ONE WEEK, ONE TROUBLE - by Chidinma Emilia

ONE WEEK, ONE TROUBLE Week 1: The Great ArrivalMy name is Kemi Adebayo, and if someone had told me that starting university would be like jumping into a blender set to maximum chaos, I would have laughed. Now, three weeks into my first semester at the University of Lagos, I'm not laughing anymore—I'm surviving.It all started on a humid Monday morning in September. My parents dropped me off at Fagunwa Hall with enough provisions to feed a small village and enough advice to write a self-help book. "Study hard, make good friends, and don't forget to call home," my mother said, her eyes already misty. My father, ever practical, handed me an envelope with emergency cash and whispered, "Lagos is not Ibadan. Be smart."I dragged my Ghana-must-go bag up three flights of stairs to Room 312, where I met my roommate, Tobi—a lanky guy from Kano who spoke three languages fluently and had an alarming collection of comic books. Within five minutes of meeting him, he'd already warned me about the "bathroom politics" and explained the unwritten rules of hostel survival."Rule number one," he said, unpacking what looked like a pharmacy, "never leave your bucket unattended. Rule number two, always have backup slippers. Rule number three, befriend the security guard—his name is Musa, and he likes Coca-Cola."I thought he was joking about the bucket. I was wrong. Week 2: The InitiationBy my second week, I'd learned that university life operated on a different kind of logic. Take the shower situation, for instance. There were exactly twelve functioning showers for over two hundred boys in our block. The mathematics didn't add up, but somehow, through a complex system of alliances, intimidation, and pure luck, everyone managed to bathe.I discovered this the hard way when I confidently strolled to the bathroom at 7 AM, towel draped around my neck like some sort of hygiene superhero, only to find a queue that stretched back to the stairwell. The guy in front of me, a 400-level student named Emeka, took one look at my confused expression and laughed."Jambite," he said, using the term that had become my unofficial title. "You go wait till evening, or you go make friends with morning people."That's how I met Damilola, a 200-level Accounting student who woke up at 5 AM every day and had somehow secured a semi-permanent spot in the third shower stall. In exchange for sharing his wisdom about optimal bathing times, I helped him with his English assignments. It was my first lesson in the hostel economy—everything was negotiable.The pranks started that same week. I came back from my Introduction to Philosophy class to find my room rearranged in a way that defied the laws of physics. My bed was somehow balanced on top of Tobi's wardrobe, and all my textbooks were arranged in a perfect pyramid in the center of the room. A note on my pillow read: "Welcome to UNILAG. Signed, The Committee."Tobi, who was suspiciously absent during this architectural marvel, claimed ignorance. "The Committee works in mysterious ways," he said solemnly when I confronted him. Week 3: The Phone IncidentJust when I thought I was getting the hang of things, disaster struck in the form of a missing phone. I'd left it charging in the common room while I went to brush my teeth—a rookie mistake that would haunt me for weeks.When I returned, the phone was gone. Vanished. Disappeared into the Lagos ether like my mother's cooking and my father's patience during traffic jams.The hostel erupted into CSI: Fagunwa Hall. Everyone became a detective, offering theories that ranged from the plausible to the completely absurd. Some blamed the cleaners, others pointed fingers at visitors, and a few conspiracy theorists insisted it was the work of rival hostels."We need to search everyone," declared Emeka, who had appointed himself lead investigator. "Nobody leaves this floor until we find it."What followed was a chaos that would have made Nollywood directors weep with envy. Room searches, interrogations, and accusations flew faster than gossip at a Lagos wedding. In the end, the phone was found in the most unlikely place—inside the refrigerator, wrapped in a bag of rice.The culprit? Biodun, a 100-level Engineering student who had apparently been sleepwalking. He'd taken the phone, convinced it was his calculator, and tried to "preserve" it in rice after spilling water on it during his midnight confusion."I was trying to save it," he explained sheepishly as we all stared at him. "My brother told me rice fixes everything." Week 4: The Mass Comm GirlIt was during my fourth week that I first saw her. I was sitting in the Arts Theatre, trying to stay awake during a particularly boring General Studies lecture, when she walked in. She moved with the kind of confidence that suggested she knew exactly where she was going and why, her natural hair framing a face that belonged in music videos.She sat three rows ahead of me, and I spent the entire lecture trying to work up the courage to introduce myself. When the class ended, she was gone before I could even gather my notebooks."That's Folake," Tobi informed me when I described my mysterious crush. "She's in Mass Communication. Second year. And before you ask, yes, she's way out of your league."Challenge accepted.I started showing up to every General Studies class, hoping to catch another glimpse of her. I learned her schedule through a combination of careful observation and strategic questioning of mutual friends. I discovered she liked plantain chips from the vendor near the library, preferred sitting on the left side of lecture halls, and had a laugh that could power the entire university.My first attempt at conversation was a disaster. I'd planned to casually bump into her at the library, but my timing was off, and instead of a smooth introduction, I accidentally knocked over a stack of books she was carrying."I'm so sorry," I stammered, scrambling to pick up the scattered volumes. "I'm usually more coordinated than this."She looked at me with amusement. "Usually?""Well, this is only my fourth week, so I don't have much data to work with."She laughed—that incredible laugh I'd been hoping to hear up close. "You're the Jambite from Fagunwa Hall, aren't you? The one whose phone went missing?"News traveled fast in UNILAG. I nodded, suddenly self-conscious about my reputation."I'm Folake," she said, extending her hand. "And you're Kemi, right? I heard about your bucket situation too."Apparently, my entire university experience had become campus legend. Week 5: The Friendship CircleAs embarrassing as my early mishaps were, they had an unexpected benefit—they made me memorable. Within a month, I'd accidentally become part of a diverse group of students who had bonded over shared meals, late-night study sessions, and the collective experience of figuring out how to be adults.There was Tobi, my philosophical roommate who could debate the meaning of life while eating garri and groundnuts. Damilola, the early bird who had become my unofficial guide to hostel politics. Emeka, the senior student who had taken me under his wing and taught me the art of negotiating with food vendors. And Biodun, the sleepwalking engineer who had somehow become our group's unofficial comic relief.We'd established a routine of sorts. Monday nights were for comparing notes and complaining about lecturers. Wednesday afternoons were reserved for football matches on the concrete pitch behind the hostel. Friday evenings belonged to exploration trips to various parts of Lagos, usually ending with us getting lost and having to ask for directions in a mixture of English, Yoruba, and desperate hand gestures.It was during one of these Friday adventures that I realized I'd found something I hadn't expected when I came to university—a chosen family. These people who had started as strangers had become the kind of friends who would help you search for a missing phone at 2 AM or share their last packet of noodles when your parents were late with the monthly allowance. Week 6: The RevelationMy relationship with Folake progressed slowly, built on a foundation of shared General Studies classes and brief conversations in the library. She was patient with my awkward attempts at humor and seemed genuinely interested in my observations about university life."You notice things," she told me one afternoon as we sat under a tree near the lake. "Most people just complain about everything, but you actually pay attention."I was about to respond with what I hoped was a witty observation when my phone buzzed with a text from Tobi: "Emergency. Come back to the room. Now."I found him pacing frantically, surrounded by what looked like evidence of a crime scene. Papers were scattered everywhere, and he was muttering to himself in a mixture of English and Hausa."What happened?" I asked, trying to make sense of the chaos."The Committee," he said grimly. "They've escalated."Apparently, while I was out building my social life, the mysterious pranksters had decided to take their artistic vision to the next level. They'd completely reorganized our room according to what they called "interior design principles," moved all our furniture into the hallway, and left behind a series of cryptic notes that read like a treasure map."They want us to find the 'hidden wisdom of hostel life,'" Tobi explained, showing me a note written in elaborate calligraphy. "And they've hidden our mattresses somewhere in the building." TO BE CONTINUED...

Other insights from Chidinma Emilia