It was the summer of 1968, the period of long vacations in schools. I was a ‘toddler’ holidaying from Jos. I used to spend every summer holiday since the pogrom of 1966 between Lagos and Abeokuta.
I loved Abeokuta.
It was a quiet and laid back town. Abeokuta had always been a unique town with unique physical features, struggling not to be consumed by urbanisation, preferring to remain a retirement-base for its older indigenes who came back home to rest in the ‘evening’ of their lives having ‘gone, seen and conquered the world’ in their different fields.
1968-Abeokuta was populated mostly by students, their teachers, and retiree-indigenes. The middle-class is in very small supply except during some weekends when they would swoop on the town like hawks for social engagements. One day, very soon, I shall write about Abeokuta beneath the surface, my personal take on the town, plus my incredible experiences.
So, let me return to that summer in Abeokuta ages ago with my late eldest brother, Dele Odegbami, nicknamed “Badmeat” because of his wicked defensive style of play on the football field. He was the captain of Ebenezer Grammar School, a small private secondary school in Abeokuta, that rose from relative obscurity to become 1964 Western Nigeria Academicals champions of the
Thermogene Cup for all secondary schools in the region. That became the school’s greatest claim to fame with several of the players becoming household names in Abeokuta.
In the evening, a few days into this particular visit, I went with him for a football training session on the grounds of Abeokuta Grammar school. I don’t recall the team that was to train there, but on the ground was a gentleman marking the perimeter of the football field with a white liquid substance. There were a few students in school uniforms that were helping him. From the look of it the youngish-looking gentleman was a teacher.
As soon as he saw us, the gentleman hailed: “Baaadmeat”.
My brother replied: “Ameh”.
They obviously knew each other. He was about completing the work on the field when we arrived. Soon, he was done. The football field was carved out of the environment like a work of art by the man my brother called Ameh, obviously a nickname that most people also called him. Permit me to refer to him also here by that name even though he would have been at least eight years my senior if he was my brother’s classmate in their HSC class.
He joined us by the side of the field, instructing the students, and chatting animatedly with my brother. He was indeed, a young teacher in the school, engaged as a sports officer one year after his HSC. It was common for bright HSC students to teach in secondary school after qualification in those days.
My brother introduced me to Ameh as his younger brother from Jos, and a great footballer. The football got Ameh’s attention and interest. Footballer? Was I thinking of changing schools and coming to Abeograms? How good was I?
My brother told him I was a striker and had been extremely impressive at our small- sided games in Iberekodo area of Abeokuta where we played 7-a-side football most evenings.
Ameh would not let go. He wanted to test me. Badmeat was apparently aware of this his antic. He would challenge players to score him from the penalty spot and put a wager on it. He had an awesome reputation as a stopper of penalty kicks. It was almost legendary. Many people believed he had supernatural powers, so the story went.
For my age, I was approaching 16 at the time, I was tall, thin and naive.
Badmeat boasted about my ability and told Ameh that he could not stop any of my 2 penalty kicks. Before I knew what was happening, my brother threw the challenge. Ameh never backed off such challenges. Looking back now, it is not impossible that the challenge involved some small amount of money between them, or just pride.
That’s how, innocently and without preparing for it I found myself wearing my brother’s Gola boots, and taking on the great Ameh, the goalkeeper with a mystical power to stop penalty kicks. Ameh had been Abeokuta Grammar School’s reserve first-team goalkeeper. He was also a member of the Abeokuta Town team that was made up almost entirely of students from the academicals.
Ameh quickly changed into his goalkeeping outfit and went into goal at one end of the field. Some students were attracted and started to gather around the goalpost area.
My heart, at this point was racing excitedly. I was good at taking penalty kicks and was confident. The wager aspect and the growing number of spectators were new to me.
My inside rumbled from excitement to a gentle internal shiver.
The ball was placed on the penalty spot by Ameh himself. He moved backwards into goal. I positioned myself in front of the ball, and took my 4 steps backwards and to one side as Reverend Father Cotter had taught me at St. Murumba College, Jos, my mind racing between concentrating on recalling my well-rehearsed formular and watching the man prancing on the goal line in front of me. My inside kept rumbling. I must not let my brother down.I looked up and the man in goal had stopped moving. He was standing on the goal line, but not in the middle as was won’t of regular goalkeepers.
He had moved at least one foot towards one side. There was a yawning gap on one side and a smaller gap that his outstretched arm could easily cover on the other. He was now calling on me to take my shot.
What side do I kick the ball to? The question was racing through my head. To the right of the goalkeeper where he had deliberately left more space, or to try and shoot through the narrower space?
I stood there momentarily confused. I tried to read his intentions and his mind. Why would he leave one side so invitingly open? A good powerful shot to that side was a sure goal. Or was it?
I had never seen anything like that in my young age, for a goal keeper to deliberately stay more on one side of the goal line than the other. It provided an irresistible invitation. Or was this a trap? Was that his stronger side?