Chapter 6: If Dem Wan Fail, Make All of Us Fail

By 1 p.m., adviser hunt me down, dey beg me go do the test.

As I dey waka for department corridor, na so adviser spot me. She adjust her glasses, dey walk fast reach me. People dey look us, dey wonder wetin dey happen.

She raise her glasses, give me that look of, "I don tire for you":

Her eye sharp, mouth set like person wey dey chew bitter kola. You fit see the stress for her face—Naija lecturers dey carry student wahala for head.

"All this your fragile type, always dey find excuse. This test important. If you get special case, you for talk before list go. Now, your absence go affect the whole 50 students for class. Think am well."

She dey talk with authority. Her voice dey vibrate, people for corridor dey pause to listen. E dey shame me small, but I just dey nod head.

I tell her say class prefect swap the number last minute.

I yarn am as e be—no filter. My voice low, but I stand my ground. For Naija, sometimes you must talk your truth, no matter the wahala.

She just roll her eyes.

She hiss, adjust bag, act like say I be stubborn pikin. I dey vex, but I hold am. For Naija, elder dey always want last word.

"Abeg, cooperate with class committee and show up."

Her tone no get room for argument. She walk away, dey wave hand like person wey dey chase fly. I just dey look her back, dey pray make God touch her heart.

She pick her small handbag, waka comot.

Her shoe dey knock ground, echo for corridor. I dey imagine how she go gist other lecturers say student dey give her headache. For Naija, story dey spread fast.

Everybody know—800-meter test na the real wahala.

If e easy, dem for no dey drag am. For hostel, gist dey fly say last year, one guy faint for field, ambulance carry am go clinic. Everybody dey fear.

Nobody wan do am.

If dem open chance, people go disappear for hostel. Some go switch off phone, others go form sick. Na only those wey dey chase school rep fit volunteer.

If I ask for leave, another person go chop the bad luck from the other 49.

Class people dey always dodge wahala. Once you escape, na another person go suffer. E no dey ever end.

Class prefect just wan make everybody hate me, so his babe go rest.

I sabi their game. If I run, Kamsi go relax. If I no run, everybody go vex for me. E no dey fair, but na so class politics dey be for Naija.

As I waka leave her office, I just go hostel, off light, cover myself with wrapper.

I no even chop. I just lie down, dey think my life. I off phone, wrap myself like mummy. The darkness dey help me hide from wahala.

This 800-meter test, if dem wan run, make dem run. At worst, all of us go fail together.

For my mind, I dey plan resistance. If everybody fail, nobody fit single me out. Na so strike dey start for Naija—if wahala too much, group dey resist together.

If only one person fail, na only am go dey sweat. If na whole class, nobody fit single anybody out.

I dey imagine the principal dey call 50 names for office. E go tire. For Naija, collective wahala dey hard to punish.