TONS AND THORNS OF GOLD

'SCRAM, JAMBITE! Vamoose!'

Fred looked up from the forms he had been rushing to complete. He blinked at the sight of the ugly runty fellow who stood in front of him on the other side of the wide desk. It was not possible to guess what the little fellow's age could be; he looked like an underfed eight-year-old, his height not being more than four feet. In spite of his diminutive size, Fred noticed that he had a goatee, which must mean that he could not be less than sixteen; no doubt aware of his shortcomings, he must have decided to sport that ugly goatee and the scanty moustache around his upper lip, so that people might not mistake him for a little boy. However, his piping voice, as he had spoken those three very annoying words, sounded so much like that of a little boy. He was wearing a T-shirt and an oversized pair of trousers, as if he believed that by some miracle, he could still grow up to fill the surplus length of material.

'And why are you staring at me like that? I say, get up, Jambite! Are you deaf or something? I want to sit on that spot where you've planted your lousy bum. So, get up!'

Strangely, Fred felt like laughing. The little man reminded him of the main character in the cartoon series Atom Ant. He could not believe the effrontery of the midget. Not since his Form One in Police Children Secondary School had anyone dared to bully him; least of all now that he was nineteen, more than a six-footer and a very fit athlete. And even if anyone could bully Fred, it definitely would not be this peanut of a human being whom he could hold up with his left hand and still not feel a thing.

It was Fred's first evening on campus. He had moved into the school hostel around two o'clock that Sunday afternoon. After taking his supper at the cafeteria around 6.30 p.m. he had decided to come straight to the Common Room to complete his remaining Course Registration Forms. School had just resumed for the new session and he guessed that must account for why the Common Room was almost deserted even though it was now only eight in the evening; there were about ten or so other students scattered around the place, who were either reading or socializing. To avoid distraction, Fred had tucked himself away at the farthest corner of the Common Room to complete these all-important forms. He was ordinarily a meticulous person. He had completed a lot of forms in his lifetime but none had been half as important as these ones, and so he was really taking his time over them. He remembered how his head had swum when he had first set his eyes on his university admission letter. The euphoria was still with him, even as he was now filling his remaining Course Registration Forms. However, he noticed that it was the same forms which had this time given him away as a freshman, for the little fellow was presently eyeing the forms with disdain as they were spread out before Fred on the desk.

It was funny. For three full years Fred had prayed and waited for his mother to be able to save enough to get a loan in her co-operative thrift society for him to be able to begin his university education. In all that time, he could give anything to finally sit for and pass the Joint Admissions and Matriculation Board (JAMB) Examination, become a freshman in the university and qualify to be called a 'JAMBite'. His long-awaited dream had come true and he had secured admission into Lord Lugard Memorial University ('Unilords'), the country's most prestigious university; now, ironically, the last thing he wanted was to be called a 'Jambite', because a few hours after he came to campus he had discovered that the term 'Jambite' was not such a hip appellation after all. On his way to the cafeteria earlier on, he had overheard the following conversation between two old students:

'...Ol' boy, to be Jambite na disease-o, I swear! I say, as soon as I set eyes on the chic, I knew she was a Jambite. It was written all over her: she was so fidgety and everything. So, I moved up to her and said in a very lecturer-ish voice: "Hey, girl, where did you spring from? Can't you even greet? Are you not one of my new students?" Come and see, ol' boy! Immediately, the Jambite chic curtsied like a secondary school girl and said: "I'm very sorry, sir. Good evening, sir!" Ol' boy-o!'

'Jambite-Jambito-o!' the other boy said, screaming with laughter. 'I hope you wasted no time in netting her.'

'You no sabi me?'

'Ol' boy, kudos to you! So that by the time she finds out that you're not a lecturer but a bloody 200 Level student, you'll have led her to a point of "no-return". Ha-ha-ha! I tell you, this is the best time for a guy to catch his babe: during this "October Rush". Just give those Jambite girls a few weeks on campus and they'll wise up and become snobbish like the old babes. Remember, "rush" is the word! Waste no time at all...'

After Fred had overheard that conversation, he had resolved not to let any old student play him for a fool just because he was a freshman. He had heard that 'October Rush' did not only refer to female students being bamboozled into relationships with old male students; the term also referred to forced recruitment of new students of both sexes into secret cults. His grandmother always said that a disease which came ringing a warning bell ought not to afflict the wise and vigilant. He had adequately been warned about what to expect in his first semester on campus, and he was prepared. He had promised both God and his mother, Nkem, that he would not fail them by joining any useless secret cult. It would never happen. He did not see himself as a greenhorn. He was a freshman with a difference; after all, he was supposed to be in his penultimate year now if his mother had had the means to support his university education right from the year he had finished secondary school...

'Hey, Jambite!' Little Man yelled, shocking him out of his reverie and causing the other students in the Common Room to turn their attention to them. 'Are you deaf? Get up, and vamoose!'

Fred was surprised at himself; something about the midget tickled his fancy so much, and he caught himself smiling.

'Run along, Smallie,' he told him, making effort not to raise his voice. 'As you can see, I'm very busy. If you don't want to get spanked, small boy, disappear from here!'

Little Man clapped his hands to his open mouth melodramatically. Then he breathed in noisily from his wide mouth and breathed out again.

'ME?' he asked, beating his narrow chest.

Fred grinned and found himself asking:

'How old are you, anyway?'

He did not really expect an answer; but to his surprise, Little Man proffered one:

'I'm twenty-three.'

Fred shrugged.

'You may be right, judging from your goatee. Unfortunately, your brain - just like your body - is still that of a little baby.'

Little Man gasped; this time, his shock was no pretence.

Fred had come to know that attack was sometimes the best form of defence. He had read lots of novels and he suspected that the little fellow was not alone; he was undoubtedly a kind of bait, with his cronies now watching from the background. So, Fred knew it would be a mistake on his part to show the least sign of fear. He turned the knife in the wound by adding:

'I have a friend, Smallie, who refers to guys like you as "briefly summarized". Yeah! Believe me, I don't have time for briefly summarized guys like you. I'm busy. So, get lost!'

'JEEZ!' Little Man yelled as if he had been hit.

Now he had the attention of everyone in the Common Room, as that seemed to be his desire. He yelled, with his two hands in the air, looking around him like a TV wrestler willing the spectators to note how he would soon pitch his opponent. Puffing his cheeks, he moved with lightning speed and swept Fred's folder off the desk, sending his precious registration forms flying every which way round the floor of the Common Room.

Goodness! Furious, Fred jumped to his feet and reached out to grab him. He parried, taking advantage of the wide desk which stood between them.

'What the hell is the matter with you?' Fred raged. 'Now, pick my stuff, you runt!'

'WHAT? Did you dare to call me a runt, you bastard?'

He shoved the desk violently against Fred as the other was trying to step around it to meet him. Fred overbalanced and fell back onto his seat. It happened too quickly for him to dodge it: Little Man twirled wildly and gave Fred a backhanded slap across the face.

'JESUS!'

It was more of shock than pain that caused Fred to cry out. Gall rose to his throat. He got up in slow motion, like Incredible Hulk, and pushed the offending desk away, sending it crashing to the floor.

Right at that instant, two normal-sized tough-looking boys rushed forward and planted themselves between him and Little Man.

'Hey, Jambite! What are you trying to do? Do you want to fight him, huh? Do you want to fight Mighty Scorpion?' one of them demanded.

'He doesn't just want to,' the little fellow now referred to as 'Mighty Scorpion' spoke up from behind their protective human barricade. 'He's fought me! In fact, he is fighting me! He-i-i-i-i! He-e-e-e-e! He slapped me-o-o! Get the porters, someone! Get the authorities! Ye-e-e-e-e! He's beaten me-o!'

Fred had a sudden sense of unreality as he watched the 'Mighty Scorpion' fellow shadow-boxing behind the two boys and yelling at the top of his voice that he, Fred, had slapped and beaten him. He felt quite certain that he was indeed having a nightmare when a porter truly rushed out to meet them.

'Wetin dey happen?' the stout middle-aged porter demanded, eyeing Fred.

'The Jambite called me a runt,' Mighty Scorpion yelled. 'He's been slapping me and kicking me... and slapping me... just for asking him to shift for me to sit down. Ye-e-e-e! My ears-o-o!'

'E don do, Smallie! E don do, no dey shout again,' the porter tried to pacify him.

'He's lying, sir! He was the one who slapped me. I didn't touch him,' Fred said in a small voice. He could not believe his eyes and ears.

'Oh-ho! You slap am, e slap you! Two-fighting, no be so?' the porter asked them. 'Oya, make una follow me go our office.'

'I didn't touch him, porter sir. I swear.'

'Liar!' said one of the two tough-looking boys.

'I say make una follow me. Una no dey hear?'

'Please, sir, could you just hold on while I pick my stuff?' he pleaded.

When he had gathered his forms and other articles into his folder, Fred straightened up and followed the porter as the man led the way towards the porters' lodge.

'Una think say university na Motor Park? Make una come go fill form. Tomorrow I dey carry una go straight to Student Affairs Office. Make dem expel una so dat una go go una papa house go dey fight like animal,' the porter threatened as he hurried along.

Fred felt a hot sensation around the region of his heart, radiating to fill his stomach with butterflies. Expulsion! When he had not even yet attended his first lecture in the university! He thought of his mother and the pride and joy with which she had bid him farewell; the pride with which she had been announcing to her friends that she of all people would soon become 'Mama Lawyer'...

For a fleeting moment, Fred considered making a bolt for it. He discarded the idea even before it took root. It would not work, he told himself. He knew that the two rough boys, who had him sandwiched between them as they walked, would catch him before he could even take two steps; besides, attempting to run away would only put a question mark on his innocence.