The Gate on the Hill

 

On a hill stood a School for Animals, and at its Gate sat a tortoise called Keeper. Every animal; the raft, the flock, the herd, the tribe, the brood, even  the drove, all had to pass through the Gate to pay fees, collect exam cards, or see their results. Above it, in white paint, were the words: THE GATE NEVER SLEEPS.

This was true for most of the year, mainly because nobody was there. In quiet months the Gate swung open for the three goats who checked by, the two hens who updated their profiles, and Keeper was praised at assemblies.

But when fee season came and hundreds of hooves and paws crowded the hill, the Gate groaned, it is frustrated, it shuddered, and it is  shut. "Too much traffic," "Maintenance ongoing," Keeper Tortoise explained. Nobody asked why a school that admitted the animals every year should be surprised when they showed up.

At exam time, the animals needed their cards to enter the hall, and the Gate slept. "Be patient," said the pigs of the Council, who never queued. Their business was done through a side door.

When results week arrived, the Gate did what it had learned to do best. It slept again.

Slowly but surely the slogan is modified. One morning the old letters were gone, and the new ones read: THE GATE NEVER SLEEPS, EXCEPT WHEN NEEDED. Nobody saw who repainted it. Nobody ever does.

It would be unfair to blame the tortoise alone. A tortoise cannot carry a stampede on his back. The animals are not asking for a miracle. They are asking for a Gate built for the day they all arrive, not the day they don't. Test it against the crowd before the crowd comes. Stagger the deadlines. And when the Gate fails, say so plainly, instead of calling it patience.

Whether Keeper will be given a wider Gate or only a longer excuse, the hill has not yet decided.

#Ahmed Salim Jn ✍️ 

®Uloko