“Chooking”, What a Concept.
When we were kids, to chook meant to pierce, or stab, like with a knife.
Over time, the definition evolved into the act of snitching. It’s still a stab, if you think about it, just in the back. This is the definition we will stick with for the rest of the story.
Le Chook
I can’t tell you Kev’s last name, but it rhymed with “Le Chook”, a name he earned through a very stinky situation.
Le Chook returned to school weeks after school reopened. As I have previously explained, latecomers are required by Motown law to suffer two weeks of internal suspension. It turns out, Smizzle could make all that go away, simply by omitting your name from the list of latecomers.
Smizzle had an affinity for the affluent kids in Aggrey House, and as far as we were concerned, this explained why Le Chook reported to school late with no consequences.
Naturally, a lot of the inte boys were not happy that Le Chook had a get-out-of-jail-free card, but technically, we didn’t even know that yet…
You see, when Le Chook arrived — which was more than two weeks late — there was a rumour going around. It’s kind of weird and convoluted, but I’ll do my best to explain. It starts, as did most of Aggrye House’s problems, with water—or the lack of it.
The Perpetual Drought
As you probably know by now, water did not flow in Aggrey House, so we had to fetch water. In addition to fetching our own water, we had to fetch water for our seniors too.
If you’re not accustomed to boarding house conventions, you’re probably thinking, “Fetch water for seniors?… I know my rights… Nobody can make me their slave…”
Please. Shut up. The boarding house will humble you.
For some of us, our morning work was actually to fetch water for the annex curators to scrub. (Bathhouses are called “annexes” in Motown.)
At dawn, every morning, we’d fetch six to eight buckets, or three to four gallons, while Sweet Sugar, the bellboy, ticked off our names for every bucket brought. If you spilt enough water on the way, he would count it as half. 
The Rumour
Apparently, on the day Le Chook reported to school, a parent came by the house — nobody knows who or why — and saw one form one boy carrying two buckets of water. There was an interaction, and shortly afterwards, this parent felt it was their duty to knock on Smizzle’s door and make a case for the “child slavery” going on in Aggrey House.
Now, under the circumstances, Smizzle was pissed; he doesn’t like anyone telling him how to do his job. I got the hint when he once asked me, “Are you the one to tell me how to do my job?!” So subtle, right?
As soon as the parent left, Smizzle entered the house, rounded up the seniors, and gave them a warning about sending juniors.
If you’ve been to the boarding house, you know what comes next… the seniors got angry, and they also came to the dorms to give the juniors their own warning about snitching—sorry, chooking. Of course, we got annoyed too, but we didn’t have anybody to warn. You don’t get to threaten anybody when you are a junior.
However, in the middle of our discussions, someone said, “Hey, what if it was Le Chook?” And Le Chook, who had been in the dorm for all of thirty minutes since his arrival, heard the question, and armed with a situation he barely understood and a question he barely heard, went to Smizzle and said… well, I don’t know what he said, but somehow he convinced Smizzle that… Hey! Come to think of it, what the heck could he possibly have said to get Smizzle that worked up?
“They are talking about me”? “They called me a snitch”? Ah, please. How was that even a problem in Smizzle’s mind??? Or he was like, “Ooooh, they called my favourite dadaba a wuss.”
After ten years I’m getting angry all over again. 
To be honest, I wasn’t even in the dorm at that point. I was off somewhere… trying to solve world peace or something. And the day went on as usual through evening dining to prep.
After prep, I rushed back to the house, grabbed a bucket, and headed off to the dining hall to fetch water for the next morning’s bath before the dining hall got locked for the night. I was being productive. I felt good. Until we got back…
Snitches Get Stitches… Just Not Always
“Herh! You! Are you in C-Dorm?!” Smizzle shouted.
“Yes sir.” What a mistake.
We had just returned from the dining hall, and I was carrying two buckets on the pathway leading up to the common room entrance. I wasn’t even actually in the house yet.
Smizzle was looking at me from inside the common room, hand clutching a cane, fuming, like I’d killed his dog.
The whole house was in the common room, which was uncommon on a weeknight. Smizzle had called for an “emergency” meeting.
“Come here!” he shouted. This wasn’t the time to seek an explanation. You do not use your questions to annoy a short man with a cane. Learn this and avoid trouble.
Three strokes of the cane later, I was rubbing my butt and gritting my teeth as I tried to make sense of what had just happened. If there was any consolation, I was not alone: everyone in C-Dorm got three strokes, except for those in form 3; they got six. That was fun to watch, but my butt still hurt.
When the bloodbath was over, Smizzle began a speech to explain what happened.
“Let this be a warning. Mmmm?” He ended every sentence with “Mmmm?”.
“Those of you who talk to strangers and gossip. Mmmm? If I hear that something like this repeats itself, mmmm, I will be back with my cane for everybody. Mmmm?”
I still didn’t know what had happened. My butt demanded an explanation, and Smizzle was yet to make any sense.
“Where’s Le Chook?” he continued.
(Of course, he didn’t say “Le Chook”, but allow me, it’s my story.)
Addressing Le Chook, he said, “If you hear anybody saying anything about you again, come straight to my house and tell me. Mmmm?”
Le Chook could barely nod. Here he was standing in front of the whole house, an obvious snitch, even though I was yet to find out what had gone on leading up to this. But you think I was pissed, you should have seen the faces of the form three’s.
Smizzle had been a housemaster long enough to know that the boy was dead if he didn’t do something, so he added a warning for the seniors.
“Anyone who dares to touch you, let me know immediately. Mmmm? Where is Eben? And the rest of the form three’s, are you listening? Mmmm? If I catch you maltreating him because he reported you, you will have to deal with me. Mmmm? You may leave.”
The Aftermath
Just like that, it was over. We all left for the dorms. Le Chook, however, was not very sure what to do.
While i was being filled in on why Smizzle had just whooped our butts, Le Chook entered the dorm. The silence that met him was so heavy, you could hear a cricket fart.
He moved straight to his trunk, changed into his pajamas and crawled into bed without saying a word.
For the next two weeks we treated Le Chook like he didn’t exist.
It was quite sad, and it didn’t help that Smizzle made him start taking his meals at his house, and holding his hand and walking around like a little girl. Nah, for real, you could find them walking hand-in-hand every now and then. You can’t make this stuff up.
Eventually, though, boys will be boys, and we will forget, but there were a few things that hastened the return to normalcy.
First of all, the people in the other dorms didn’t get lashed, so Le Chook still had people to talk to in the house. Plus his chopbox was a good tool for reconciliation. Then visiting day came and he brought enough chicken to pacify some of the seniors. Under the influence of food, and the fact that I was trying to be a good Christian, the passage of time slowly erased the pettiness and we finally found it in our hearts to treat Le Chook like a human being again.
So this snitch didn’t get stitches. Not this time at least.
I guess the exception to the rule is that you should have a housemaster with a cane in your corner. And he should have a “good relationship” with your parents too.
So that’s the story of how I earned my first stripes in Motown. By stripes, I mean lashes. Like “By His stripes, we are healed”, you barb?