Morning or afternoon or evening.
Oh well, which ever time it meets you, pick your choice. So,we’re off to a start on the magazine project, if you’ve been sent an invite to participate in the first edition, please start preparing your articles, we will start putting them together last week of March.
Thank you.
Moving on, today’s post is supplied to us by @ThasJusIbukun(http://www.ibukunakinnawo.wordpress.com), an undergraduate at Unilag, not sure if her story is fiction or if its real, anyway, enjoy it and kindly comment.
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They call it university of first choice.
I call it university.
Classes today seemed like they would never end. By the third period I was no longer paying attention to the old bearded man in front of me. Thankfully, the class was large and he did not notice me doze into oblivion. The class was packed full with sweaty, young, energetic bodies. The fans were bad and the few windows that were were wide open.
“…to be submitted in the next class.”
As soon as Professor Layiwola walked out of the class, Amina elbowed me out of sleep.
“You can go sleep properly now.” She smiled her sympathy at me as she gathered her books.
“Thank you.” I mumbled.
5.30
I walked to my hostel. Wait, it is not really mine because I am not a legal space owner. I sleep on a narrow bed in a hot room with 10 other girls.
It is almost the end of the semester.
I have run out of money.
I have no boyfriend.
I have no other source of income apart from my parents.
I have needs. I have wants. I have an empty wallet.
Yet, somehow, my pride prevents me from accepting the lump sum my Professor offers me repeatedly. It prevents me from sleeping with the man Kehinde introduced me to.
Or is it self respect? Principles?
But if it is self respect, will it feed me some time in the nearest future? Will it let me accept the next man that shows interest in me? Whether I like him or not?
“Just say yes. I don’t know why you’re making such a big deal about it.” Kehinde told me once.
Another time she said, “Everybody is doing it.”
It sounded so cliche. I am not sure what it means anymore. I told her I would rather get a job. She laughed so hard she started to cry.
Maybe I am just naïve.
I will sleep hungry tonight because I cannot bear to hear Kehinde’s mocking voice again.
Tomorrow I will call my father. He will send me some money. It will not nearly be enough but it will be something.
But what? What would you have me do? What would you do?
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