. One day when I was away at school, the people came round, chased the dog into the bushes which were downhill from the house some 500 metres away and ran a spear through it, as I was told.

Rumour has it; it ended up in some soup pots, the killers probably doing well to retrieve their chickens by eating the dog that ate their chickens.

It was something of a traumatic experience and it took a while before we got another dog that I named Scot after the dog Scot in the Janet and John books we read at school.

Beheading the chicken

Thankfully, Scot did not have a taste for chickens at all, considering we had quite a few chickens then on the grounds.

Every once in a while we chased a chicken to exhaustion for a meal, none of that frozen chicken stuff and I had been taught how to clamp the wings under one foot and have the feet under another foot, grab at the head, holding it up to reveal the neck and cut without necessarily decapitating the bird.

Once, I did cut the head completely off and did not let all the blood out or allow for the last breath, lifted my feet and got half chased by a headless chicken before it expired – thankfully, it did, because there was no way I would have tried to catch it after what had happened to it.

Imagine if the chicken ended up like Mike the headless chicken [Source: Mike the Headless Chicken - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia] which survived for 23 months, sometimes; the weirdest people do the craziest things and find a place in the Guinness Book of World Records.