Chapter 1: Canteen Suffering

The canteen always dey smell like burnt oil and yesterday's stew, with flies dey dance for window. Because the canteen man na principal brother, e dey treat us students like say we be dust.

Sometimes, e go just stand for counter, dey form big man, dey use one old toothpick dey pick him teeth like say na world best food e dey serve. E go look us finish, shake head, talk say, “Una too dey complain, e be like say una never see real wahala for life.” From back, person go mutter, "Oga, na food we come chop, no be sufferhead." For him mind, he dey do us favour to even give us anything chop.

That chicken leg, e be like say e and my great-grandma na age mates. If you see am, you go wan use am for juju work, na so the bone strong. Even if you soak am for water, e no go soft. Sometimes I dey fear say if I chop am, my teeth go fall for ground, I go need see native doctor sew am back.

Meatballs wey na pure fat dem use do am—eight hundred naira for one. Meatball dey float for stew like sponge, oil just dey swim everywhere. If you press am, oil go stain your shirt. E no get shape, e no get taste, just dey disgrace meatball family.

No matter how much pepper and maggi dem pour for the thing, e no fit cover the rotten smell wey dey come out from that turkey meat. You go dey wonder if na shrine sacrifice dem bring the meat from. I dey reason say if you bring one Sango priest make e do incantation, even Sango go run! The smell fit wake dead ancestor.

Just like how no excuse, no matter how correct e sound, fit hide the principal’s greed. As dem dey cover rotten turkey with pepper, na so dem dey cover principal wickedness with big grammar. But for who sabi smell wahala, no amount of perfume fit cover armpit wey no dey bath.

I no fit bear am again. So I carry my classmates, we scatter the canteen food trays.

We gather, form strong wall, like say na Aluta we dey do. My hand dey shake small, but hunger pass fear. Somebody shout, “Wetin we gain if we dey chop rubbish?” Next thing, tray don dey fly, food pour everywhere. One boy even carry spoon knock empty pot, dey drum, everybody dey shout, “Down with bad food!”

The principal call my parents come school, say make I apologize.

E wear him agbada, dey form chief, dey twist mouth like person wey dey judge masquerade competition. E tell my papa, “Your son dey misbehave, disgrace our school.”

My parents vex: “We dey pay plenty money every month for your food, and na this rubbish una dey give our pikin chop?”

My mama tie scarf tight, stand for one leg, dey point finger: “Shey you dey call this thing food? Ordinary dog for my street no go near am! If pikin chop this, e go dream of hospital.” My papa just dey shake head.

My papa no even talk too much, he just break the food tray for the principal front: “Oya, chop am here now. If you leave even one grain of rice, we go meet for Education Authority.”

Principal face change colour. The whole staff room quiet. Cleaner wey dey mop floor stop, even cockroach wey dey run for corner freeze. My papa mean am, no jokes. Na so wahala start that day.