My first experience of hostel life was in 100 level. I was placed in a four-man room in Queen Elizabeth II Hall, one of the two female-only halls of residence in the University of Ibadan. Out of the four legal occupants, I was the youngest and most naive. Bisi later became a floater in that same room, spending most of her free time with us. 
I had a very hard time adjusting to that kind of life. I was mummy’s pet. I couldn’t spend up to 2 weeks on campus before running back home, AlhamduliLlaah that home was only 2 bus stops away. I would hold “number 2” for several days because I was uncomfortable with the shared toilets; until I got home and released week-old loads of shit!
Back to the issue of Bisi. I think she had a PhD in troublemaking before coming back to study medicine. She can make trouble for Africa. There’s never any dull moment when she’s around. She taught me many tricks and survival tips for hostel and campus life. 
One morning, we were preparing for an 8 o’clock class and we were almost late. I didn’t mind going to class on an empty stomach but ‘Kọ̀ọ́mi’ (as we fondly call each other) never jokes with food. She can combine anything with anything, as long as it’s edible. We had some leftover ẹ̀bà and rice from the previous day. I thought she was kidding when she started warming the two together. That was how she made me eat ẹ̀bà and rice to class o! 
That morning was not funny at all. Sleeping in the hostel would have been more honourable for me than sleeping during class. All my blood was redirected from my brain to my stomach. I struggled to take some notes in between the naps, but there were so many gaps that I couldn’t make any sense of what I wrote. 
While I was snoozing away, Bisi was conscious and alert as usual. (Did I mention that she’s also an excellent stenographer?) The next thing I heard was, “Khadijah, wake up! Class is over”.


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