Matriculation Day
Ade got up from the bed wearily. Today was his matriculation ceremony at the prestigious University of Westman. Yesterday had been pretty rough. The notorious elements of his hall wailed and screamed unsavory things at each other all through the night. The fact that it was Valentine didn’t help; there was heavy music and chaos right into the night. Decorum is to some people what peace is to the Taliban. It was despicable. But none of that mattered this morning as he was feeling rather motivated. He had gone from one hostel to the other with some of his friends, indicating his interest in receiving ‘item 7’ from prospective matriculants like himself. He wouldn’t be bringing any, but he would expect some. He looked around the room, surprised that his roommates were not around. He shrugged, picked up his towel, and headed to the bathroom. When he returned, he saw Ustaz, a friend of one of his roommates, unpacking his ironed matriculation gown. The latter looked surprised to see him. “Guy, the matriculation ceremony is 9 o’clock. Are you not going?” Ade glanced at his watch. 8:30 AM! He was surprised; he hurriedly picked on some casual clothes, grabbed his gown, and rushed out. Today is the cruise. He smiled to himself as he waved down a cab. Little did he know about what fate had in store for him. When he alighted from the taxi at the venue, a woman rushed over to his side and pinned a ribbon to his gown as she said some prayers. Ade was pleasantly surprised. He thought the school had arranged this special welcome for the matriculants. He was shocked when the woman asked him for money for “the blessing.” Owo adura, she said. He parted grudgingly with two hundred naira. But fate was just warming up. As Ade entered the compound, he saw a rather long queue of matriculants like himself waiting to enter the hall. He was impressed by the amount of energy these guys had put into looking impressive. The boys rolled around in their carefully pressed suits and sleek sneakers. The girls looked even more glamorous as they glided around in elaborate costumes and makeup. Bling, bling. Despite the news of impending strike action by the lecturers, none of the students seemed to care. Only some students, like him, looked unfashionable in their dresses. As Abraham Lincoln rightly said, you fit the craze if you reason too much. They all waited in line for two hours, with the line crawling slowly and the sun smiling rather unkindly. The heat was detestable. Then he heard people trooping out of the hall en masse; the ceremony was over. He felt dejected, but he was the one who woke up late. People dispersed to take pictures around the hall with their family, friends, new friends, and coursemates. He tried calling some people he knew but realized he knew no one. He was just a reserved guy who was lonely in this crowd. He looked around at the boys running around with the girls; even a day after Valentine, he was still oppressed. He knew he looked even more ridiculous in his matriculation gown. Ade decided to take a picture so as to have something to souvenir when he got home. To show his family. He approached a photographer, and after agreeing to the price and snapping the picture, the latter printed the photo. Ade then dipped his hand casually into his pockets to bring out his fees. Then fate struck a rather impressive blow. The void in his pockets was astonishing. He decided to see with his eyes because seeing is believing. He pulled out his pockets, and alas, nothing was in them. His last one thousand naira note! By then, he was already racing; his heart was racing, and beads of sweat lined his forehead. The photographer looked at him rather dubiously. Perhaps he was thinking of a way to deck this kid without being charged with assault. READ ALSO: Symptoms and Antidotes for giving up Just then, a random lady inviting him to her fellowship walked up to him and paid on his behalf. She had noticed his frantic actions and knew the poor guy had nothing in his pockets. Ade was extremely relieved. He made up his mind to pay her back in full and to keep going to her fellowship. The photographer handed her the picture and left. He was downcast and a little bit depressed but heavily relieved. The lady, whose name he later knew to be Sara, smiled. “Welcome to Westman,” she said cheerily. He smiled weakly and said: “Thanks”
