The Secret Lives of the People Living in my School

By Adebowale Oluwaseun

I

My 5+ years of staying in this place gives me the credibility to say a thing or two about the people living in my school—those I cross paths with; those I know by face and not name; those who have introduced themselves to me yet, somehow, when I greet them can't recollect their names. Still, I give a wide smile and go, ‘Hiiiiiii, how're you?’ then continue with the regular: ‘How is school? Have you started classes? Hope it's not too stressful . . . .’ All of these without remembering the person's name. I can't be the only one on this table, I know. My school is a small place, but the people living in it are getting larger over the years. More students equals more names to remember. And more names to remember equals more time exchanging pleasantries as we journey from our hostels to class and on walkways. 

II

The people living in my school have health practitioners’ degrees in view. Someone says they are on a no soda challenge and we're marvelled. Why? Aren't we all supposed to be game on it? We're versed in the disease called ‘the silent killer.’ The word rolls off our tongues with indescribable ease—Hy-per-ten-sion. We know about its modifiable risk factors and prevention, yet we'll overwhelm our food with salt and dress it with seasoning cubes. Let's not forget the legendary kings and queens who drown their soups and stews in oil. Heaven knows if they are preparing for Oil-a-thon. No egusi soup oiler than theirs. What about those who must fry any and everything? What's cholesterol that we cannot handle, abi? Speaking of medications . . . . any small pain, some of the people living in my school have chewed paracetamol. Is it chips? Do we even care about our liver? We know these things. Knowledge surrounds us. We go for outreaches. Give health talks. Advise our friends and neighbours. But we, culprits, most of us. Healthy living is hard, to be honest. However, it begs the question: Are we health practitioners if we do not put into practice what we're learning? Having this knowledge also means that when you fall sick, your mind is quick to scan the symptoms and present to you possible diagnoses that can throw you into a state of panic. 

III

The exam period has its theme. Red eyes, eye bags, mouth yawning, mosquitoes feasting, hands flapping, legs swaying, line up of energy drinks to stay awake. But again, we'll go out to preach about how the average human adult needs about 7-9 hours of sleep at night. You must have seen them. The ‘I don't eat after 7 pm’ nibbling cheeseballs and stepping it down with chilled Pepsi at 2 am during the exam period. Anything to stay awake. The more we gravitate towards the finish line, the more you begin to hear statements like, ‘First class or not, I just want to graduate.’ It won't stop us from forsaking the comfort of our rooms. We'll read under streetlights and with torchlights if we have to. 

IV

It's an open secret that there are two ways food can be gotten in my school. One, food by vendors, which sometimes can be mehhh. Beware, food poisoning is a real thing here. Two, homemade food . . . well, it's food, and it can go anywhere from just there to sumptuous depending on the chefs and their mood. 

V

The people living in my school are scholars. We have those who study day-by-day, the slow and steady win the race; and the ones who work under pressure, the ‘I can devour all lecture slides nights before and still come out with an A, las las B’. In their defence, why are they reading when they'd forget and have to re-read? The reading rooms are a community on their own. People bond over anatomy and physiology in Research Hall; get accountability partners who become their alarm clocks and guardians of their property in Stella; graduate from acquaintances to lovers in Cold Room; can identify the regular patronizers of the Lecture Theatres and the crash readers. As students, we know the courses we can bank on past questions for. However, there are the ones all scholars journey into the exam hall expecting anything that wiggles its way to us. Some lecturers are simply unpredictable. In the end, knowledge transfer is paramount. Outside the four walls of the university, reality will dawn on us that nobody cares if you were the high-flying student in your set. What they want is what you can offer: how can you apply your knowledge to clinical practice?

VI

The people living in my school are dancers to the rhythm of love. They take calculated steps, fall in and out of it. Dabble into short and long-term commitments. It appears they prefer company to solo dancing. People walk in pairs and flock together. Couple goals. Friendship goals. Coursemate goals. Roommate goals. Some have soft landings, some stumble along the way. I ought to write more on it but let's not start what we cannot finish.

VII

It is on this note that I welcome you to CMUL, a place where the hostel gates never takes a bow, where electricity becomes unstable during the exam period, and where waste bins are as rare as cabs. It can be a frustrating place to live in but can be fun also. I hope you keep living your best life, even here in CMUL. Keep walking!