By OSA AMADI, Arts Editor

For longer than many of us can remember, writers have been drawing attention to what is now trending as sex for marks in Nigeria’s tertiary institutions. In the novel, BURN AGAIN, written by OSA AMADI in 1993 and set on the very campus of Obafemi Awolowo University, Ile Ife, the author accurately captures the scourge as it is unfolding today:

Sister Folake knocked at the door of the head of the department of English Language Studies. She paused before she tried the handle. The door hinged inside. She put her head around, withdrew it, and closed back the door. There was a girl in the room. She stood beside the door and waited.

Few minutes later, the door jerked open and a girl in pair of shorts and fez cap came out, holding a folder to her left bosom and a small-sized ladies’ handbag with a long strap on her right shoulder.

Sister Folake ignored her. A prostitute is better than her. She must certainly end up in hell fire, she thought as she stumbled into the office.

The HOD looked up from his table and said: “Yes, can I help you Miss Bewaji?” He is a thickset of a man in his late forties with a balding head. His name is Dr. Omojola, and he is an alumnus of the department and of the great university. He was retained after his graduation and had since been in the department for over one and half decades as a senior lecturer. Dr. Omojola understands students and their problems, especially female students.

“I want to sign my course card sir,” Sister Folake said.

“What course is that, Miss Bewaji?”

“EGL 402 sir.”

“You can’t register for 402. You haven’t passed 401,” Omojola told her.

“But the grades are not yet out, sir,” she became nervous.

“Yes, I know because I teach the course, and I compiled the grades,” he said, relishing the moment. He had waited patiently for it, knowing it would certainly come one day.

“I presume you have other outstanding courses you are carrying over?”

“Yes sir.”

“What are those courses?” he asked, though he knew.

“314 and 304.”

“Don’t you have any GNS you are carrying over?”

“And SES 002,” she added, sobbing slightly.

Dr. Omojola looked at the little attractive figure before him who had been ruined by religion. He marvelled at the way these girls fall at last.

Four years ago when Folake Bewaji was admitted into the university as a fresher, her academic abilities had looked like those of the few girls who got their degrees without passing through the nocturnal barters in his office. He had observed with interest, the downward plunge of Folake’s academic ability and grades the moment she started to wear headscarves around. Omojola had felt angry with her, not because of the depreciation of her academic ability, but because of the headscarves and what they meant. Folake had been first in the list of girls he had pencilled down for ‘conquest’ before they would graduate from the department.

Now, Dr. Omojola saw the opportunity presenting itself and prepared himself to grab at it. “I hope you realise you will not be graduating this year again?” he poked at her. She had already lost an academic session.

“But sir, I … I … can register all the courses in the next semester,” she said, almost begging.

“That shows your stark ignorance, Miss Bewaji. I am afraid you cannot, because you don’t even know it’s against the university regulations to register for more than twenty-two unit courses.”

“What should I do then, sir?” she sniffed, nervously twisting her sweating fingers.

“What you should do…what you should do,” Omojola repeated, scratching the back of his bald head in pretext of trying to figure out a solution to her problems. “Let me see. Are you free at 8:30 p.m. today?”

Sister Folake looked into the red and bleary eyes of Dr. Omojola, and then looked away. She knew what was going on in his warped mind. She has fellowship at 8:00 p.m. and it would not be over until 10:30.

“I have a prayer meeting at 8:00 p.m.,” she told him.

“A what?” Omojola asked, leaning forward as hot blood rushed into his face in anger.

“A prayer—-meeting, sir,” Folake repeated slowly, realising her mistake.

“Now, get out of my office!” he roared at her. “Meet me here any time from 8:30 p.m. any day or spend your entire life in this university trying to get a first degree, idiot!” he pushed back his chair and got up.

Folake began to cry.

“You may go please. I have lectures,” he told her harshly.

Sister Folake hurried out, and Dr. Omojola came out and locked up his office.

          ***

This is very easy to understand,” Sister Evelyn said, slightly annoyed.

She had spent over two hours explaining simple direct and reported speech to Sister Folake. Sister Evelyn had been shocked to discover that Sister Folake did not know how to write reported speeches which she ought to have known how to write in her post-primary education. Sister Folake had reregistered EGL 401 which she had failed twice and is now determined to pass without passing through the evil hands of Dr. Omojola. She had come to Sister Evelyn, partly because she knew Sister Evelyn was brilliant and partly because she could not bear to sit near a boy as she was sitting now with Sister Evelyn.

“Now, let me put it in another way,” Evelyn continued, “as reported speech involves reporting something which was said in the past, it must all be put into the past tense, and if it is in the past tense, in direct speech, then it must be taken farther away in time and put into the past perfect tense. Do you understand?”

“Yes I understand now,” Sister Folake said, looking vacant and lost.

Evelyn saw the vacant look in her eyes and knew she did not understand. Suddenly, she felt sorry for the girl. Somehow she realised that Sister Folake will not be able to pass that course. She has some deep-seated psychological problems, Evelyn observed. “Can we pray together, Sister Folake?” she asked.

Folake knelt down while Sister Evelyn laid hands on her head and prayed for her thus: “Almighty Father, who made us able to do all things through Christ who gives us strength. Your child who is kneeling down before you now is lacking in strength and understanding. Supply her with strength and understanding, Father. And save her from falling into temptations at these trying moments of her life in Jesus’ name.”

“Amen!” Sister Folake cried.

“I have some assignments to do now. We will find more time to study it together some other time,” Evelyn said.

“God bless you Sister Evelyn.”

“May God bless you Sister Folake.”

***

Sister Folake walked across the library, disturbed in her mind. She drew her headscarf further down her eyes, keeping her head as low as possible. She did not look anybody in the face but people glanced curiously at her.

What is she going to do? She did not understand any of the things Sister Evelyn had taught her.  That course was her departmental course. What about her special electives – the SES 002? That is a science course and it frightened her more than the rest. She had copied no note on the course because the lecturer had been too fast for her each time he dictated a note in the class. She became afraid she might have another extra year.

She walked past the university library and headed towards the humanity blocks. Slowly, she walked into Block 3 housing the Department of English Language.

When she came to the 2nd floor, she saw light in Dr. Omojola’s office. She quickly glanced at her wrist watch. It was 8: 00 p.m. on the dot. She had wanted to go and read her books in the lecture theatre on the 3rd floor, but a part of her mind suggested to her to go and see Dr. Omojola. He had said he would be in his office any time from 8: 00 p.m. every night.

She moved into a shadow cast by one of the big pillars along the corridor and waited, trying to make up her mind whether to go and read, or see Dr. Omojola. Suddenly, the office door jerked open and a girl put out her head, glanced sideways, and hurried out of the office. Casually she walked away from Sister Folake without seeing her and descended the stairs nearest to Dr. Omojola’s office.

Folake had recognised the girl. She was the girl who had repeated the course with her last two semesters. She is a real block head. Folake had been surprised that the girl had passed the course last semester. Perhaps that was how she passed – by going to Dr. Omojola’s office at eight O’clock in the night.

While she was still in the shadows, Dr. Omojola came out and stood in the doorway of his office. He looked up and down the corridor, pulling up his trousers. After sometime, he entered back into the office and shut the door.

Maybe he is about to go, thought Sister Folake. Hesitantly she came out from the shadows and walked down to Dr. Omojola’s office, her heart pounding in her ribs. At the door, she looked left and right before she knocked softly.

The hoarse voice of the doctor said “yes.” She turned the handle, stepped into the room, and gently closed the door behind her.

Dr. Omojola was surprised to see her. He came hurriedly to the door and took her hand, leading her to the centre of the room. Sister Folake snatched away her hand but continued to follow him.

“Have your seat, please. You are welcome,” he said, waving her to the upholstered chair in the middle of the room.

Casually, he went back to the door and turned the key in the lock, murmuring something about students not allowing him a single moment of rest. He came back and sat on the table facing Sister Folake.

“How is your work, Miss Bewaji?”

“Fine, sir,” she could not even hear herself.

I have been thinking about your problem, Miss Bewaji, and I think it’s a very simple one, if only you can cooperate with me. There is certainly no need for you to spend another extra session, not if we can help it,” Dr. Omojola said.

Leaving the table, he came to Sister Folake with his eyes filled with lust and evil intentions. Folake jumped up and ran towards the door. He too leapt up and pounced on her. Together they crashed to the floor. Dr. Omojola slipped down his trousers and descended on her.

One strong hand pinned Sister Folake to the floor while the other one pulled at her panties. She struggled helplessly. Dr. Omojola, unable to remove her panties, forced her legs wide apart, trying to penetrate her from the side.

“Jeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeesus!!” Sister Folake screamed and clawed at his face as Omojola’s hot, steel-hard manhood came in contact with her bare inner thighs.

Dr. Omojola released her immediately. That noise was too loud. Already, there were shuffles of feet outside his office door. Sister Folake scrambled up to her feet and ran to the door. She pulled the handle back and forth, still screaming: “Jesus! Jesus! Jesus!”

Dr. Omojola quickly got into his trousers and ran to the door. “My God, can’t you keep quiet for Christ’s sake and let me open the door for you?” he begged her.

She stood clearly away from him as Dr. Omojola fumbled with the lock. He managed to turn the key and pulled open the door. Like  lightening, Sister Folake flew out of the room and nearly tripped over the steps on her way downstairs.

The guard put his head into the door and saw the doctor touching his face delicately and examining the hand. There was blood all over his face. “That devil clawed at my face. She must pay dearly for this!” Omojola said loudly.

“Sorry sir,” said the guard.

“Will you go away from my office!” he hissed at the guard. “You sloth!” He hadn’t seen the guard earlier.

“Sorry sir,” the guard repeated and hurried away.