The Law School Journal (Entry 4)

June 22

Group discussions are total waste of time.

I have been told so before, but I wanted to be sure that I was not just swallowing everything I was being told hook, line and sinker; so I went for the general group discussion on Wednesday. It was painful sitting there, feeling the precious minutes I could have used to do something useful – like watch the latest episode of Trevor Noah’s The Daily Show – slip away as grown as men and women argued about things that were not worth arguing over and listening to one of my group members read out the answers to the assignment from one of those notorious blue books.

Anyway, lesson learnt. No more group discussions…unless I have absolutely nothing else to do, in which case it will be entertaining coming to watch the group leader play Cersei Lannister.

In case you have not guessed it yet, I decided to try a few new things, you know, push myself out of my shell. So far, it has gone well.

For one, I now know that I love Masa.

I had gone out to buy suya, but when I saw the akara-looking things, I thought: What the hell!

I ordered for two sticks, watched as they got roasted like meat and then diced beautifully. I asked Abdul the finer, younger suya attendant to add plenty of pepper, and then I came to room and enjoyed the snack so much that the next morning, when my bumhole felt like larva was pouring out of it, I reminded myself of the pleasure I had gotten whilst eating the rice cakes.

I tried to make a new friend. Emphasis on tried.

Yega has been sitting close to me for a while now. He usually chats with two other blokes from his university. On Tuesday, I overheard them talking about a guy who, apparently, was coming on to one of their friends. One of them said something like, “I have warned Pablo to be careful. That’s how it starts. You will become friends with them and the next thing, you are a gay.” I turned over to get a good look at them at that point, feeling a strong urge to rant/argue/read them to filth. Then, I remembered that someone had cautioned me against outing myself unnecessarily whilst I am here. Sigh.

Anyway, Yega’s pals stopped sitting on my row, but for some reason, Yega stuck around. We have taken to making small talk. As painful as that is, it is tolerable with him. Somehow, I have found out that he is a sound engineer (he becomes very passionate when he starts talking about this, even though he does not do it often), and he has not cut his hair or beard since he got here because he is fiercely loyal to his barber back home.

Is this what it means to be a ‘guy’?

I realize that question may seem silly or petty, but I really want to know. I wish there was a comprehensive, generally accepted guy-code out there I can read and understand the average Nigerian male. I have looked and I have not found it, so I am now making my own based on what I have observed. I have reproduced some here for reference in the future:

Order 1 Rule 1: You must shake hands every time you meet another guy, even though you have done it before.

Apparently, this is a big deal. You can imagine the looks I get when I meet these guys and I have to politely tell them that I do not like shaking hands. Yes, I know, I am not helping myself. But when you refer to Order 3 Rule 2 below, you will agree with me.

Order 1 Rule 2: Talk about girls and their bodies. A LOT. There is nothing like talking about them too much. Comment on a girl’s ass, how wide her hips are and the all-crowd pleaser, the boobs.

Order 1 Rule 3: Adore soccer. It is a religion. You may have a different G.O.A.T. but believing in the religion of balls is crucial for your precious man card.

Order 2 Rule 1: Do not walk or talk like a girl.

Order 2 Rule 2: Do not talk about your feelings with another bro. That shit is gay.

Order 3 Rule 1: When using the urinal, stay as far away as possible and aim away from the bowl. Forget that you are carrying a pistol and not a rifle. Shake it repeatedly when you are done.

Order 3 Rule 2: Do not wash your hand after using the toilet. That shit is for pussies and sissies.

Okay, I am going to stop.

I started chatting with one of my classmates on WhatsApp. Shit started out as me asking him about some information about registration last week and next thing I knew, he was inviting himself to my room. I was not comfortable letting him in my space, so I agreed to us meeting in front of his hostel. Somehow, that degenerated to me going to his room which he shared with three other guys. The way he talked with his friends/roommates is so alien to me that I am not sure that I can even speak that language. I don’t know if we are ever going to be friends because as I left his room that night, I had a lingering feeling that him and his friends were having a very coded conversation about me.

Bah! They are ones to talk. I mean, I’m talking to you about them. –cackle–

I decided to try audio-dramas. Turns out that was a really, really bad idea. As at the time of making this entry, I was hooked to three. Who was I kidding when I said I was going to cut down on distractions? –facepalm–

Lastly, I have been trying new routes on my evening walks. Listening to either Opium Moon’s Opium Moon or Offa Rex’s The Queen of Hearts, I would walk for like twenty minutes and then find my way back to my room. I have found that this helps me sleep somewhat better at night. I have also found that it might not be so safe to walk the bush-path behind Hostel A at night. I think I saw a snake there two days ago. I don’t know for sure because I did not stick around to be certain. I love the short pine trees there, but I do not like the idea of getting bitten by a snake, thank you very much.

Now, if only I can find something that will take an edge off my heightened hormones, too. –sigh–

Yours truly,

The Many-Faced God.