Bint Mustapha

Of all things, defeat is what I hate accepting. Every time I differ with people in thoughts , ideas and perception, I always try to establish my points, and make them overwhelming. Sometimes, I agree to people's too. But, not as defeat. Risk - a wild and exciting undertaking -is what I termed it. Life isn't a bed of roses. I know. It isn't a bed of lavender either. 

Before I left for Adeleke University people came. They assured me of wellness, with persuasive and subtle blandishments. What could I do? Poor me...

I arrived, some days later than others. I mean, some of the others were already done with registrations, and some, almost done. But, none was in my level, just starting. People already knew. 

At the gate, I was welcomed. The house administrators gave me another welcome. I showed my papers, signed and my luggage was checked. The administrators on seat couldn't show me my room, and the students were out. Everywhere was quiet. When I came, I met them trooping out. Maybe to classes, I guessed. But, why all? There was a girl, sitting, she looked pale. I sat beside her, and she asked for my room number. Once I told her, she stood and asked me to follow her. The room was a bit difficult to locate, I didn't know why she had to make that sacrifice, while she's indisposed. 

By the time we arrived the reception, the students were already returning. I didn't know why it was so hard for most to take their eyes off me (perhaps because of my hijaab). The girl left for the Cafeteria. I felt so embarrassed. A girl came. She'd got liver, I was sure. When she asked if I just came, and complemented it, that I'll soon get used to it, I realized it was all about my hijaab. She pitied me. She had found it so hard to removed hers too, even though she uses the smallest size. She had to go to the Cafeteria too, we exchanged room numbers. And she left.

My roommates weren't in all, yet. I met only two when we arrived with my luggage. My friends helped me. They're beneficiaries like me too. And, the four of us seemed to be so close. They left to get ready for the Cafeteria, and promised to be back in a moment. I should get ready too, we're all leaving. I was welcomed again, the fourth time. My friends did the third. My bunkmate was splendid. She made me feel more relaxed, when she helped me put some things up, while I climbed. As I climbed down, they arrived. I took my plate, and we left. The thought came again. I was sure. She wore a hoodie. The hood covered her head. Right. But, a hijaab would have done more. In three or four days, and she'd changed so drastically?  But, why? We went to the same school for Allaah sake...! I kept thinking. Then,I felt a tap. We had reached the reception. I looked around and saw a beckoning hand. It was one of the staff I had met when I arrived. I had expected her to speak. It really hurts when you got an otherwise of what you expected. Well, she vociferated.

She had thought I had been told that I wouldn't be able to wear the hijaab at all. Now, I even headed outside, in the evening. Do I want to scare people? SubhaanaLlaah! She was right. I've been told. But, that I'll have to get smaller sizes, instead. And by The Lord of The House, I put on the smallest I had of hijaabs, waist-long. She's wrong to have believed that my arrival meant I've agreed not to wear at all. How dare she?! I looked at my friends, the one in hoodie wouldn't look up, fidgeting with her fingers. Then, I looked at the other staff. It seemed they were nor as enraged as the one that spoke. I heard someone ask the others to let me go, that it's late already, and I've only arrived today.  I left. We left. So it has come to this? I said. Not much of a question, nor to anyone in particular. I was boiling, altogether, sad. Then, she spoke. She wasn't aware at all until she wanted to go out of the Hall too. She had brought all her hijaab in the casual size she wears. Knee-length. I had worn that size too all through the screening exercise. No one had enunciated me. In fact, none fulminated us. The hoodie she was wearing lent to her by a passionate roommate. And, that had been what she had been wearing (out) since she arrived, days earlier. Her story weakened me. She wasn't in the least prepared. I was, at least. Yet, our predicament was same. 

At the Cafeteria, I realised I've done no registration to get the food ticket. Oops. I got a "free" ticket later, though. Actually, they did. From a student who wasn't  interested in the super served. Once I returned to my room from the second floor where we had eaten, my bunkmate did the introduction.  I was welcomed once more. They all seemed to be nice. And, they really were.

We've persuaded her last night. I didn't know why she had to leave so soon. She should have waited. All my persuasions, coupled with other's fell on her deaf ears. She wouldn't even bulge. Just like me, before I came. Others left for class. I sat by her at the Reception with her baggage, waiting for her dear Father. You won't go to class? How would I, without my hijaab? I can't o. Or are you leaving too?  Oh, not really, but I hope I will. I wish I could, soon. The Chief Hall Administrator came, summoned her and they left for her office. I sat, still. Her father arrived.  He was so serious. He presented a letter, and went to get the leave permit. Then, she returned. Minutes later, she left, with her father. And, she never did return.

I was called too, persuaded to attend class, to be punctual at the Cafeteria and to complete my registrations as soon as possible. The report got home too. I seem to take heed. Reaching the room, I got out my pashminas and turban. With the turban worn over the ears,I drape the pashmina over. Put on an Abaya, took my notes and left. Still I couldn't pass quietly. I couldn't drape over the neck. I was told. Oh, I've stooped so low, what else again? They wouldn't agree and I wasn't ready to compromise either. Later, I adjusted. I would drape over the shoulders, and drape it over the head as soon as I was out of their sight.

Once I was done at the Registry, I was given the clearance form. There were five or so options on it. I decided to go to the Bursary first. But, the Bursar wouldn't attend to me until the Chaplain signs. Oh, but I'll go to the Chaplaincy too. No, it's not done that way, to the Chaplain first. Oops. I heeded to the the Chaplaincy, there, I met the Pastor and his ushers. I filled a form. And he signed mine too. My Chapel, SALVATION. "Igbala". It's free. I smiled. The Bursar signed this time. I left for the Cafeteria. The woman wrote down my name, signed and gave me the ticket. 

Alhamdulillaah. In the Hall, there was no Handbook to complement the registration.

 I went to class. It's like the problem is really with those staff in the Hall. I looked really odd. Everyone noticed. But none would challenge me. None harassed me, lecturer or student. Meanwhile, a girl had told me about hers. What was her offence? She wore the turban to cover her ears. It was even in the evening. 

The first class I attended was Mathematics. Then Biology. Lastly, English. She was a professor. Her short permed hair attested more. As much as I wanted to speak, to tell her I've read The Jungle Book (Rudyard Kipling),Matilda (Roadh Dahl), Goosebumps (R. L. Stine) and more, my ordeal prevented me. Embarrassment was the last thing I wanted.  She's unlikely to have made any sarcastic remarks though. But, silence was the best prevention. Most talked, mentioning more native novels. And the class ended.

The air was full. "Hajia, where are you from?","Are you on scholarship?","How did you put this on?", "I'm sure the Hall admins haven't seen you". There were even the pathetic ones, "Aeya...you can't use the the type you're used to","But,why wouldn't they allow you?","Persevere, dear, it will pass". None could help, except to pacify, and sympathize. Or simply,not to care at all. I was so keen to meet the Ameerah. She's interesting.  I met other coordinators of the Muslim society too. They're all copacetic. 

 

Prayer was the major establishment everyone wanted. But, I wanted hijaab, a large size. And, I wouldn't attend any Chapel service too. The VC summoned us. All Muslim students. To the auditorium. Our population was large, compared to that of the previous Jum'ah. We hardly made three full rows. Four or so other staff were present too. The VC spoke, emphasizing on why we wouldn't be able to pray in the school any longer. The school management wouldn't tolerate it. In a bid not to deprive us of our right to Jum'ah, she had started to build a Masjid in one of the neighbouring hamlets. Buses would be provided every Friday to convey us there, and back to the school. What about the daily ones, would the buses convey us there too, when it's completed? Before, the completion, can't we observe our prayers in the premise? Well, that was the most the school could do. After all, she provided us with Iftaar and Sahoor during Ramadhan. Even,Taraaweh was observed in town. We should be grateful, but if we've choose to be otherwise, then we will have to dance to the tubes of dictates. What else? The overseeing Pastor was even present, and he tolerated no further grumbles from us. We're too selfish. The Christians haven't 'enjoyed' as much as we have. Then, she rose to the podium. I was seeing her for the first time.  Ma shaa Allaah.  She wore hijaab. A staff. A lecturer. Altogether, it seems odd. A teaching staff in hijaab, while the students are banned from it. "E tì rì níì ókò ikùn, kíì e to gbin 'pa si". It was like she's going to speak for us, at first but when she said that, I understood. She's right. Had we known that the hares had plagued the land, we wouldn't have sowed the nuts. At all. Sane farmers don't take such risk. Another man spoke, claiming that attending missionary schools doesn't make one a Christian. I see... I understood too. Longevity is really not legality.

By weekend, I travelled. So I missed the Sabbath.  I returned on Sunday.  In the afternoon. I missed the Muslim student Usrah too.

[AlhamduliLlaah she is out of the den]. 

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