Dear Diary,
I am here again!
Clearance. What a complete disaster. They don’t warn you about this part of graduating—the endless back-and-forth, the begging for signatures, and the fact that some staff will look at you like you’re trying to steal their inheritance. Honestly, I’m convinced clearance is just another way for the university to stress your life one last time. And the worst part? I’m not even done yet.
I thought Ify—my so-called best friend—would be by my side through this madness. But no, she started her clearance weeks ago without even telling me. Imagine my shock when someone casually mentioned she was almost done! Four years of friendship, and she couldn’t even say, ‘Nma, let’s do this together.’ At first, I was hurt, but now I’m just annoyed. It’s not the first time she’s put herself first, and I should’ve seen it coming.
Speaking of people showing their true colors, let’s talk about the lecturers. If you’ve been through a Nigerian university, you already know where this is going. Dr. Olumide and Mr. Kingsley—two names I wish I could forget.
Dr. Olumide is that classic older lecturer who pretends to care about your academic future but is really looking for his next target. He used to call the girls “my brilliant ladies” and tell us to sit in the front row. At first, it felt nice—like he believed in us. Then one day, he invited me to his office for a “talk about my potential.” I thought it was genuine, but it wasn’t long before he started hinting at “support” and “special treatment.” Translation? If you want to pass, you have to play ball. I smiled, thanked him, and practically ran out of that office. After that, I avoided him like the plague. But some girls didn’t, and you could tell—they went from struggling to acing his course overnight.
Then there’s Mr. Kingsley. Young, bold, and completely shameless. He strutted into class every day like he was auditioning for a Nollywood role. His lectures were full of suggestive jokes, and he had a clear “type”—light-skinned, pretty, and soft-spoken. Every semester, he’d organize “study sessions” that were basically his personal casting calls. He once invited me to one, and I only went to see how far he’d go. By the end of it, he casually suggested we go for drinks, promising to “help” me pass his course. My dear, I told him I had a boyfriend (a lie, obviously) and left.
I can’t lie—some girls went along with their advances, and honestly, I get it. The system feels rigged, and sometimes, you just want to survive. But for me? Navigating clearance while dodging predators like Dr. Olumide and Mr. Kingsley is like playing a video game on the hardest level. Add Ify’s betrayal into the mix, and I’m just trying not to scream.
I’m still knee-deep in clearance chaos, but every signature brings me closer to freedom. One day, I’ll look back on all this and laugh… I hope. For now, I’ll keep pushing, one step at a time.
Till next time,
Nma.
life, lessons, and everything in between.“
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