“Niger House! Niger House!! Niger House!!!” A voice resonated within the admin block. “Every new student in Niger House should assemble at the back of the building for a free ride.”
“Bye, mother.” I hugged her passionately. “I have to rush; that announcement is meant for me.”
“What is this Niger House all about?” My mother asked, her grip still on me.
“That is the name of my dormitory,” I replied, and freed myself from her grip before she came up with another question.
The bus conveyed me and the other students to a serene environment, with four buildings located a few metres away from each other. The automobile alighted in front of one of the buildings bearing the name NIGER HOUSE, on the wall.
Thankfully, some of the porters and a handful of other students around the vicinity facilitated the swift movement of our things into our respective rooms.
The moment my feet stepped into the room, my whole being became enthralled by the uniqueness of the bed. Two beds are fixed one above the other in a frame! That novelty completely blurred the presence of every other person in the room.
“Do not just stare,” a more mature student, who I later learnt was the hall leader, jolted me from my ecstasy. “You are occupying the upper bunk at the extreme left.”
“Please, what is bok?” The question slipped out of my lips in a funny accent.
Some of the students roared in laughter.
“Bunk, and not bok,” the hall leader corrected. “That type of bed is called a bunk. Do you understand?”
I nodded my affirmation and before I realized it, he sent a big slap across my face.
“The next time you nod like an agama lizard,’ I will turn you into one. Do you understand?’
“Yes.” I trembled, blinking back the tears.
“Call me, Senior Tunde,” he continued. “Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Senior Tunde,” I answered a bit more confident.”
“That’s better,” he beamed, revealing a set of milk-coloured teeth.
“Now, to the rest of you, newbies,” he turned to the other two new students, “on no account should any of you nod whenever I’m talking to you. Is that understood?”
“Yes, Senior Tunde.” They answered simultaneously.
“That’s very good.” he continued. “You can introduce yourselves, starting from you, Master bok.”
“My name is James Oriade,” I began, still hurting from the effect of the slap.
“Haliru Buba.”
“Alfred Ekwueme.”
“That’s good,” he clapped. “It is obvious from your names that the three major ethnic groups are duly represented here. “My full name is Tunde Arowolo. Our two other roommates are yet to resume. You will get to know them in due course. I welcome you all to FEGO.”
“FEGO?” I muttered. “Senior Tunde, what is FEGO?”
“That’s an assignment for you,” he grinned, “if you don’t give me the meaning before tomorrow morning, you won’t like what I would do to you.”
He marched authoritatively out of the room.
“Do you know the meaning of FEGO?” I turned to my other roommates.
They both shook their heads.
The next hour saw me settling in fully as a full-fledged occupant of Niger House. The threat from the hall leader lay like a lead on my mind. I need nobody to tell me the extent he could go after a foretaste of the induction slap I received from him that afternoon.
“FEGO! FEGO!! FEGO!!!” I muttered, turning from one side of the bed to the other; before I realised it, I had already dozed off.
