After an almost ruined week, no fun, writing one test after another and yet another scheduled for Saturday I knew my week was passing off as one of those epic weeks where you really have to prove you are a student. When you are used to spending Friday nights hanging out, you’ll know this feeling. Friday night was spent learning how to write codes for a Computer Science test, one of the plenty courses you borrow as a Nigerian student. After an “eventful” night, coming home from a friend’s place at 1 am, yeah, we all went to chill, whether na club, pub abi na class nah only if I tell you where I dey come from you go know.
Saturday morning, woke up late as usual (it’s a Saturday for God’s sake, the only day I have to myself.), hurriedly hit water and after a little cleaning up, I was on my way to school. I was already late for my test if it was going to start by 8 am. Being in school by 8:15 was magic, Oga bike, dey fly dey go. Trust a bike man given permission to misbehave, the only thing that slowed us down was getting stopped at a check-point in Jos. Being on a bike, you just have to trek your way through the “military zone”. No stopping, no loitering, no everything. On getting to School, move to hall A then C, ah you missed B, your group is in B. Getting to settle down after an already busy morning was seeming difficult. Architecture, move to hall A, Biochem move to hall B, wahala! After much movement, was almost definite the test wasn’t going to hold.
Sorry for inconveniencing you, the test would not hold, we wanted to get the amount of students taking this course (how can a whole C.S. department not know amount of students writing its course, what happened to data submitted when courses were registered) choi, the fact they stole my opportunity to sleep. Looking unto the bright side, the day might just be good.
The fact I had to write for a blog was clouding my judgments as I stepped out of school, should I go the “God is watching you” way abi the plenty Saturday and Sunday check-points and how unfair it is to people on bike. I got a bike, who knows, I might just get shots of people walking and that would go a long way in developing the write-up. Camera in hand, I was on a moving bike trying to get my best shot of fellow bikers.
Young man, stop there!!! Who are you and why are taking pictures? Are you a member of boko haram? What do you need pictures for? I quickly alighted from the bike, paid him off, because he would be in greater wahala if they catch up with him and I was to blame because I told him to ride through the check-point instead of the customary pushing of the bike. Oga good luck Oga he uttered and sped off.
Where is your bike man? Are you a member of the press? Show your I.D. Having heard stories of pressmen getting battered, I said “sir, I am a blogger” with a smile on my face. The smile and confidence unnerved him. Young man, do you think we are joking here! Sit on the floor, and then some whispers, Commander dey come oh. Sit on that rock, we need to talk. The fact that all the soldiers addressed me in proper English with little or no accent was nice and amazing. Show me the pictures you took! You have given me permission to invade your privacy! Jesu, DELETE IT! The shot I got was of a pregnant woman carrying her kid walking next to the okada she was riding on, a few seconds ago. After fidgeting with the camera for what seemed like ages, you need press pass, you really want be a press man?
The only reason you’ll not join not join the man in the truck is because you are a student, what is your course of study? Biochemistry sir I answered and he was furious all over again. Get out of here! Oga my camera! Oh, you want your camera? Was I the one that collected it? Go and meet him, after receiving a second lecture, I got my camera. Phew, how I wish I have an app to recover deleted shots but on the good side, he who says our soldiers are not cultured would not have met this specific team. Some good eggs still exist.