Life And Times Of A Bloody Fresher II
I thought admission stress was the hardest part but that illusion shattered the moment I resumed. Getting admitted was only an invitation to the greater horrors of academic rigour. My first day on campus was nothing short of bitter. I cried my eyes out. I mistakenly exchanged my luggage with another passenger whose bag looked exactly like mine. Just like that, all my foodstuff, shoes, books, and some extra stuff were gone. I spent the rest of my week trying to find my bag, which remained lost forever, and buying the most important of the missing items. Then matriculation day came and I forgot my sorrows a tad bit. I smiled for a few pictures with old friends and new coursemates.
The infamous ASUU strike also struck in all its glory. Everything felt like it was on pause. My life was at a standstill. Then came my phase of creative wannabeism. I just wanted to be creative. From teaching myself to play my dad's acoustic guitar, at which I failed miserably, to creative writing, where I vented my frustrations. Then there was graphic design, which I quickly found I had no patience for. What about content writing? I still have no clue what it's all about despite my shiny certificate. And then UI/UX, a proper lost cause.
When the strike was finally called off, I realized that nothing could have prepared me for the mysteries ahead. I swore to face my books squarely, live a triangular life, and deprive myself of freshman indulgences.
One of the most important lessons I learned during my bloody years was that you don't always need to be taught to learn. You learn at every opportunity. You learn when the necessity demands it. I had zero knowledge of Introductory SAPA, but I mastered the art of surviving on just 1,000 naira a week. Before then, I ate two pieces of fish with rice every day and fried three eggs at once. I made sure I ate nothing short of a balanced diet and rewarded myself with a chilled bottle of Coke at the end of a supposedly "hectic" day. I descended from a bottle of Coke to Mummy Fikayo's fifty naira cold zobo and from sumptuous meals garnished with meatballs to eating eba with okra soup made with tomato paste. Absolute rock bottom!
I wrote MCQ-based exams and complained about how technical the questions were. Even without negative marking, every wrong answer felt like it dragged my score closer to zero. I attended tutorials and thought it was a free ticket to straight A's. I also uncovered hidden truths about the concept of distance. Distance can be anything you believe it to be. Here, as in physics, distance retains its element of speed and time subtly but above all, distance is a matter of currency. It takes the unit of whatever resource you wield: naira, effort, will emotions, and not meters. It's not just the space between two points but the price you pay to bridge them. My go-to mantra became "E no too far, I go leg am." The indefatigable stairs in my Hall of Residence taught me how to embrace intentionality. The earlier I started climbing, the earlier I attained greater heights. I packed my school bag like in the days of Ugo C. Ugo, hoisted it onto my back, and hurried to my lecture theatre like the diligent student I was. Front row in the CBN lecture theatre? That was my zone. I listened with rapt attention and scribbled down every single word that flowed from my lecturer’s belly.
I hated practicals and would say prayers like "God, can this cup pass over me?" Lo and behold, I didn’t get to do the much-dreaded Experiment 6 in Physics practical. Zoology marathon practicals kept me on my toes and Chemistry practicals weren't so bad. Some exam days made me realize the difference between active and passive studying even though I helplessly depended on the latter.
I had my fair share of Till Day Break and Morning till Night sessions, popularly known as TDB and MTN. After a long night's dreamy sleep at Kenneth Dike Library(KDL), I would barely have settled in before my roommates began to shout: “Igi ìwé! Jackometer! Jackophyta! After book is book!”
I would beg to differ but none of them would lend me listening ears. How do I explain to these girls that my trip from the hostel to KDL sapped all my energy? Or that I spent the whole night hunting down bloodsucking monsters while their high-pitched whines hunted my sleep. The struggle to find a decent sleeping position in the library? Whether it was resting my head awkwardly on the reading table or angling my neck just right on the chair coupled with the fear of saliva drooling out of my mouth!
Exam days come with a special kind of disaster, an expected power outage. Once this happens, expect a letterhead memo stating that "there is a fault in the school's electric transformer, and the electric cables and poles transmitting electricity to the University's community have collapsed due to some blablabla."
Amidst all, I was usually present at every orientation for freshmen and approached my seniors for help. Just that, after all has been said and done, they'd leave me with the motivational quote: "It only gets better from here."
But then this is me wondering "From where?"
Like Yemi Alade once sang, "If you ask me, na who I go ask?" I am yet to find a befitting answer. Still, I became a helpless hopeful who sought after hope that is fleeting and is still hopeful.
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