Sandra And The Food-loving University Boy

After many struggles, physically and supernaturally, I finally got admission to study engineering in a prestigious University. My mother, a devoted member of the revered 'prayer warriors' fellowship of our church bought me a Scripture Union daily devotional, as she wouldn't be able to keep an eye on me any longer while I was in school. However, to show her how earnestly I yearned to follow in her footsteps, I went to the market to buy a new big Bible, an iroko-sized one. I wanted the one which I could be able to place on my bed as pillow, and lay down my big head fully basked in the hallucinating realm of the Almighty. More necessary was it for me to get a Bible as I thought my village witches were hindering my progress in my educational development.

With my two five hundred naira notes and some lower currencies which I do glean out from the remainders obtained from shopping errands, I confidently boarded a motorcycle to market. The ten minutes ride to the market was the most horrendous I have ever had. The bike man who happened to be an hausa man rode me as if he had a goat intended to be sold at the market tied to the backseat of his motorcycle. Aside riding as if a devil was after him, he sped past luxurious cars, lorries, and even the dreaded Mack heavy-duty trucks like one who had seven lifes. Dropping me after the hell of a ride, I promised myself not to board a hausa man's bike any longer, especially as I was yet to enjoy the best times of my life.

Paying off the man, and brushing the sides of my shirt to bear an impression of a successful somebody's son who is so blessed to go on a shopping, I made my way into the market. Now as if in foreknowledge of my intention in the market, a young man by the forward right of my direction started sounding adverts of his products which happened to be stationaries, with Bibles inclusive. With his electric-powered horn, he explained that his Bibles which were limited editions were all cheap at a three hundred and fifty naira price tag.

Barely waiting to hear more, I quickly slid to his sides and greeted him. As someone who is used to weighing heavily-sized ‘father care’ breads, I took time in selecting the Bibles while hand-pressing them to make sure they were really big. Finally picking a pastor sized one and holding it to my side, I used my right hand to give him one of my two clean five hundred naira notes. The Igbo trader man eyed me for two long minutes before angrily retracting from me the big-sized Bible towards it's stand. I wasn't prepared to give up on the big book just because of a man's uncouth behaviour, so I tucked the man towards one side and explained to him that I wouldn't need the N150 change, and that such could buy him groundnut on his way home. “Oga, if you no wan trouble, just comot for this place,” the angry man bellowed. And that was how I went home with just a pea-sized Bible. I wondered why a Bible should be sold for N3,500, with the deception that it was N350.

After preparations, prayers, and unending advices, I finally arrived school. For a week, my life in school was seamlessly going as planned and exciting. However, after some weeks and with the coming of hunger, I came to the knowledge that I had neighbours who shared adjacent and opposite rooms with me — they were also students. The saying that the way to a man's heart is through his stomach came into reality from the day I tasted one of Sandra's numerous delicacy. She was one of those students who would always go home after every two weeks to return back fully loaded with food items. From the day I came to the notice of this, my love for her room grew without her knowledge (so I thought), as you cannot go into it hungry, and return back the same.

Now Sandra was a pious individual, and to continue being in her good books, I needed to follow in her steps. On Sundays I follow her to her Bible believing church which was literally okay for me demanded I wouldn't miss my meals. In my first day in the church, I instantly liked the atmosphere. The exuberance, gyrations and instrumentations, I liked all of it. However when the presiding minister started with: “The sermon am going to relay now would require that you go spiritual to discern the physical realization of it,” I lost all hope in it: I don't take nonsense. Aside his usual jumps like a man happily soaked from a popular drinking parlour, the acclaimed man of God had nothing worthwhile to get my attention any longer. To further lay mockery to his supposed teaching, he admonished the interested congregation that whatsoever they planned to do, be it in the physical or in the spiritual, be it as a retaliation or as an assault, they needed to eat food foremostly. I gladly took that home. The Sunday-Sunday church-going charade nevertheless continued.

Sandra was a fresher like I was in school, but she was however influential than I. She studied Microbiology, and I did enjoy helping with her ‘living things’ drawing, as far as that could fetch me a well-cooked obstruction-filled local delicacy. She was a beautiful girl but as someone who came to school to get a breather, I didn't see what others were ogling at. I also couldn't understand why some persons should entertain intimate liking for such a great cook rather than by virtue of her cooking skills. I wondered why the demons which I thought possessed these males couldn't for once eat first before returning to their senses.

In school, I wasn't the trouble-finding type, neither was I a numb or docile type. I worried less of weighty things as I thought after eating a meal such would quiet-out. Now, there were courses I do not read often as I should: I do not even attempt them most atimes. I do keep those ones until after haven eaten. One of them was MTH 101 — Algebra and Trigonometry. The lecturer which took us the course was an ideal joker of a university teacher. Rather than go on with his supposed lecturing, he do spend majority of his lecture period discussing how successful he has come out to become in life despite the odds. He continued his episodic success stories each morning, with each episode in obvious contrast to the other. The only days we would miss his fairy tales of a success story was when either Chelsea FC is having a live game, or the football team recently lost a game. Although I wasn't in his good books as I was in no love for his course, I loved his cheerfullness.

The other course I can't practice without foremostly eating to the fill is Engineering drawing handled by Engr. Ekanem. One morning getting to mid-day, I was summoned by the course representative to his office. I laughed as I thought he invited me to reproach me of my consistent 1/10 scores in his three assignments, but I was wrong. The lecturer upon our arrival relieved the rep and beckoned me into the office, locking the door after I did that. Like every other student, the puffs from the air conditioner gave me solace right into my soul.

“Who is Sandra to you,” Engineer Ekanem started. I was shocked to the bone morrows, because never had I thought that this Bible professing lecturer could be among the ‘catch them young’ teaching staffs. While simmering down the shock, he added, ‘you really don't need to continue being her boyfriend any longer if you love yourself in this institution.’ I was confused. How could I be brought to this when all I did care about the beautiful young girl was her yummy delicacies. I thought he was ill-informed in this so I categorically replied: ‘Sir, one cannot think well, love well, sleep well, if one has not dined well so you have a misunderstanding here, but if however you feel you are not, then you need to go home first and eat.’ That was how I failed Engineering drawing for three consecutive years.

#Fiction
I come and go in peace ☮️.