STE; Surviving the Examiner and their Examination.
Then came preparation. There were those who made the reading rooms their homes. Arriving early and staying late. It seemed they had established permanent residency between textbooks and lecture notes. At some point, one could genuinely wonder whether they still remembered what their beds looked like.
There were the early starters who had been reading for weeks, the past-question specialists who could tell you what a lecturer was likely to ask, the study-group enthusiasts who occasionally studied and occasionally discussed how much they had left to study, and those who discovered the seriousness of MB1 only when the examination was dangerously close.
Everyone had a strategy.
Some worked.
Some were questionable.
And most were simply powered by faith.
For some of us, preparation was not merely about reading. It was also about watching people around us. We saw classmates who seemed to know everything still doubt themselves. We saw people struggle with topics they had once understood. We saw confidence disappear and reappear within the same conversation.
And there were moments when someone genuinely looked like they were ready to give up. “I can't do this again,” they would say. Yet, somehow, the next thing you heard was: “Please, what page is this topic?” That was MB1. Nobody was entirely certain. Everybody was trying.
Then came Steeplechase. If we thought we had already experienced enough anxiety, that morning proved otherwise.
Before the examination properly settled in, news reached us that some people had not done well in Histology. That was all. We were instantly thrown into an ocean of thoughts. Who were they? What happened? How many people? Was it really that bad? What if I was among them? What exactly did I remember from Histology? Questions were multiplying faster than answers.
For a moment, we were no longer preparing for an examination. We were conducting an internal investigation into our academic futures.
Then the examination began. We carried what we had gathered into the hall: pages read, diagrams memorised, pathways rehearsed, past questions solved, and a little confidence for some.
The questions arrived. We were greeted like old friends by some. Others looked familiar enough to deceive us. Some others seemed to have come from a place beyond the borders of everything we had carried into that hall. We met questions bigger than our preparation. Questions that stood before us, and for a moment, subdued us. The pens remained in our hands, but certainty left them.
We stared.
We reasoned.
We eliminated options.
We returned to the question.
We stared again.
Somewhere between what we knew and what we thought we knew, we discovered the humbling truth about examinations: you can prepare for the question and still meet the unknown.
Yet we wrote.
Courage in an examination hall is simply putting down an answer when certainty refuses to come.
Then came the part of seeing your junior colleagues, who would ask, “How was your exam?” It was once such a sweet question, the same one we had eagerly asked our seniors. But now, it was not quite as amusing to hear.
As the law of nature would have it, for every “How was your exam?” there must be an “Alhamdulillah,” “We thank God,” “Hmmm,” or “Adupe” in response.
And you dare not ask me another question after that unassailable answer.
Eventually, it was over. We had survived MB1, or so we thought. After the examination came another examination: waiting for the result.
One week passed.
Then another.
Then another.
Three weeks.
At that point, MB1 had become less of an examination and more of a test of patience. Every rumor became important. “Have they released it?”
“I heard it is coming today.”
“Who told you?”
“My friend said someone said…”
“My friend said it was because the college printer ink was exhausted” Wisdommmmm, don't play with my mental health now.
And somehow, the result remained nowhere to be found. Until, one afternoon, the egg finally broke and the silence broke with it.
...Satisfied The Examiner. Three weeks of uncertainty suddenly became three words of relief.
For some, the result was a reward. For others, a warning. For a few, a reminder that almost is still not quite enough.
But for all of us, it was proof that the days had not passed empty. The pages we turned, the rooms we occupied, the questions we wrestled with and the moments we nearly gave up had all led somewhere.
“What about this person?”
We checked.
Passed.
Another celebration.
Then another name.
Almost passed.
The excitement suddenly became quieter.
We had wanted everyone to cross the line. So, while we celebrated those who made it, we also felt the weight of those who came painfully close. Perhaps that was the most memorable part of MB1. Behind every result was a story.
Someone had spent countless hours in the reading room. Someone had almost given up. Someone had doubted themselves. Someone had prayed through the night. Someone had struggled with a subject and still showed up. Someone had walked into the examination hall terrified and walked out surprised.
MB1 was never just about the questions. It was about the people who faced them. And now, with the dust settling, one thing remains certain:
BSc Anatomy — in the bag.
BSc Physiology — in the bag.
BSc Biochemistry — in the bag.
Must I add BSc Lipo? In the bag Joor!
STE — Satisfying the Examiner.
Next stop?
Done.
After the registration stress, the reading rooms, the sleepless nights, the facilitator's morning syndrome, the ocean of thoughts, the questions that humbled us, the questions we humbled, the examination itself and three long weeks of suspense, perhaps we, the MBBDS class of 2k27, have earned the right to say it:
We came.
We saw.
We conquered.
Amole Mustapha
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