People like Senator Garba.
For the first time in my life, I saw the famous Senator Garba in the flesh. It was a lecture-free day — or rather, all curricular activities were suspended in honour of the senator's visit to St Peter's High School.
Never in the history of St Peter's High had the school hall been filled to the brim, but that morning, the hall was packed full of people — students, teachers, non-academic staff, and even a few parents who lived close to the school. Students who were only known by their school uniform trooped in one after the other. The ones who had not been in school for donkey years mysteriously found their way to school. Soon, the hall became so congested that people could barely breathe in fresh air.
Hand fans began to blow from different angles in the hall. Exercise notes were waved back and forth to create an airflow. Teachers and students perked up their ears, anticipating the sound of sirens.
All for one person. A governorship aspirant. A calm, gentle man with a smile that could melt a soul.
His seat, the luxurious leather chair recently purchased by the school proprietor, was positioned at the front of the hall, being fanned by the only standing fan in the hall.
As I adjusted in my seat, my heart racing with eager anticipation, I smiled at my coursemates, Mercy and Aisha, as I recalled what my brother had said to me the previous day.
“He was at our school yesterday. My friend told me he was also in his brother's school last week.”
“Senator Garba is a good man,” Aisha added. “My father says he plans on building technical schools in this State.”
After being overfed with intense anticipation, he finally arrived, dressed in a designer's agbada that I was sure cost millions of naira. His brown suede shoes shone with class, but his warm smiles shine brighter.
His voice was gentle and he spoke with assurance.
“Students... I have a dream. My dream is to see each and every one of you become great leaders.”
Loud applause filled the hall. At least, someone still believed we were the leaders of tomorrow.
He studied the hall briefly, and let out a gradual smile. He resumed with a confident tone.
“When I become the governor of this state, I'll ensure I establish a Skills Acquisition Centre for every school in this state.”
Another applause followed. I smiled, and my friends jumped. I caught my principal grinning from ear to ear. Senator Garba was a man of the people. Yes, we would vote him into that seat.
The senator went on and on, downloading his uncountable dreams. At a point, we got tired of applauding. We only smiled, each person to his imagination of what was to come.
But it all remained a dream. Little wonder he called it a dream. Fast forward to this moment. This is the third year of senator... I mean, Governor Garba's reign. The truth is, I've not come to fully accept him as my governor yet.
Not because our parents did not vote for him with full chest, but because each time I walk past the unfinished building of the supposed Skills Acquisition Centre, I remember the day he visited. Broad smiles, too many promises.
Two weeks ago, we received the greatest shock. The entrance of the building was completed and painted beautifully. Ribbons and balloons were used to decorate the entrance. The governor returned. The same smiley face accompanied him. Same confident tone. The cameras were over him, and reporters from different TV stations paraded him like a fly. He called that day the official opening of the St Peter's Skills Acquisition Centre.
We were shocked. My principal was more shocked. My proprietor thought it was all a joke until later in the day, the news was all over every TV channel with the headline: Governor Garba has commissioned yet another Skills Acquisition Centre.
The day I wrote my final paper for SSCE, I knew that Governor Garba had only come to enlighten us on the importance of vocational skills. At least if he never did anything, he was the one reason why I would begin a catering training next month.
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