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Great Memories As An Abusite. by ComradeShegs(m): 9:36pm On Jul 04, 2016 |
ABU is the pet name of my
beloved alma Mater, the
famous Ahmadu Bello
University of Zaria. This
noteworthy spring of learning
presented to every individual
privileged to pass through, a
microcosm of life broken into
different interesting episodes.
My experiences on Abu’s terrain
were typically varied. The social
scene it offered, the religious
events it supported and the
academic environment it
engendered all led to the
evolution of a much more
cultured Chemo.
I studied architecture at Abu’s
Department of Architecture
popularly known as
‘architorture’ for the gruesome
backbreaking and sleep-
depriving discipline it instilled in
the students through its tutors.
There was no rest to be found
and when it came, it was prized
like the desert oasis to a thirsty
traveler. Our pockets were
perpetually leaking; the
numerous assignments that
had to be well packaged milking
them dry. The first and second
years of our higher education
were difficult times as we had
to juggle the enormous stress
our academic work placed on
us, with the self-imposed task
of dimming the ‘rock and
catch-fun’ dreams we had
crafted from home. The latter
was necessary if we were ever
going to leave Abu’s territory
with degrees we could be proud
of. In spite of all these, there
came streams of light mid-way
in this dark tunnel we trudged
in. Our skills began fetching us
small ‘change’ from those
miserly clients unwilling to part
with their hard-earned money in
exchange for the professional
services of established
architects. We could now afford
to take girls to the best
restaurants on and off campus
as well as live in well furnished
rooms or houses. For the
business-smart and well-
connected ones, the ‘change’
was even enough to buy cars! It
was common knowledge back
then that archi-boys were the
big boys on campus.
Paradoxically, even though the
infamous name architorture
would suggest that our
lecturers were beasts by
nature, they really turned out to
be quite approachable. They
were comparable with our elder
brothers and uncles back home
who we could confide in when
faced with difficult problems.
We joked, shared ideas and
developed concepts together in
the studio on those days we
had design classes. I particularly
remember a design class we
had in my third year with one of
our female lecturers. She took
it upon herself to dedicate a
considerable part of the allotted
time to edify the boys on the
need to value and yearn for
inner beauty. This coming from
a very attractive lady married
with children, we really had no
choice but to appreciate the
wise words being passed down.
I clearly recollect the
camaraderie that existed
amongst all Abu’s architecture
students. The times spent in
the studio helped to ease the
stress that accrued from the
last-minute attempts to meet
deadlines. We would chat about
the different mannerisms of
our lecturers; share movies,
music and software; and talk
about our social lives in general.
There was always loud and
beautiful music playing from
powerful sound systems that
prevented you from falling
asleep. Our studio became a
secondary social centre
attracting students from all
over the school who desired to
read, work or hangout in the hip
environment engendered in our
studio.
The religious atmosphere on
Abu’s grounds was quite
charged. For those who took
the spiritual realm seriously,
Abu presented them a divinely
fertile ground for the
nourishment of their hungry
souls. Praying grounds could be
found at every nook and cranny
to cater for Muslims who, by
religious obligation, had to pray
five times daily. The praying
grounds and smaller mosques
needed to be as close as
possible to each department so
as not to disrupt the academic
requirements of the school,
hence their large number. On
the Christian front, numerous
campus fellowships co-habited
with the larger non-
denominational Fellowship of
Christian Students (FCS) body.
These were the breeding
grounds of very creative
Christian dance, rap and singing
groups which thrilled crowds to
no end. One such group was
YWAP (Youths With A Purpose).
Their dance performances were
electrifying enough to shock
out wild screams and adulation
from the congregation. Some
of their slow ballet-like dances
accompanied by soft music
were heart-rending; reminding
you implicitly of your
imperfection and the need for
redemption. ‘Blue roof’, the
large multi-purpose hall built by
the Catholic church on campus
was the venue for most of
these concerts and later
became an icon that
represented social life in Abu’s
land.
On the social scene, Abu didn’t
allow the wild side in his kids to
really manifest as obtainable in
other institutions due to his
surroundings. Nonetheless, the
imaginative and creative spirit
of Abusites (the collective name
of all Abu’s children) sublimated
our social cravings into much
more exciting versions of social
life. Drama village, the earthen-
built theatre for staging the
plays of Theatre Arts students,
presented us an alternative kind
of entertainment reminiscent
of the village moonlight plays of
times past. The drama students
were simply amazing in the way
they improvised with objects
around to regale us with their
very creative stage plays.
Parties were held every other
weekend at exotic spots off
campus and were publicized by
uniquely attractive posters that
would be likely unmatched in
any other institution in the
country. As a graphic designer
myself, I designed posters that
had people talking excitedly for
quite a while.
Then the girls. There came no
night you wouldn’t find boys
milling around the girls hostels.
The school policy of not
allowing boys access into the
female dormitory threw up all
manner of scenarios that were
meant to cushion the effect of
this isolation. One such
development was ‘The Market’;
the large frontage of a
particular hostel-Ribadu, that
became a hot spot for all
manner of toasting, sweet talk
and hooking-up at night. In the
early years before the coming
of mobile phones, it was a
normal sight to see boys at The
Market hustling to get the
attention of girls, who were on
their way to the hostel, so they
could help call out the lady they
had come to see. It’s absurd
what many of these ladies did
with their power. Many times
they would scream at you to
leave them alone, insult you like
you had no future ambition or
simply snub you. Some others
took it to an even more
infuriating level. They would
listen to you attentively as you
reeled out your request,
promise to do your bidding and
simply walk into their own
rooms like nothing ever
transpired some few minutes
ago. You would be left counting
your fingers and toying with
your small beard as you waited
patiently for your girl who would
never come.
Some boys were lucky to have
the ladies they wanted to see
inhabiting the rooms on the
facade wing. Within this group
of lucky boys was a sub-group
of somewhat unlucky ones.
They were the guys who had to
scream out the room number
of the lady they sought
because the room was located
on the last floor. Shrill cries like
“89…! 89…! Dupe!” were
common.
Quite a number of Abu’s girls
took it upon themselves to
display the various intimidating
shades of sophistication. The
chicks at the top echelon of the
campus social strata made sure
intending toasters bagged
either a degree in Persistence
or a Diploma in Chasing
Shadows; the unlucky ones
ended up with the two at the
expense of their mainstream
studies. I heard tales of ‘hot’
chicks who would only go out
with a guy that had a car to his
name; a sleek one at that. You
might have been very
handsome and intelligent with a
veritable mastery of poetry.
You might have been the nicest
guy on earth. These were
unimportant to these girls;
these qualities were just icing
on the cake of material wealth.
On the flip side, there were also
those amazingly attractive girls
that money seemed to irritate.
The cars, the cash, the phones,
the nice clothes; these worked
no magic on them. They
preferred to be like God who
shows mercy to whom he
desired to show mercy.
There was one particular set of
girls in the top echelon that was
distinct. These were the malo
chicks; cream-coloured, slow-
walking and extremely attractive
Hausa-Fulani ladies who were
usually from incredibly wealthy
homes. They were the type of
ladies you could day-dream all
day about; inventing scenario
upon scenario of a sweet life
together. I fashioned quite a
number of fantasies in my
mind at different times placing
the malo chick I desired at the
epi-centre. I would envision
myself taking her to my
mother, getting married to her
and siring very cute kids
through her. Many of them
spoke impeccable English with a
very stimulating voice and so I
would add audial components
into the fantasy mix, imagining
her talking to me as she bends
over and plays with the hairs on
my chest, while I lay back on
the soft sofa, slowly absorbing
the beauty of her words as they
swim over to me in the cool
waves of her lovely voice.
These fair ladies of northern
extraction were the perfect
embodiment of the vision my
mind had crafted of the ideal
woman.
However, there were two
factors that made the
possibility of these fantasies
ever coming true very slim. The
wealth surrounding many of
them, coupled with the way it
was ostentatiously flaunted,
was very demoralizing. It simply
sapped away your male ego.
What is more, they were
Muslims and I was a Christian.
The complication here should
not be difficult for the
discerning mind to decipher.
You can imagine how I felt then
when I met Julia (not her real
name). She was a half-caste; a
very beautiful one at that, slim
and could excellently pass for a
Fulani girl. In fact, I thought she
was one at first until I found out
her name. I couldn’t believe it
was possible. It was like the
stars had finally aligned in my
favour. It seemed those
embarrassing prayers to God
for answers to this one fleshly
wish; getting married to a very
beautiful lady after the kind of
the Hausa-Fulani breed, was
finally going to be answered.
We became pals the third time I
came across her and quickly
became very good friends. We
talked on the phone every day.
We exchanged countless text
messages. We hooked up once
in a while and gisted about so
many things. She was very
intelligent and a good
conversationalist so we never
ran out of what to talk about.
Then something happened.
I fell in love with her.
It was inevitable. I knew it would
happen at some point (after all I
had wanted it to be so from the
beginning) but hadn’t expected
it to be this soon and intense. I
had reasoned we would be
friends for a long time during
which I would study her
properly; but that was not to be.
I dreamt of her at night and had
visions of her by day. Thinking
no longer followed a straight
logical path even when serious
problems were to be
brainstormed to their solution;
it always had to meander to pay
Julia a visit.
Julia was beautiful. She had this
brand of beauty that stunned
you into silence. Her lips were
not pink, neither were they red;
just something in the region of
peach that invited you teasingly
to take action as they bobbed
up and down, and swayed from
side to side to form words. On
those frequent times her lips
stretched to produce a smile,
they unwittingly set my brain
and retina on a collaborative
photo shoot that imprinted
memorable images of her in
my head. Julia was classy and
spoke the English language
perfectly with a voice that had
the gentle power of lulling you
to sleep. My pocket bore the
brunt as it had to release funds
continually to procure recharge
cards for my phone. Her eyes
were charm factories. The
amazing way they switched
from Chinese-like slits to the
large sparkling eyes of baby
dolls was simply beautiful.
There was no way those eyes
would ever look at me like that
and ask for a favour that I
would refuse. It was never
going to happen. Never.
And so the scheming began. I
sought to balance the equation
and make the now lop-sided
friendship quickly catalyze to
mutual romance. Poetry, my old
time friend, was quickly
conscripted into the personal
army I had formed to bring
about this catalysis. Text
messages became less prosaic
and more lyrical. Phone calls
were longer and soft toned. We
were becoming really close.
Then something great
happened.
I asked her out and she
refused.
It was a great shock that jolted
me from the beautiful dream,
the sweetness of which I had
felt would climax in due time.
Sweet dreams were not usually
this short for God’s sake. It was
devastating. I charmed her the
more; sweet-talked her into
seeing the bliss we could finely
weave together. I tried to
convince her that we were both
destined to yarn a special,
ageless and mutual love story
to the world but she still
wouldn’t accept me on the
strength of that argument. On
and on it continued for two full
calendar years without any
success. I was too close to her
she said. Like a brother.
Like a brother…. That well-worn
excuse. I wondered if it was my
fault. Had I wasted too much
time in watering the ground
before planting the seeds? Was
the ground a mirage? I thought
of those little deeds of Julia’s
that I had construed as green
lights signaling me to make the
move. So we weren’t going to
weave and live out that great
love story anymore?
When the time was ripe, Abu
my loving father bequeathed
me two academic degrees and
unwittingly added two
emotional qualifications; a first-
class degree in Persistence and
a distinction in Chasing
Shadows. I was finally out in the
larger world with four
certificates; two intellectual
ones to help me in my quest
for material things and two
visceral ones for my future
dealings with Eve’s kind. As I
meander through this rough
maze of life, I would always
remember the varied lessons I
gleaned from my father Abu;
that old but dearly beloved sage
in the tiny town of Zaria; that
rare gem famous for being the
greatest and largest university
south of the Sahara and north
of the Limpopo. 1 Like |
Re: Great Memories As An Abusite. by Purpletee(f): 11:41pm On Jul 04, 2016 |
abusite ,naturally ahead of you. 1 Like |
Re: Great Memories As An Abusite. by ComradeShegs(m): 12:02am On Jul 06, 2016 |
Lalasticlala your attention is needed. |
Re: Great Memories As An Abusite. by ComradeShegs(m): 12:03am On Jul 06, 2016 |
Lalasticlala your attention is needed. Plz help me move this to frontpage bikonu |
Re: Great Memories As An Abusite. by Lh19(m): 3:14pm On Dec 24, 2017 |
Lalasticlala I take God beg you come see snake |
Re: Great Memories As An Abusite. by NnaemekaJude(m): 8:46am On Sep 12, 2018 |
ABU Zaria, the intellectual domain of academic gurus.. ComradeShegs.. You do remember me, don't ya? I'm that Igbotic alumni of the largest varsity of the north of the Limpopo.. |
Re: Great Memories As An Abusite. by ComradeShegs(m): 4:10pm On Sep 13, 2018 |
NnaemekaJude: Ofcourse I do bro. Congratulations ones more. Hope you are doing fine... |
Re: Great Memories As An Abusite. by NnaemekaJude(m): 6:00pm On Sep 17, 2018 |
Yeah bro. I'm alright. ComradeShegs: |
Re: Great Memories As An Abusite. by Sardauna24(m): 7:48pm On Oct 25, 2018 |
Naturally ahead |
Re: Great Memories As An Abusite. by olugbokedaniel: 3:55pm On Mar 11, 2020 |
ComradeShegs I just saw the game you posted on the football thread (all shoulla vs all taqdom). Please can I have ur whastapp number so I can reach you incase the next one is available. Thanks a lot. |
Re: Great Memories As An Abusite. by ComradeShegs(m): 4:13pm On Mar 11, 2020 |
olugbokedaniel: Check my signature |
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