Tight purse strings: trying to maintain a budget as a final year student

Tight Purse Strings Chinedu stared at his phone, the banking app's balance glaring back at him with unforgiving clarity: ₦12,450. Two weeks until his monthly allowance from home would arrive, and the final semester of his Mechanical Engineering degree at the University of Lagos was proving to be the most expensive yet. He sighed and pocketed his phone as the afternoon sun beat down on the crowded Akoka campus. The familiar sounds of students hustling between classes filled the air—passionate debates about politics, burst of laughter, and the occasional street vendor calling out their wares. "Bros, how far now?" Emeka slapped him on the shoulder, falling into step beside him as they left the Engineering block. "We still on for tonight? Chop and bar at Shiro's?" Chinedu winced. Shiro's was the off-campus spot where final year students celebrated the small victories of surviving another week of project supervision. But those celebrations came at a cost his wallet couldn't bear. "Man, I need to maintain," Chinedu replied, gesturing vaguely. "This project printing alone is finishing my money." Emeka nodded knowingly. "Last semester palaver. I understand." He pulled out his phone to check the time. "But you need to eat something. Mama Blessing's joint?" The aroma of Mama Blessing's jollof rice wafted through the air as they approached the cluster of food vendors that lined the path to the hostels. At ₦500 for a decent portion, it was one of the few affordable meals left on his budget. "Ah! My favorite customers!" Mama Blessing beamed as they approached. Her small stall, barely larger than a desk, somehow produced enough food to feed half the engineering students. "Final year students should eat well. Project defense requires strength!" Chinedu smiled weakly, calculating in his head as he ordered the smallest portion of jollof rice with one piece of chicken. The mental math had become second nature: ₦500 for this meal meant ₦11,950 remaining, which needed to stretch for fourteen days. "Add one more chicken for my friend," Emeka said, slipping Mama Blessing an extra ₦200 before Chinedu could protest. As they sat on the plastic chairs clustered under a patched canopy, other final year students nodded in greeting. Everyone wore the same look—the exhausted determination of those seeing the finish line while carrying the weight of final projects, job applications, and dwindling finances. "Prof Adeyemi wants another revision by Monday," Chinedu said between mouthfuls. "That's another ₦1,200 for printing." "That man and revisions!" Emeka shook his head. "Have you tried the library computers? If you go early enough, you can print for half price." Chinedu's phone buzzed with a message from his project group's WhatsApp chat. A collective groan rose from several nearby tables as others received the same message. "Departmental dues for graduation clearance," Chinedu read aloud. "₦5,000 to be paid by next week." A moment of silence fell over their corner as everyone performed the same mental calculation. "This school just wants to finish our money before they finish us," someone muttered. That evening, back in his off-campus apartment shared with three other students, Chinedu sat on his bed with his notebook, creating what his mother called a "survival plan." The worn pages contained his meticulous budget—every naira accounted for. He revised the figures:- ₦11,950 remaining- ₦5,000 for graduation clearance- ₦1,200 for project printing- ₦2,000 for data (non-negotiable for research and job applications)- ₦3,750 for food (₦250 per day if he was extremely careful) That left nothing for transportation or emergencies. Chinedu rubbed his temples. His phone lit up with a message from his mother: "How are you doing, my engineer? Do you need anything extra this month?" He stared at the message, thinking of his mother who sold fabrics at the market in Onitsha, who had already stretched herself thin to see him through school. Pride and responsibility warred within him. "I'm good, Mama. Managing well. How is business?" he typed back. The next morning, he woke before dawn. Instead of taking a bike to campus, he walked the forty minutes, using the time to listen to recorded lectures on his phone. When he arrived at the library, he was third in line for the subsidized printing services. "Chinedu, correct guy!" The library attendant, Segun, greeted him. "Early bird as usual." "Just trying to make this money stretch, my brother." As the day progressed, Chinedu navigated campus with the precision of someone who had mapped every free and low-cost resource available. He attended a department seminar partly for the knowledge but mostly for the free refreshments that would substitute for lunch. He filled his water bottle at the filtered water station in the science complex rather than buying sachet water. In the project lab, he met Amaka, who was analyzing data for her final thesis. "How are you coping with all these extra payments?" he asked. She smiled wryly. "Side hustle, my dear. I'm editing CVs for the 300-level students who are applying for internships. ₦1,500 per CV." The idea struck him like lightning. "I'm good with 3D modeling software from that extra course last year." "There you go," Amaka nodded. "Everyone needs something these days. Adebayo is fixing phones. Nneka is braiding hair in the female hostel on weekends." By evening, Chinedu had created a simple flyer offering to help other engineering students with their CAD models for their projects: ₦2,000 for basic designs, ₦3,500 for complex ones. He posted it on the departmental WhatsApp group. Within an hour, two students had reached out. Two weeks later, as his monthly allowance finally arrived, Chinedu looked at his updated budget notebook with satisfaction. The extra ₦7,500 he'd earned from helping five students with their CAD models had not only covered the graduation clearance fee but also given him enough breathing room to occasionally join his friends at Shiro's without anxiety. At their weekend gathering, Emeka raised his bottle of malta. "To surviving final year!" Around the table, the faces of his classmates reflected the same journey—the strategic calculations behind every purchase, the creativity born from necessity, the small triumphs of making it through another day without going broke. "To more than surviving," Chinedu corrected, raising his own drink. "To figuring out how to thrive even when the pocket is dry." As laughter erupted around the table, he thought about how these lessons in stretching naira, finding opportunities, and building discipline would serve them long after they collected their degrees. Perhaps it was the most practical education they were receiving—one that no textbook could teach.

Other insights from Chidinma Emilia