Prophet Samuel wasn’t mincing words when he told Saul, “Obedience is better than sacrifice.” If only I had followed that maxim religiously, literally. I mean, the goodly old chap on the steering of the Keke told me to ‘hold my Fifty Naira change’ before I entered. As usual, I didn’t listen. I always assume that there will be well-meaning passengers on the tricycle that would help me out with ‘change’. Today of all days, everybody slied. Change…oh Lord, that word just reminded me of 2015 and our President in limbo.
Basically, the man emptied the bucket of steaming frustration on me before setting out on the task I had selfishly assigned him. I nursed the silent, silly hope that he’d get the other ‘Change’ wherever it was hidden. As expected, he barely returned with the Four Hundred and Fifty Naira that was never going to last me through this auspicious day of sweet-smelling roses, recycled virginities (or lost, at the very least) and generally, the so-called ‘love’ that’s in the air. If only holding your breath for seventeen hours couldn’t kill.
Who was the unlucky girl? We may (or may not) come to that….
At the car park, I met the usual ever-expanding, infamous line that has as many twists as Game of Thrones. If my class wasn’t the 8 o’clock class that would have commenced less than ten minutes from then, I’d have gladly ‘legged’ it to my wonderful faculty under the scorching Unilag sun. But either way, I remained on the losing end; between the devil and the deep grey lagoon. I wish I could have old someone to keep a seat for me, but at this level, everyone’s pretty much a sly at heart. Another thing I hate is the fact that the cabs drop you off deep in the main campus, meaning you still have to walk to the faculty. We have our own library. We have our dress code. We have a decoration…sorry, ‘lounge’, to ourselves. It’s high time we got our own cab network, just saying.
By noon, I’d gotten past yet another C.T lecture at the hands of Dr Fogam in the steaming Annex, which was a heavy contrast to the supposed chilled mood of today. On the bright side, I was lecture-free for the rest of the day. I and Deji, my equally-wonderful friend, were supposed to hang out with other 300 Level guys at the Lagoon front. However, the sly landed a Mass Communications babe a week earlier. The probably went to Ozone to see a movie or something. But that’s his problem; I’m not the one with an epileptic G.P.
Or maybe I’m just pained over my hard luck.
My crush is a delectable twenty-year old light-skinned goddess who also happens to be in Year Three. I mean, this girl’s beauty can cure cancer. And her eyes pierce through my soon-to-be friend-zoned soul, much deeper than the pointiest and the most lethal of Cupid’s trusty arrows ever can. I know he doesn’t exist, but I maintain the stand that Cupid fires arrows without sense. I’m very sure he was high on Roman weed or Dionysian wine when he shot me with those destiny-resetting arrows. I mean, how come? We’re practically opposites. We’re in different fellowships (she takes it far more seriously than I do). She’s in Oputa and I’m in Teslim Elias. She’s fair (I must mention it again) and I’m practically dark compared to her (some people…many people see me as fair, though). But it’s my fault. Na me f@%k up.
Oge will curve you, I didn’t listen. Don’t date someone in your level, I didn’t hear. Have a backup plan, straight to the deaf ears. Don’t think of dating someone in your faculty, I turned deaf ears to that too…okay that last fact is quite debatable. But the points still hold.
I saw Oge just once today. As the aspiring HOC that she is, she was busy with everything and everybody. I’m saying this because, you know, she was scarce. To make matters worse for me earlier today, Deji told me to tag along with him and his bae on their romantic outing. Like I told myself before, I would never be a third wheel or a wingman; not today, not ever. And I was never going to fall for the card and the rose that I found in my bag after Deji left. Some random chic told me how I’m ‘the most wonderful person’ and a ‘darling’. And it was signed ‘Oge’ instead of the ‘Justine Skye’ I was expecting. Olohun Oba.
I knew it was a prank by some of the guys. They assumed that I’d walk up to Oge and thank her, only to receive the embarrassing news of her not having sent it. Edakun, try again later. Tossing the obviously-recycled ‘package’ into the nearest bin (it’s the bin for cans, but who cares?), I set sail to ‘recuddle’ bae. I’ve kept my bed waiting for far too long.
The call I just hung up on is sending serious shrills down my spine (or whatever’s left of it). I’m dead sure my lies and my gratitude were anything but convincing. Oge actually sent me a Valentine gift in the form of a Mavise food voucher worth 3K. The guys could have done some telecoms magic, changed her caller ID and simulated her voice, but I don’t want to know. What I know is that there’s a food voucher somewhere around the faculty, waiting for the rightful owner to retrieve it in stealth clothes. Don’t ask me who that guy is
By Charles Durueke

Pubished by Great Opara


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