King of the Jungle
273 Pages
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King of the Jungle


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273 Pages


In King of the Jungle, the bouts of ethno-religious violence in Jos are fused with the heartbreaking story of two brothers who go through life unaware of each other�s existence. Carefully crafted with local colour which evokes memories of pre-2001 Jos, Bizuum Yadok�s first novel weaves humour, urban realism, tragedy and redemption.



Published by
Published 29 December 2014
Reads 14
EAN13 9789789182695
Language English
Document size 3 MB

Legal information: rental price per page 0.004€. This information is given for information only in accordance with current legislation.


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Bizuum Yadok
Published by Kraft Books Limited 6A Polytechnic Road, Sango, Ibadan Box 22084, University of Ibadan Post Office Ibadan, Oyo State, Nigeria +234(0)803 348 2474, +234(0)805 129 1191 E-mail: Website:
© Bizuum Yadok,2014
First published 2014
ISBN 978–978–918–209–1
= KRAFTGRIOTS = (A literary imprint of Kraft Books Limited)
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
All Rights Reserved
First printing, November 2014
This book is for the woman who has been there from the very start – Hannatu Tercin Iliya
I couldn’t have done this without the consent of the Divine, who also gave me the enablement. My parents, Mr & Mrs G.D Iliya, have constantly encouraged me in very many ways to write. Longtong, Zenret, Nandak, Dangsen, and Makrop gave me the push to finish the work when I almost gave up. They represent a small fraction of the entire Koduwam and Dukup families that supported me in no small ways. Douglas Kaze would have flung the first draft to my face if he were me, but he patiently and assiduously read the draft. He made more useful suggestions than any other person who had gone through the manuscript. Biplang Yadok’s critical thoughts gave birth to better ideas, and Manta Adamu noted errors that would have marred the work catastrophically. Emmanuel Shaiyen was there to lift me up when critics weighed me down, he literally forced me to the press. Niri Pam Shut added an invaluable touch to this work. Chalya Dul, Sabarka Aliyu, and Tongret David made useful observations for which I am grateful. My brother and friend, Ignatiaus Usar, has also been very supportive, morally and financially. Kenneth Boniface, Longrin Wetten, Gideon Dashe, Samuel Wakdok, Yiro Abari, Dr.(Mrs) Anthonia Chukwu, Santos Larab, Smart Bako, Mrs Peace Longdet, Mr. Deme, and Lengshak Gomwalk have inspired me in many ways. Dr. Dul Johnson treated the work as if it were his own. He remains a source of inspiration and a great mentor. Prof. Kanchana Ugbabe offered a motherly helping hand which could only be given by her alone. Prof. Isaac Lar, Mr. Godfrey Fwangs, Dr. (Mrs) Z.P Duguryil, Mr. Sati Lubis and Prof. (Mrs) O. M Ogunkeye have indirectly affected the work positively. My friends: Zenret Gwankat, Tongshishak Danjuma, Samson Gotom, Sly, Jake, Gideon Dada, Rufina Tuamyil, Joey Tush, Henry Frank, Jerry Cole, Kim Choji, James Jimwan, Gwom Shut, strivers, Nanribet Ezra, Machizmo, the list is very long. They have helped in many little ways. GOSA members, staff and students of BSS Gindiri, staff and students of FCE Pankshin, particularly the departments of English and Chemistry, have been immensely helpful.
One r
The assembly hall of Plateau High School, also known as the J.D. Gomwalk Hall, was filled with students, parents and invited guests. Balloons of different colours hung on the four corners of the ceiling. At the centre of the ceiling, light-coloured satin ribbons connected the balloons in an X shape. Giwa gazed at the ceiling for a while appreciating its aesthetic composition. As if to compare, he turned to the wall on his left. Above each of the seven large windows were jumbo-sized photographs of past principals including that of the incumbent –– Mr. Dodo. While all the six past principals wore smiling faces in their photos, Mr. Dodo maintained an indifferent face in his; whether he was happy or sad, only God could tell. The first three photographs from the front had faces of white men. The others were pictures of natives from various parts of the country. The wall on the right was densely covered at the top by framed pictures of past headboys. The picture of the present headboy wasn’t there, Mr. Dodo promised it would be hung by the next term –– if a space could be created. The guest speaker was delivering a long speech. Giwa had read his copy of the speech twice already, but the speaker was still reading his speech, pausing at intervals to illustrate with anecdotes, and sometimes in Pidgin or Hausa. More than half of the students in the hall buried their heads in their papers while they dozed. Giwa glanced at his wristwatch. It was 2:00pm and the speaker was still not through. Turning backward and looking at photographs of different sets of final year students, he observed the tall muscular SS3 boys of the early 80s as well as the motherly girls of their sets. In one of the pictures, Mr. Dodo was sandwiched between two fat girls. Evidently, he never grew taller after his secondary school. Among the girls of 1996 set was Amina Zubairu, Giwa’s school-mother. Giwa reminisced about the good times he had with her. She was known as B & B by
most students because she was beautiful and brilliant. She never dated a fellow schoolmate unlike other senior girls who were socially compelled to have a relationship with their classmates, seniors, and, occasionally but secretly, with their juniors. The “hard girls” went for NYSC members because that made them to feel superior to their mates. Amina Zubairu won all prizes in the science class during their speech and prize-giving day. She was also the best student in English and Economics. She became the cynosure of all eyes and everyone, but Mr. Dodo, was dying to pose for a picture with her. Her prizes were rather too heavy for her to carry, so her darling son, Giwa, helped out with some of the books. Her female friends had a myriad of reasons to envy her, but Giwa could not blame them because he would have done the same, or even worse, if he were in their shoes. Amina and Giwa had something more than a blood relationship. She was the older sister he never had. She probably was drawn to him when she discovered his remarkable performance in class, and being a brilliant person; it was only natural for their kind to attract each other although they had a lot of differences. Amina was a Muslim, an extrovert and a lover of sports; Giwa was a Christian and an introvert who tolerated sports because of Amina. However, the mutual love they had for each other was boundless. Sometimes, she was called Mamman Giwa and she was proud to bear that name. An Achilles heel for Amina would lie in her religious obligation. She hardly cared about covering her hair or even saying the morning and evening prayers. During the holy month of Ramadan, Amina would sneak out to eat, and still pretend to be fasting. These and other acts of impiety invoked dislike from her Muslim sisters but she wasn’t bothered. There she was in the picture smiling at Giwa. He longed to see her again. “Thank you all for listening.” The guest speaker finally finished his speech in a tedium that enwrapped the hall, then the students clapped their hands more out of boredom than appreciation. The tone of the clap conveyed tonnes of ingratitude. Giwa’s attention was drawn to the stage. Chief Dr. Thomas Bello, as he loved to be called, wore a frown as he made for his seat. He must have decoded the unsaid words of the students. Why won’t he restrategize histypeof speech, Giwa wondered. The high table was sufficiently supplied with soft drinks, bottled
water and snacks wrapped in foil. Two SS2 girls stood, one at each end of the stage with an opener to serve any of the guests who wanted a drink. A guest, a fat man, had already finished the drinks on his table and saved the bottled water for the last. The stage backdrop had a large mural of a figure, silhouetted against the white background, broadcasting grains on a field with a calabash in his hands. Above the man’s head was a bold inscription, “WHATEVER A MAN SOWS, THAT HE MUST REAP”. Mr. Dodo read this over and over during assembly, especially when defaulting students were about to be lashed, suspended or expelled, depending on the magnitude of their misdemeanor. After this moment, we shall all be free, free to do whatever we want to do and whenever we want to do it.Giwa thought. While the final year students were ready to launch vigorously into the “wider world”, Giwa was ambitious and determined to make money with the speed of lightning. He hated arrogant children who prided themselves on their parents’ wealth, those ones with closed ears and wide-open mouths. They were never willing to learn yet ever willing to teach what they do not know. Yanga was one of such prima donnas. Yanga was at it again this afternoon, sniggering at the guest speaker when everyone pretended to be sober after the Principal motioned them to stop their prolonged rude clap. He sat in the row before Giwa. “And now, the moment we all have been waiting for, particularly you students and, of course, parents. We shall start from the bottom to the top, that is from JSS1, JSS 2….” Mr. Samson, the English teacher for the senior classes, taught with obvious ostentation. It was said that he sat for his WAEC SSCE six times before making it into the university to study English where he graduated with a third-class degree. He was always careful to pronounce English words properly and sometimes, though rarely, he spoke pidgin with a crude British accent. For most school programmes, Mr. Samson was privileged to be the MC for lack of resources to hire a renowned MC. Usually, when teaching a class, he sauntered with his hands in his pocket while his notes lay on the table. He maintained a straight posture with his head hanging in the air. Nothing has changed about him today; he still wore the same attitude, resplendent in a white caftan and black sandals. The village head of Vom was invited to give out the prizes to the best students of JSS1. He shook hands with the students after giving them their prizes while the photographers took pictures. A roar of