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CHRONICLES OF THE ILLEGALLY LEGAL S2E7

29 Jul

This week and indeed, this entire year has been filled with little…joys which have reinforced my views that maybe, just maybe, life should not be taken so seriously. And even if you wanna take life in general seriously, do not take life in Nigeria seriously otherwise you’ll just run mad. Not the play-play type of madness either, but the starkravingnolucidmomentstearingyourclothesandbarking type of madness.

See the thing is, Nigeria really isn’t ready to let you be great. It’s not as if the country doesn’t want you to be great o (deep down, I’m sure it means well) but it cannot just let you go on and just…flourish. Ahn Ahn! Just like that? Are you playing? Your mates that are suffering first and running mad or killing themselves, do they have two heads?

I’m trying not to rant. I believe ranting about the state of affairs in our beloved nation is something that is done only by people who’ll get into power and do much worse. Case in point: APC. Thus, I do not rant. Never! Except I’ll be paid though. Amean, if you’re ready to pay me big money to rant about the Nigerian situation, I assure you that the article I’ll write will rival any PhD thesis ever written. Therefore, I cannot promise that if I do eventually get into power I’ll be a much better leader, just because I did not rant. Maybe bad leadership and corruption is simply in our blood, the same way it’s in our blood to begin events 3hours after the stated time, or to finish clearing all the food in the plate before eating the meat. No! What I can promise, however, is that y’all will never forget my name.  Never ever. Whether for bad or good.

For the thousandth time in less than a week UBA just debited my account for some obscure charge. And some people will wonder why they’re not prospering in this life. You’re charging me for card maintenance, the same card I’m holding in my hand? The few times I get a credit alert, these pipu will not inform me until days later, but let money just mistakenly leave my account and they’ll be texting me like we’re in a sexual relationship sigh. I’m tired. But I cannot die.

The Faculty of Law, in it’s divinity and infinite wisdom, has decided to enforce the class attendance they’ve been compiling since the semester commenced. This means that if it is not documented that you attended a certain percentage of classes, you will be unable to sit for exams and like film trick your extra year will just come and be sharing squatting space with you. Ah! Even as everyone likes to talk about how having an extra year is not the end of the world and other bs, the simple truth is that, with the type of parents I have, an extra year just might mean the end of my own world, and I’m sure majority of you share this particular sentiment. I might not be much of praying person, but one little…prayer I mutter every once in a while is that the god I serve should not let me spend an extra second in the University of Lagos, talk less of a full year. You see after four long years, I’m simply tired of the nation’s pride. So I’m ready to leave, and to accomplish this I’m doing every thing necessary including attending classes where I might not necessarily learn anything. Before, as a very wise man once said, I’ll goan make mistake nw and won ti gba penalty lo throw-in. I’m tired. But I cannot die.

As I leave the…comfort of my room and ac and step out into the world, the jungle that is Ransome-Kuti rushes to embrace me. A couple of feet away, the people of the area are engaged in a very riveting and combative smoking competition. The persons in first and second place are locked in fierce battle for who will be crowned the new Father of Dragons. It’s a pity that I shall miss the rest of the festivities, as I am running late. It’s a bigger pity that Unilag management is not a witness to these celebrations. The talents of a child might not lie in books and other academic activities, but give that same child a blunt and watch him (or her, cos there are many her’s too thankfully) light up with passion and glorious ecstasy. These people are manifesting their own brand of education yet, there’s no one present to offer scholarships and other incentives for intellectual prowess. It’s sad really.

After entering a cab that was probably around during the time of the great Egyptian Pharaohs, I finally arrive at my destination: the Law  Library. Do not be deceived or dismayed though. I, along with at least half the people here on this cold, wet morning, am not here to read. I’m here simply cos for some reason, my bastard network  Glo is incredibly fast in this place. Like, you have the entire world to choose from to give me super fast browsing, and you decide to do it in a place that’s underground. Under the bloody ground. I cannot even begin to fathom the madness of it all so I’ll just move on, before I break my promise and start to rant. Others, like me, are here for diverse and even unexpected purposes. Some are here to drop pant between the shelves and as far as I’m concerned, if you are not here to read and you’re not taking off your underwear either, then why are you here please? You could have just stayed in your room and deceived yourself there mtcheeew.

As I walk to my designated seat, I am reminded again of one good thing this Faculty has to offer: fine girls. Babes. Girls of all ages, types, specifications, beliefs and fetishes. My good god! Certain humans hot enough to leave you actually confused. I have a feeling these people are part of the reason the number of individuals having extra year has increased, not just in the Faculty but in the entire school. People just do not wanna graduate and leave these girls alone, and can you blame them? Who no like better thing? I sit down, and the person beside me welcomes me with a mammy water type smile. I do not know this chick from Adam, but I’m sure even Adam wouldn’t leave this Eve without attempting to seize and….I’ve run out of rhyming words, but I’m sure you get the point.

Thirty minutes into my Library adventure, mammy water smile and I have scheduled a date where we can talk and explore each other’s…minds thoroughly. I do not think I’ve ever wanted to explore a person’s mind the way I crave to explore hers. But moving on. My phone vibrates long and continuously and I turn to check it, expecting that the loml is blowing up my phone with texts and inappropriate pictures. What I see instead is the same 5 bcs spread across 17 WhatsApp group chats and 10 Personal chats. I fume. I vex. I am irritated. I am tired. But I cannot die. Even if these people seem ready to die and carry certain others with them, me, I cannot die. Not on top LSS elections. Apparently, the date is fast approaching and people are getting desperate. But, if it’s BC  that pipu use to win elections ehn, all these ones are already winners in the Lord. Someone is ready to run mad because of a position that, after all the lies you tell us, you probably still won’t do any better than your predecessor, neither shall your name be remembered ten minutes after you’re done sigh. I want to rant. But seeing as no one has transferred dollars into my account, I shall postpone my rant until you people are ready to pay.

I’m suddenly craving corn, be it boiled or roasted. And I’m not the type of person to deny my body anything it needs. Especially food. And the…other thing too. But mostly food. That’s probably the first thing anyone should know about me. If you want my heart, just provide me with constant good food. In fact, after money and just before knowledge and women, good food is a necessary ingredient in my psychological make up. I bid a hearty farewell to mammy water smile and leave the Library to goan begin my corn hunt. 

I almost make it. Almost. I go outside and I am accosted by the real life election campaign team. It seems they have decided to physically manifest the bcs they’ve been disturbing us with. I try to firmly but politely brush them aside. But lined up behind them is another and then another an yet another campaign team. And then it dawns on me that my plans shall not come into fruition. My corn shall have to wait.

How does Buhari do it? How does the boyfriend do it when the girl tells him she’s pregnant? How does my Course Adviser do it when it’s time to sign my docket? How do they all just…disappear? Sigh

I wish I could disappear rn but I can’t. So I must endure this, once again

I am tired. But I cannot die.


Great Opara 



 

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One response to “CHRONICLES OF THE ILLEGALLY LEGAL S2E7

  1. Precious

    October 31, 2017 at 5:28 pm

    I love it,especially the end

    Like

     

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