Three Sides Of A Coin.

Obverse, aka Heads

It’s a sunny day in Alexander Brown Hall. Everything has been normal since the crack of dawn, save for the annoying helicopter that has passed twice, bringing noise as it came and went. Glory is in her room, eyes glued to her phone screen. Not to pam a surgical procedure or twenty different causes of pruritus. No, not this time. She is watching a movie. As a matter of fact, she has been watching movies for the past two days with no regrets. After all, she needs something to cleanse her system of the episodes of “Ẹ mí sínú, ẹ mí síta” from the past week. 4:15pm, a notification pops up, and simultaneously, loud shouts of joy erupt throughout the hostel. That can only mean one thing, their fates have been decided. 

"The following candidates have satisfied their examiners in the MB;BS Part IV Final Degree Examination held on..."

With an increased heart rate, her eyes scans the lines, and then she sees it: her matric number sitting pretty in the third column. 0 to 100. She instantly picks up her phone, calls mum. Amidst tears, “Mummy, I’m now a doctor.”

The sleepless nights have finally paid off. Glory leaves her room to join the obverse group in hugging each other, rolling on the floor, and screaming at the top of their voices. They are finally free from ọgbà.

Reverse, aka Tails

William wakes up from sleep, courtesy of the several people screaming outside his room. Pops his head out to inquire and sees his classmates getting hugs from juniors. Joy has finally come, or so he thinks. He frantically searches the results notice for his matriculation number and, after several futile attempts, finally accepts his fate and swipes to the next picture.

"The following candidates have been referred in the MB;BS Part IV..."

He doesn't need to finish reading. He had already seen his matriculation number. Beside it, Medicine.

Whatever amount of hope brewed in him a few minutes ago went poof. He holds his face in his palms as he slumps onto his chair, breaking into tears. Another round of sleepless nights is now imposed on him. There is nothing he can do about it. 

It’s 8:15pm, his mates are currently at the quadrangle, having what could be called a “last bonfire as a student." All he can do, like the other 37 Tails, is watch from above, as his mates dance and laugh, and ask himself questions like; "Did I not do enough?" "Am I just another victim of the Duncan Line?"

He has to find out in three months.

Edge

Ṣọlá just finished signing his sixth emergency ward call. He can not wait to get back to his room, charge his phone, get something good to eat, and go again. On entering the hall, he's greeted by a scene rowdy enough to have been a brawl. Except this time, hugs; not punches, are being thrown around.

He meets the first guy who gleefully announces that he passed his final exams and he’s now a medical doctor. He leaps joyfully, throws in his own share of the hugs, and goes around congratulating the others. After all, it’s a common saying in the Yoruba culture that he who wishes to succeed must celebrate and be happy for the successful people. Leaving the scene, he mumbles a prayer: "Lord, please, when it’s my turn, barb me this kind style too."

He is just about to enter his room when his next-door neighbour walks out. With enthusiasm, he shouts, "Congratulations, my doctor,” and proceeds to hug him.
“I didn’t pass. I have to rewrite Surgery," the guy whispers.

Ṣọlá goes cold. No matter how hard he tries, the only word that comes is omo and nothing else. The guy thanks him anyway and goes his way. He enters his room and can not stop thinking about the last guy. He feels deeply sorry for him, especially because it isn't the type of style he would pray for God to barb him. 

He feels happy for the happy ones, but even sadder for the ones held down. "Only sleep can take this feeling away," he mumbles as he climbs into his bed. A few minutes later, he’s back up at his table, reading the topics to be discussed in class the next day. Sleep is the enemy.

SHITTU, Ọpẹyẹmi Habeeb.