Through the back door, I walked stealthily into the classroom with one hand clutching tightly to my fading tote bag and the other dangling freely. I was already forty-five minutes late for an eight o'clock lecture courtesy of the tricycle driver that conveyed me to campus and this wasn't even the worst thing that had happened to me that morning.
“Just walk like that to the front,” Mrs. Ajo, the new substitute physiology lecturer who I hoped wouldn't notice me, ordered.
I journeyed to the front of the classroom pondering why the woman summoned me. I was decently dressed and my black braids were neatly packed. Had lecturers started taking offence for late entry into their classes? Or was I, a regularly punctual student, about to be made the scapegoat?
“Why are you coming late to my class?” Mrs. Ajo asked.
How was I going to tell this lecturer and the rest of the hundred students in the classroom that the tricycle I initially boarded had tumbled during my earlier journey to school? How was I to explain that I had safely jumped out before the mayhem happened but the white joggers I wore didn't survive the mud from the potholes. I could have easily explained that returning home to get a change of clothes was the reason why I was late but I wasn't ready to narrate any story so I stood there staring into nothingness.
“I even thought you had an excuse but with or without your excuse, you will stand there for thirty minutes before you can take a seat.” she said before returning to her lecture. A lecture that seemed to me like it was being taught in a foreign language because I didn't understand a word Mrs. Ajo uttered. But like I feared, I was used as the scapegoat.
The events of that morning kept replaying in my mind. I slept late the previous night because I was preparing for a test that was to be written the next day. After reading to my saturation, I took a quick nap hoping to wake up early and iron the clothes I was going to be wearing to school.
To my utmost surprise, I woke up to no electricity and I had to improvise, hence the initial white joggers. The journey from my house to campus is roughly a twenty minutes journey and I had over forty minutes to spare. I flagged down a tricycle that was going in that direction and cheerfully hopped in.
The tricycle driver was riding like he had a spare life hidden somewhere in his tricycle but deep down I was glad because with the speed he was going at, I would arrive at my destination even faster.
We got to a T junction and without properly surveying the connecting lanes, the driver swooped into the road. Once he realised that there was an incoming vehicle he tried to sway to the side of the road but at this side was a pothole. Luckily, I was seated at the other end of the tricycle and as the tricycle started tilting down, I sprang out!
The next three minutes felt very surreal as the other two passengers who were with me came out with numerous lacerations on their skin but no serious injury.
As people gathered to find out what the problem was, I quietly crossed the road, flagged down another tricycle and returned home in muddy shame. I could have conveniently taken the day off but I had a test that I wasn't willing to miss so I washed off the mud from my feet, changed up and went back to board another tricycle.
The next tricycle I boarded was driven by a calmer driver who conveyed me safely to my destination.
After thirty minutes, Mrs. Ajo released me and I went behind to take a seat. All I wanted was for this lecture to end so I could take my test and return home.
A few minutes later, my wish came true and Mrs. Ajo rounded up her class with an assignment.
It was time for the next lecturer to begin his class but for some reason he wasn't around. On the school group chat, the class representative kept reassuring us that this man was going to come. Two hours later, I started feeling so agitated. This man had only three hours to lecture yet, he wasn't here. What was he going to teach in an hour? And how were we going to write the test?
A few minutes later, a friend suggested that we grab something to eat and I willingly accepted. We didn't take up to eight steps when we heard the doors of our classroom creaking close.
“Alright! Take out anything that can incriminate you” was the sound that came from the classroom followed by shuffling feet.
The lecturer who was to give the test had arrived two hours and forty minutes late and said that no one was going to enter his test Hall after he entered. Unfortunately the “no one” included my friend and I who were inside that class two minutes ago. We begged and begged but the man wouldn't budge.
We stood outside, watching the man share test scripts and at that juncture, I declared that day one of the worst days of my life. The only reasonable explanation was the fact that I woke up on the wrong side of the bed because the events of the day weren't adding up.
The test I had spent the whole night preparing for was concluded in less than ten minutes and the lecturer breezed in as fast as he breezed out, but before leaving he made sure to announce that he wasn't giving any make-up tests to those who didn't write.
With nothing more to accomplish in school, I clutched tightly once again to my tote bag and began my journey home. On reaching home, I freshened up and took a very long nap. If nap durations could erase unpleasant recollections, I would have awoken with a blank slate.
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