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ACCOUNT OF A DEBUTANTE 2

I wasn't so sure I was thrilled to be home anymore. I had been so excited, now all that excitement was useless. What a waste.

The last school session had been a crazy. The examinations had been conquered and I would be in my final year next semester. Now, that, I was really thrilled about. One more school year of bearing the nonsenses from lecturers, annoying roommates and the cleaning ladies.
I had tried my best to love these three part of my school life but it was in vain. Seriously, I had tried to like my lecturers, my mother had advised me to when I was a freshman because it would enable me understand their various courses better, relate well and pass without breaking Mich sweat.
l tried in freshman year, I really did but Miss Agatha spoilt it all. She made it impossible. She is the reason I dislike almost all of my lecturers. She took me in Bio 105, Basic Biology. She had this rule of giving a weekly "pop quiz", at least that was what she termed it, but we all got to discover the tests would written every Thursday and we were right. So we anticipated our weekly Thursday "pop quizes" and we were always prepared for them.
One particular Thursday, I fell ill. I was admitted into the school's Medical Centre and so I couldn't make it for Miss Agatha's test. She marked me absent and scored me a zero in her test for that day; this information was passed on to me by my then close friend, Stella.
Stella did not speak up for me. She didn't tell me but I knew it because her voice was really low and croaky. If she had stood up for me, her voice would have been loud and she'd definitely have mentioned it. She didn't. I understood, Miss Agatha was a very mean and frustrating woman and pretty scary too. She reminded me of an angry turkey I had once seen when I was ten, in Obi's backyard. Obi was the only son of our once long ago neighbor. I cried that night I missed the test.
I cried because I always cried when I know I've been scored a zero ever since Primary school. I mean, who likes that? I can be scored a zero in a test but I wouldn't give a care if I don't see or know about it. You know that feeling right? I'd rather fill my test sheet with nonsenses than submit a blank paper. It doesn't matter if I'd be scored a zero, so long as I've written something down, I'd feel better. I never disrespect my test or examination sheets. I always marvel at some of my coursemates who submit blank sheets in an examination or test and walk out with their heads high or low; it beats me. I guess somehow I always feel the lecturer would read my nonsenses and award me some few marks for my effort.
So I cried that night and decided that I'd search for Miss Agatha the following day. I located her office and was there before noon. I entered her office, of course after rapping on her door and hearing her say, "come in". I went ahead to explain myself after greeting her. She called me a "mumbling fool" because I had not bothered to write a letter of permission to be absent or obtained proper permission from her verbally beforehand. I tried to explain to Miss Agatha that I hadn't planned on falling ill, I wasn't friends with Fever and Malaria and they hadn't told me there were coming to visit that Thursday. Therefore, I couldn't obtain "proper permission" from her beforehand. She was furious, just like that, she asked me to leave her office after repeatedly calling me an "iti". She also said that if she changed my score she'd go bald. I half wished she would. It would go nicely with her character. I think she may have sensed my sarcasm when I said "proper permission". She didn't seem to take it well at all. I told myself as I walked back to my hostel that lecturers are not nice people and so I disliked most of them.
As for roommates; the only reason I hate roommates is because I've always gotten into series of quarrels with all my roommates since freshman year. They always disapproved of my blunt honesty. I wasn't one to tell them their hairdo was pretty when it clearly looked like a hen's nest. I mean they asked for my "honest opinion" and that's what I always gave.  For example;
roommate: hey Jenny,what do you think about this dress I'm wearing in your honest opinion?
 me: honestly Chidi, it looks like a potato sack.
And like that a quarrel would start!
I loved being honest and it had got me in a lot of trouble, especially with my roommates.
Finally, the reason I hate the cleaning ladies. I used to like cleaning ladies, I really did. I've always thought of their job as a noble one. They had to clean up the mess student's made and still mange to smile at us afterwards when we greet them on the stairway. It was in second year, it was the weekend so I had gone to have my bath in the afternoon. As I was bathing, I could hear a voice talking to herself. I shrugged inwardly and continued bathing. I had seen a lot of strange behaviour in school so I was a pro at absorbing it all.
The talk, I soon came to realise was actually strings of curses and insults. I leaned out of the bathroom and saw the back of the person raining such horrific sounding curses. It was a cleaning lady. She had her blue uniform on. I couldn't really make much sense of what she was saying but she was really raining whoever had annoyed her with insults and curses and that would be the entire hostel inmates, including myself. How dare she I pondered, curse even the innocents amongs us? She was prejudicial to think all inmates of the hostel were responsible for the mess of a few and so I hated all cleaning ladies because of her. She spoilt my love for cleaning ladies; that cursing woman in her blue uniform.
And so I had been thrilled to come home from all the madness in school; away from the lecturers, roommates and the cleaning ladies. Not until after the incident.
Something changed in me after that robbery incident. It wasn't the consciousness that life was meaningless without God, as my mother had assured me this morning after I told her how I was feeling, it was something else. Way deeper than I could reach out and comprehend. I needed to think deep and hard in order to understand what troubled my heart and to think I needed space. Not the physical space but the mental one. I couldn't find that space at home. I was either being summoned by my father to keep him company, by my mother to talk about the street's disapproving juveniles or by Ezeh, whenever he was out of his mood and decided to talk to me. It was rare this out-of-the-mood of his. Usually, he'd stay in his room for hours and hours on, writing down something or seriously working on his laptop. We always used to talk, Ezeh and I, four years ago, before freshman year.
g.o.
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