Debates and the Folly of Words by Solace Chukwu

 It is a staple of every secondary school in Nigeria: the Literary and Debating Society. It pretty much does what it says on the tin: writing and debating. The purview of its writing(s) is often limited to the school’s daily assembly, though some schools have the intuition to set aside a special day for the purpose of showcasing the genius of its students. My secondary school was of the latter bent. It was ostensibly filed under the nebulous appellation “Extra-Curricular Activities”, and took place on Wednesdays I think (my memory may be a little hazy on this; I have lived many days *hoarse cough*). Think of it as a sort of all-purpose, all-comers-allowed thing.
It was often my favourite time of the week, because it was the period of time within which I could really be myself. I was an avid reader of novels and other pieces of literature, often to the detriment of my own classes. Who could blame me? My teachers were proficient, but their words did not cause fantastical landscapes to rise out of the floor of my mind like, say, N’gugi wa Thiongo could. Anyway, I was often the star turn of the Extra-Curricular Activities period, and looking back now I think a lot of my teachers indulged my truancy because of it. It explains why I remained as the prefect of the class, despite the fact that I was rarely there! I was never really a member of the Literary and Debating Society, at least not in an official sense. I was just the maverick, mercurial and elusive and frequently unpunctual. However, that did not prevent me from being a part of every debating competition the school entered for. There was always a delegation of four: two apiece from the Junior and Senior ranks. Or rather three and I. Often, only two of the four would actually speak in the debate, the other two were there for the experience, as it were. It was generally accepted that I would always go. It was also generally accepted that I would never speak. The reason for this? I could not run my mouth at the speed of a woodpecker on an acid trip. If you ever meet me, and we get comfortable around each other, you will notice very immediately that I talk fairly quickly. You see, the requirement was not “fairly quickly” but “bullet-quick”. There was no angst, no resentment on my part. I knew I was a better debater than the other three. The school knew it. I could have adapted myself to speaking faster, of course. It was a matter of principle for me though, even at that young age. Perversely, I enjoyed the knowledge of my superiority even more by being on the sidelines. I was a martyr, you see. I was suffering an injustice, being muzzled blatantly, and it fed my conceit. I laughed, railed, gloated at the lot of them internally. I did not know much about how debates ought to be conducted at the time, but I was convinced I did not need to be Twista to do it. It was a couple of years later before I gave it some serious thought, and even further along before I saw a standard debate and had an “I knew it!” moment. It was standard practice in primary and secondary schools back in the day (I am unaware if this is still so). The speed of the speaker is actually considered a worthwhile metric for measuring his/her proficiency. Why is this so? Is faster necessarily better? The point of a debate is that both parties try to convince the listeners of the quality of their individual view points. Some might defend the practice by saying there are time restrictions, but not all debate points have equal moral and logical heft. If I make a strong case in favour of a concept or idea based on a single point, should five weak points win over against mine? The prattling may have allowed those who got up on the dais fit into a time limit, but perhaps the organisers (and selectors) should have considered that volume of words does not equal wisdom. In many cases, quite the opposite is true! Sense is often diluted with the spewing of saliva. And yes, I did just coin that proverb. I should write it down. I sincerely hope that the practice has changed. Debating is great fun as well as a wonderful didactic tool, and should be an intellectual outlet rather than a rambling paroxysm of one-upmanship. Oh, and by the way, my school never won a single debate. Sitting quietly on the sidelines, I thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it. Image source