Admission "Wahala" (BV post)

Another BV post.....sent on Friday.



I had a typical school day today. Woke up 6.am, got to class 8.am, and then lecture, lecture and more lectures. A boring, stressful day. It’s funny seeing how comfortable I am living the “school life”. Hardly would you believe, if I told you I’ve almost packed my bags and said “to hell with you” about schooling.

     

Ok, here’s where it started…with my dad. I’ve always been one very unserious girl, I love the easy life (who the heck doesn’t) and I HATED math ‘cos mom’s always tongue lashing me over it,
           

 “You’ve got a brain, but you never use it! What kind of child are you?!”
     

 “I should be asking you that since you brought me here” I would answer. Inwardly of course, I wouldn’t want my tiny behind peppered. Fortunately for me, good ol’ dad didn’t give up on me, he’s an example of faith if you ever need one. He registered me for NECO GCE in SS2, I passed, in SS3 I wrote JAMB, I passed (surprised ? You ain’t seen nothing yet!). While my mates were celebrating their graduation, I was busy in the exam hall sweating my butt off writing my post-UME, I passed. I chose law as my field of study and guess what? I know, you were going to say I got it, but of all dumb luck, I got Yoruba education. A huge bruise on my growing ego.
     

So, to cut a long story short, I went to my new school day after I heard I’ve been admitted. Unaccompanied. I was too excited to wait for someone who will go there with me. There I was, at the school park, a tall, thin girl in native wear a tad too big with a very uncertain look on her face. Gad! What was I thinking! Anyway, I took a step forward and my travails began…
   

 For like five hours, I was walking from the admissions office, to the bank, to the photocopy shop and back again like a hamster in a box, up and down and back again. After all that trouble of getting registered, I had to locate my department which, I later discovered was barely known then. It was at this point that my “partner-in-admission-stress” left me. She also had to find her own department.
     

I walked up and down the whole school several times asking for my department using different variations, “please do you know where Yoruba education department is?”, “please do you know where education is?” at faculty of education, “please where can I find Yoruba education?” It got to a point that I just asked, “Yoruba education?”
     

See, at the beginning of a ‘quest’ you are all eager, your eyes are bright and you steps eager, but when you ‘quest’ is not fruitful, at a point, you look as beaten as an abused dog, your feet dragging and your shoulders slumped, you get so frustrated that any human voice directed at you will open up the dam of tears in your eyes. I was sitting on a log at the park, after calling my dad too tell him “to hell with it! I’m coming home” okay, not in those exact words, but close. Do you blame me? I was fifteen! So as I was saying, I was sitting when this girl came,
         

“What is wrong with you?” she asked…softly, and I burst into tears…loudly.


People turned and looked. I didn’t give a damn; I was “getting it all out”. After I managed to calm down a little, I narrated my story. Luckily for me, no she wasn’t studying Yoruba or any education course either; she was ready to assist me. We spent almost another hour before finally meeting an Yoruba major student.


Disadvantage of getting admitted to study an unpopular course...I stil do not like it but I dislike the idea of sitting at home more.