My name is Ganja. I was born to a father who is the presiding bishop of our local chapel in the Army Barracks Pretoria, South Africa. Ganja is not my real name from birth. I had one of the best names in the world a parent would like to name his child, Samuel. Mother is the kind of African-styled woman who will at all times remain submissive to her husband, the bishop. It is so unfortunate that I did not get to know .ore about my father except what I just related above.
When I was in primary school, at about four years of age, my friends were from the traditional Army Barracks you find all over Africa. Crimes are perpetrated at a high rate within the barracks. It was here I encountered how girls would smoke hemp as low as age six. Civilian parents would bring their wards ro our school, especially the stubborn ones to attend school within the barrack, to instill fear in them, the reverse is the case most times.
Being in the company of my mother as the only child, I find it graceful to have my way in some matters that would have earned me the beating of my life if I were to be from the homes of some of my friends. My mother could do anything to make me happy.
One evening, while I went to watch a handball match in the barracks sports complex, I found my friend Theophilus engaging in some secret transaction with one adult male. He didn't see me, so I pretended never to have seen what transpired. I was very unsettled as I wanted to know what kind of a business my eight-year-old friend would be engaged in. I knew Theo too well to know that he will never leak the secret. So, I decided to trail him. My several attempts to trail him failed.
It has been two years, no one heard anything concerning the deal Theo had with that adult male who I later found out was the son of the commandant of the barrack, named Matawale. Being final year students in our primary school, we usually stayed back in school for extramural classes. That evening after the class session, we went grasshopper hunting. Since Theo was a fast runner, he dropped his school bag to chase a reddish grasshopper. So, I sincerely picked my friend's bag as a good boy. Lifting the bag, wrapped substance dropped, the odor is not quite offensive, it looked like tea leaf shredded in tiny cuts. I picked but didn't return it to his bag. I hid it in my stocking. As expected, he came back with the big reddish grasshopper in his hand. Theo seems not to notice anything was missing in his bag.
The next morning, Theo ran to our house, he was breathing so fast, likely from the race.
Samuel, Samuel, Samuel
I heard him calling from outside. I was ready for school and carried my bag. When I got outside our doorpost to see my battles friend he said:
Did you by any chance pick up anything in my bag yesterday?
No!! Like what? I asked
Something wrapped like tea leaf. He replied.
Nothing, I didn't open your bag and I didn't pick anything from it.
As we walked down the tarred road to school, Theo was wet with sweat under cold weather. Them, I knew there is something serious as a consequence of that missing parcel.
What is it meant for? I asked.
I was sent to give it to our Mathematics Teacher but since he wasn't in school yesterday, I thought to still keep it till today to deliver it. Now I am in deep trouble. Theo said to himself.
As this conversation was going on, the wrapped substance is in the bag. As we approached our school gate and to cross, the officer on duty at the quarter guards stopped us. It was my first experience. In my ten years of living in the barracks, I have never been searched since I was well known as the son of the presiding bishop of the army chapel.
After the officer, jas searched Theo's bag and found nothing, and us to go. After taking about four steps, he called us back and asked for my bag. Without much stress, he found the parcel in my bag. Theo was as shocked as the officer.
I know nothing about that, queried.
The officer was impatient to listen to what I have to say. He just flogged me with his horsewhip and took me to school. The assembly of students was still ongoing. I was so humiliated and funny enough, no one believed my part of the story.
I later found out that what was wrapped is Indian hemp which is called Ganja by users. That was how the name stuck on me.
