PCHO Part 7
Queen Elizabeth II
August 30, 2018.
The MP that I attended was no more no less than the continuation of my imprisonment in Niger. All the lecturers were chosen for looking like the same that were imprisoning me. Those people did not have the qualifications for lecturing at university, especially in MP, they were before every course explain the courses that they regurgitate (never understand) and write the same notions they were explained by looking word after word their notebooks. The students also were also selected mercenaries. They were recruited and trained about how to play their role of students.
The Analysis lecturer was selected for looking like Jean Bradley. He was the worst lecturer possible, you could follow his course during hours without neither hearing or understanding a single word that he was saying. His course is a real punishment, during those hours of torture; he just wrote on the blackboard words he reads directly from his notebook. In fact he did kind of whispering what he was reading and writing on the board. He did it such way as he did not care about us; or as we were never in the class because he neither watched us while speaking. He never takes the care to be sure that we heard his words . Moreover, with him the best grade possible is 3/20.
The Mechanic lecturer was Ganda, he was fat and short, black with terrifying eyes in looking like Bradley. There is also Andre the optic lecturer, a very bright man as much as a white. Andre was of Fulani ethnics that are naturally have yellow. He looks like my father, Prince Philip. We called the Algebra lecturer, Madam, she was chosen for looking like Oscar and Iren Samson, and even somehow my mother, Queen Elizabeth II.
Even the members of the faculty administration were chosen for looking as my guards. I did remember the secretary, a short man, with a very dark skin and a round face as Bradley. There was another member of the staff, who was the father of my 5eme’s classmate, Kader Bubé. It was for going to his Fada close to his house that I was allowed to leave the imprisonment area for a reason different of going at school. He was brought to have me attached to the faculty because for being in the first place I was allowed to go. It is quite clear that the all courses are sessions of torture in stirring up memories of crimes I was victim. In fact this teaching imprisonment did not start with MP; all the different classes I attended in Niger, since the beginnings of my imprisonment were sessions of imprisonment with teachers and students chosen for looking as my guards.
At the end of the academic year a simulated exam was organized to evaluate the false courses, presented by false lecturers to false students beside me only. The exams’ questions were made of exercises filled with mistakes. And even the questions were made confusing. Logically, I was given bad grades at the first session. There were only 3 students who succeed at the exam in 90 students. Have you ever seen a school, a university in which among a class of 90 students only 3 succeed, without the lecturers and responsible of the faculty being sacked? At the second session it was not quite different only 5 students succeeded passing the class and I was not among them once again.
The incarceration is so severe in that school at an extent the mercenaries are selected from the Husa ethnics, coming from Nigerien regions of Maradi, Tahoua, and Zinder. There was only one mercenary that comes from Tilabery and another who through from Maradi was born from parent from Tilabery he is named Insa, the first one is named Abdulay. Those students as coming from the same regions were made having kind of spirit of group, only conversing among themselves in Husa. They understood few French, the official Nigerien language I understand well comparatively to the Nigerien languages; and they do not understand even Zarma the second language of the country that I understood a little bit. It is in Sonni Ali Ber where I did baccalaureate we only converse in French, never in any other language than that, everything that stirs enormously my identity and imprisonment memories. I was jailed in the university in a linguistic jail, as they almost all understood only Husa.
