Chapter 6: Black for Mourning
Counsellor call me, her voice dey shake, almost dey shout, say make I show for her office 9 a.m. tomorrow for serious warning.
Normally, if anybody go see her, na just eye she go give you or bone face—she never lose control like this before.
I just smile, say, "No wahala, Aunty Grace. I go come tomorrow morning."
After call, Tega ask, "Guy, you chop gunpowder today?"
Youngest say, "Third, you wan prepare for leave of absence like this..."
Hostel leader dey worry: "No reach that level—no go far."
For 200-man group chat, nobody talk from beginning to end.
But me I know: tonight, star dey shine, nobody dey sleep. Everybody dey press phone, dey wait for drama.
Friends for WhatsApp dey hail me: "Ifedike, you be legend!"
Most of them don suffer counsellor wahala for permission before.
By 9:30 the next morning, I still dey bed. The other three, even people from next hostel, come check if I wan snub counsellor.
I tell them, why I go do am?
Yesterday, I just say I go come morning—I no talk 9 o'clock. Faculty Secretary dey always check office 10 o'clock. Too early now.
By 9:50, counsellor call me tire. I fit feel say her vex don reach top.
"Ifedike, you no dey respect me as counsellor. Wait—make I show you my level!"
"No worry, Aunty Grace, I don already dey come. I go reach soon."
My three roommates just dey look me as I wear cloth, clean up.
"Ah ah, Third, you..."
For road, everybody wey see me just dey dodge like say I be ghost. Some even dey snap my picture.
I just waka straight enter counsellor office.
As she see me, her vex turn to shock, her voice dey shake: "Ifedike, you dey craze, you wear mourning cloth come here? You dey find trouble?"
I just look her, my voice calm: "Aunty Grace, I just come from burial ground. I dey wear black because I dey mourn my own person. For our side, black mean respect for dead. Make she understand. I no come fight, I just wan hear wetin you wan tell me. But make you remember say person get family for this life."
The silence wey fall for office fit break glass. Outside, I hear the junior wey dey sweep corridor pause, her broom stop. Na so Naija life be—sometimes, respect and small kindness fit pass rule. But who go teach counsellor that one? Maybe one day, when her own wahala reach her doorstep.