That’s the Truth

You are witness to better times than the authorities are given credit for. That’s the truth. And that will remain the truth for as long as the veil remains.

This morning, you woke up in a Hall without water. Power supply had been unstable for over a day. That’s without mentioning the grandiose nature of said supply; eight hours — to live as regents of plenty. When a classmate reports spotting lit bulbs at that new block and on their way past St Paul’s Lecture Theatre, you feign surprise. You are comfortable with aberrations. The problem is that classmate being alarmed by oddities in this kooky college. 

When you’re done scrolling through WhatsApp messages, you fancy a walk to the taps. Your roommate hasn’t been back all week. Per your assessment, they aren’t serious with school, and it doesn’t matter that they’re working to meet the fourteen-day school fee deadline extension. You cannot rationalise their refusal to opt for NELFUND. Certainly, if anyone knows about the application of logic, it’s you, a member of the literary and debating society in Alex’s Hall, and one-time L&D exco in your preclinical days. That year Sultan and Ken Halls debated the viability of the loan, your disgust at the temerity to oppose such a fine policy knew no bounds. You look to their empty bed space and hiss yet again. 

You are only telling the truth. 

On your way to the tap, you walk past the freshly painted section of the quad. Bright yellow strokes surround the Hall’s Walls-of-Fame. It’s irrelevant that barely a metre past that section, the walls have chipped and cracked in unseemly ways. There’s a pool table, and two ping-pong boards, and that is enough. Your walk takes you to the first tank behind Delta Block. Empty. What are the chances that there will be no water at Alpha? As high as the cost of medical education in the Year of their Lord 2025. You return to your room with both kegs empty. There is comfort in burning a few calories to be denied what was promised when you paid that 20,000 Naira utility fee.

Yesterday, you joined the procession to welcome the hero. And indeed, he is one. This is one subject you and those idealist Press members see eye-to-eye on. That pain of missing out on the guard of honour stings but at least you joined the tour and sat in the hall. You think it sane that a program to celebrate a hero’s contribution to students, didn’t maximise attendance for students. You see no issues with TV Stations’ coverage. The last time they were here, a bunch of your colleagues invaded asphalt; delaying traffic for all and sundry while cardboard placards held sway. More recently, the Nigerian branch of that Briton-led media corporation released a video featuring survivors of the 100 day blackout. Unnecessary, to be honest. When you needed the school to accede to your consos’ demands, Teke Tamu Building’s chief residents played hard ball. 

But they are here now and you are also here now. Truth is relative. All is well. 

Unfortunately, you couldn’t join the procession to the new block. Many Alexites had expressed their concerns about the urgent need for that building, and more options for accommodation. But from the videos you saw of the building, they have no cause for concern. Well-lit standard en-suite rooms. Those are clear of Papal Hostel. Did they not see the beautiful kitchen counters? Only sensationalists would be worried about the state of maintenance in the future, simply because present facilities bode poorly. 

Nature calls, so you head for the toilet. Not the one close to your room. God forbid you use either one on your floor. As you lug your bucket up the stairs, thoughts of effortless crapping bubble to the surface. One day, you will rest your behind on bidet-equipped Alex toilets. You will flush without third and fourth considerations, and then step into a shower with running water for a bath. The tiles will be white and soothing. When they ask you about the Gamma block you left behind, you will look away. New is good. Old does not require renovation. It’s not your problem. 

The thing with emptying your stomach is that morsels need to go the other way. So, you take a walk to the cafeteria. It doesn’t matter whom you buy from; both sides sell food of reprehensible quality. You don’t find it disturbing that Management had to play pretend when your hall hosted the Class of ‘80-kinikan. It was a harmless photo-op, you say. So, what if chairs, tables, decor, plates, spoons, and everything else were altered? It’s rational to serve them in totally different conditions, so as to preserve the esteemed image of Alex Hall. There’s nothing wrong with the fact that sets after yours complain about food for months on end, after moving here. You do not see scarcity of choice. 

The conditions are appropriate. No one suffers from food poisoning. 

That’s the truth.  

Midway through your post-lunch nap, power is finally restored. Asleep, you dream of a College where students can express their displeasure on and off social media without fear of retribution. In that hellscape, many of your coursemates, and other members of the Hall, have gathered at St. Paul to express their displeasure at the state of things. Someone has printed pictures of Gamma block’s toilets, overflowing sewage tanks, and all the unpleasant items found in plates of food, and pasted them on the red carpet. It’s infuriating, so you wake angrily, cursing the demons that projected such a horrific visual to your REM state. May there never arise a time where you see the need to bear grievances against the authorities!

You stoop to plug in your phone, laptop, and first of two powerbanks. Just as you plug in the second, the room goes pitch black. From outside, you hear a floormate explain that it’s not yet time. You shouldn’t get power before 8 PM, afterall. 

“That’s true”, you mutter. You will manage it like that. You don’t deserve more. 

That’s the truth.