Life as a Student (E1 – E2)
E1 - Life as a Student
Another beautiful Tuesday morning. I had planned for this day to be as lazy as possible but unfortunately, I received the news this morning of another fixed-class by pot-bellied Mr Sunny. The rate at which the man fix classes these days, one would think he is preparing us for a revolution. The man could not just stay on his own and do what his mates were doing- follow the freaking timetable!
At 8:30 am, I jumped down from my cramped bed to get ready for my 9:00 am class. Thirty minutes is more than enough for me to brush, bathe, dress and even eat. My bowels were already singing songs of release, so I might actually defecate and somehow, maybe by magic, all these things must be done before I attend the class. I couldn’t care less if I even missed the class. “if I perish, I perish’.
Before I go further, let me introduce you to my life as a typical Nigerian student. My name is Ada, first of her kind. An undergraduate in a Nigerian Federal University.
When I was younger, I had lofty dreams of being a Senior Advocate of Nigeria. I already had plans of how everything would look. From my office down to my kitchen. A topshot lawyer’s spec. But my country decided that she had the right to change my destiny and today, instead of studying the different ways I could implicate our Landlord and send him to jail for the rest of his life, I am here studying the different ways Shakespeare described his lover’s eyes. Now you know why I couldn’t be bothered when genuinely interested Lecturers like Mr Sunny try to make us better and at least, leave with a pass mark. How did I get here? You may ask. I’ll tell you.
I wasn’t always this angry at the system. There was a time when I actually believed in it’s effectiveness and transparency. There was a time when I could actually vouch for her. Give my left arm if possible for this cause but like a pack of cards, all my trust and hope crumbled and fell face flat on the sad floor of disappointment and anger.
In Secondary School, I was as smart as they come. Top grades, everybody’s favorite. When they need someone to represent the prestigious school in a competition, my name always danced gracefully on their lips.
It didn’t matter what the focus of the competition was, whether it was my strength or my weakness. Whatever it was, Ada must go too. I thought everything was set in stone for me. University applications would just be a walk in the park.
Immediately after my West African Examinations Council (WAEC) examinations, the accolades were already pouring in. Even before I sat for my Joint Admissions Matriculation Board (JAMB) examinations, mummy already had my box of ‘white shirts and black skirts’ ready. I was going to be a lawyer, all we needed were the corresponding papers that would legalize what we already knew.
The first hint I got that everything was going to be different from what I was used to, was during my registration for the examination. Parking near the cyber cafe was a big mistake because as we parked, boys of all sizes swarmed like bees towards us and eventually barred our peaceful exit from the vehicle.
“Madam, Jamb?
Na Jamb you wan do?
Madam!”
They kept screaming.
I remember how scared and confused I was. How can such illiterate vagabonds be in charge of something so important and scholarly?
My mother didn’t look fazed though. She told me not to worry as she stepped out of the car and implored me to come with her. It’s like she knew just exactly where she was going to as she ignored all the screams of “Madam!” thrown at her and moved straight to a tiny cubicle near the algae infested gutter.Just as we got closer, a stout man rushed out from the shop.
“Mama the Mama! You don come?!”
While I still pondered the semantic relevance of that question, he had already given me a once-over.
“Mama! Na your pikin be this? This one fine pass you o!”
I looked at my mother and wondered how she was on such familiar terms with such people.
“Na she won do Jamb.” My mother replied with a proud smile.
“Okay Mama. Make we go inside.”
Where he called inside was just a small space that could only fit one tiny washed out monitor, a smaller CPU, a tiny printer and three plastic chairs begging for recycling.
He gestured to one of the chairs and asked me to sit. I was skeptical at first but my mother nudged me.
“So Mama, how make we run am?”
He was looking directly at my mother now, speaking in a strange lingo I did not understand. What is he ‘running’? I was tempted to ask my mother.
“Just normal. This one no get problem.”
My mother replied with a tinge of pride in her voice.
“Mama, you sure?
Na Naija we day oh! Anything can happen.
Make we just run am nah.
Las las, one hundred and fifty thousand go do am. Sharply Mama!”
My mother looked at a loss. I was naive. I had no idea my fate was being decided right in front of my eyes. My mother looked at my confused face again and then at the man,
“Just normal. Just do am normal Osi.”
“Mama, your wish is my command.”
Maybe it was just me but I could swear I saw his disappointment at my mother’s final decision.
Fast forward to my POST UTME (Unified Tertiary Matriculation Examination) at the University which came up a few months after my JAMB. Once again, my doting mother tagged along. After scoring a whopping 287 in my JAMB examinations, I was sure that my admission was in the bag but unknown to me, the ‘system’ was in one corner waiting to show me what it could actually do to such lofty dreams.
“Madam, do you need follow-up?”
A lanky excuse of a man whispered as he found himself a seat in front of us.
“What is follow-up again?”
“Don’t worry baby girl. Mummy understands.
So Mama, how far? Follow-up?”
True to his words, my mother understood.
How? I would never know.
“How much?” She asked.
“Which course?”
“Law.”
“Ah! That one is very competitive”
“How much?”
“Mama, let’s start with one hundred and seventy thousand.”
My eyes bulged out of their sockets. 170k For what? My mother still didn’t look fazed.
“It’s too much. I trust my girl. No worry.”
“Mama! She will not gain admission oh. No matter what she gets. Make we do follow-up for am or na there she go day o. No matter wetin she score. Na me talk am.”
True to his words, I wasn’t admitted. It took three more trials of JAMB and several thousands of naira for ‘running’ and ‘follow-up’ to get to where I am today. And I still hate it.
Now back to this day. There I was rushing to class like the world was about to come to an end. I had a Philosophy class.
It is good enough that you know you’re late, you don’t have to know how late you actually are. I refused to check the time as I dashed towards the 1000 seater Lecture Theater. I pumped my short legs and tried to make them move as fast as they could but unknown to me, they had both declared war on their host. Even when my mind willed them to move faster than Usain Bolt during the Olympics, my beautiful legs decided it was a good day to mimic a ‘tortoise’. I presumed it was because of the daring plate of pounded yam and vegetable soup I had this morning and so I succumbed to their authority and slowed down.
“Ada!” I heard someone scream my name from behind.
“Ada!”
I was about to unleash a million curses on the unfortunate caller when I heard,
“He’s giving a test oh!”
I turned back and behold, Vivian was pumping her way shorter legs towards the lecture theater.
“Mr Sunny is giving test oh! Won’t you run? They said he has started already!”
That unfortunate man. First, he fixes a class nobody wants to attend. Now, he sets a test everybody would probably fail. A deep angry sigh escaped my lips as I began to wonder which branch of hell Mr Sunny was transferred from. I mumbled a ‘thank you’ as Vivian zoomed past me. How she could move that fast with such a ginormous backside, I would never understand. The fear of failing a course and having to sit through the torture for another year would make any student become anything. Do anything, infact. I tried to start running and as if my legs understood the gravity of the situation their host was in, they moved accordingly.
In less than five minutes, I was in the lecture theater. True to her words, there he was, standing akimbo over a student’s work belting obscenities regarding the student’s handwriting.
“How do you expect me to read this?!” He screamed.
“Are you a child?! Is this how to write?
300 level and you still don’t know how to write.
Are you not unfortunate like this?
Later, when you fail the course, you’ll start blaming the government. Stupid thing!”
He was not done. He leaned closer to the student’s work,
“Fool! Is this how to spell? Are you dumb?
How exactly did you get here? How did you get admitted into this prestigious university?”
I hissed loudly. Prestigious, my foot.
“Who just hissed?”
No. If there was anything I hated more than school, it was a confrontation. If there was anything I hated more than confrontation, it was confrontation with a lecturer. I liked to keep my distance. A very long distance. Any dealings I had that had to do with a lecturer went through my class representative. It was not fear, it was simply caution.
“I said, who hissed?” Mr Sunny asked the class.
The class went silent. Nobody said a word, no one moved a muscle. Infact, you could say nobody was breathing because the lecture theater had suddenly become a graveyard.
“This test is worth 30 marks. In case you don’t know, this is your continuous assessment. If you don’t push out the person who hissed right now, I will assume that nobody is interested in this test and I’ll give you all a healthy fat zero for your continuous assessment.”
Hold on. My class doesn’t really care about me. The reason everybody was still silent was because no one knew it was me. Remember I just walked into the class. I would have kept quiet so we could all suffer the consequences. It’s not like I expected to score higher than that if I actually sat down for the test. But my conscience wouldn’t let me.
“Me sir.”
I said from the back of the class. Like a remote control, all heads turned to look at the condemned one. Some looked at me with pity, some with anger, some with mockery while some, like me were just indifferent.
“Come here.” He said calmly.
I walked slowly towards the front of the class. All eyes were on me. It felt like I had murdered a man and was walking to my judgment. Their eyes on my body felt like pins pricking my skin but I tried as much as possible not to let them see how I really felt. After what felt like 50 years later, I got to the front of the class.
Mr Sunny began his own personal assessment of my humble person and I could not help but shrink under his roving gaze.
I wouldn’t call myself drop dead gorgeous but the girl could still turn heads. For fear of sounding self centered and arrogant, I would have told you that I had the finest body you could have ever seen but I would not. Because I am humble. I saw his eyes dilate and then relax. I could have sworn that I also saw a small smile escape his lips but I could be wrong.
The hall was still quiet as everybody waited for my judgment but the man simply said,
“Go and wait for me in my office.”
Why? I almost asked but for fear of my epileptic grades, I kept quiet.
When I reached his office, I met his secretary. The plump woman who couldn’t have been more than 30 years looked about 100 for all the wrinkles on her face. She looked at me with that condescension government workers had injected into them through their employment letter.
“Mr Sunny said I should wait for him here.”
Without saying a word, she gestured towards his office and I walked in and took a seat.
On his desk, he had a picture of his wife and three children. His only daughter was a spitting image of him. Somehow, the pictures made me realise that this man was as human as my father and not a total monster.
“Young lady.” Mr Sunny called as he walked in. I stood up on hearing his voice. No need to pile up my transgressions.
“I’m sorry for the way I conducted myself in your class, sir.”
“Are you sure you’re sorry?”
“Very sorry, sir.”
By this time, he was sitting down.
“Name and matriculation number.”
I was close to tears at this point. Everybody knows what it means for a lecturer to ask for your name and matriculation number.
“I’m so sorry, sir. I didn’t mean it.”
“I need your name and mat. number now!”
“Ada Ogbo. ABC125690.” I said resignedly.
He spent minutes searching through his spreadsheets. What he was looking for, I did not understand but he kept sighing and shaking his head repeatedly. Finally, he looked up.
“Why are you trying so hard to fail Ada?
“Sir?”
“I asked you a question.”
“Sir? I don’t understand you sir.”
“You don’t understand me? Okay. Let me tell you what I mean.
I’ve taken your class since 100 level. I just checked my spreadsheets and you’ve never had a good grade. You’re barely passing my courses. Always a D. Two or three marks short of an F. Explain.”
Where do I start from? “I don’t want to be in school, sir.”
“Why? If I may ask?” He replied calmly.
“I don’t like school.”
“What do you like then?”
I’ve never been able to answer this question satisfactorily so I stayed silent.
“What do you like then? Where do you want to be right now?”
“I don’t know sir.”
“So you don’t know what you want to do with your life?”
“I have no idea sir.” As true as the truth was, it still felt bitter on my lips.
“Why don’t you just drop out?”
“It will break my mother’s heart.”
“You already are. You’re breaking her heart already with these grades. We both know you’re smarter than this. We both know you can do better. Your name rings a bell. I’ve read your scripts. From the way you write, I know you know more than you’re writing down but you’re holding back. It’s like you’re failing on purpose.”
It was all too true. I didn’t want to be there. I didn’t want to have to wake up so early and study what I didn’t care about. Some days, I just wanted to crawl up inside my blanket and never see the light of day but my mother’s disappointed face always made me leave my bed.
“You’re already here. The least you could do is make the most of it. It’s not a waste. It’s four years of your life and I want you to know that you’re not wasting it. What you learn here, you will use till you die. It breaks my heart when genuinely intelligent children like yourself just lack the drive to do more. To be more. This is a delicate stage of your life. You have to be careful what you do with it. This is your sowing stage and as such, you must work. Whatever you do right now, whether good or bad, just be rest assured that you’re going to reap it a thousand fold in the years to come. Do you understand me?”
“Yes sir.”
“As for your punishment, I’m giving you a fat healthy zero from the depth of my heart for your continuous assessment. Fight for the remaining 70 marks. Mind you, I will be monitoring your script closely. The least grade you can get is a B. If you score lower, I’ll automatically give you an F and you’ll have to see my ugly face again next year. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.”
“You can go now.”
“Thank you sir.”
For some crazy reason, I trusted this pot-bellied man. I knew he would give me what I truly deserved. While the pep talk was nice and exactly what I needed, it was left to me to actually make the moves and I was willing to. After all, whatever is worth doing is worth doing well. After all, I am only going to be a student for a little while, might as well make the most of it.
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