The Bathroom Experience

I like having my bath without complaints. It is cool. It is sanity. My great-grandfather had a contrary view though. He had his bath once in a while, when he must have consulted with his fore parents to be sure his spirit would not be washed off. Then he would boil some water in a small kettle, ask me for the bowl, I would give it to him and he would ask me to go outside. He would then close the door which led to the yard and have his bath. I spent my earlier childhood in the village with my great-grandfather but I refused to learn the concept of not having my bath. May he find rest!
So when I visited UNN, Dave asked me to come to the hostel. I agreed and he arranged a place for me to stay MBANEFO HALL. The hostel is such a place. If you do not die in the hostel you can survive in Kirikiri. The hostel is the reason
why Nigerian students excel or turn villains. Yes, after living the harsh condition of the hostel, a student could decide to steal as much money to make sure his children do not stay in the hostel while in school. A lot happens. So on that fateful morning I woke up and requested to have my bath. Mbanefo Hostel is a large building that can pass for a country. When I saw the queue which waited patiently for the trickle water which dropped from the tap I declared in my heart that a Nigerian student is the worst treated in the world.
Walking to the bathroom, I passed through corridors. Those corridors had rooms. As a troublemaker I glanced through the roughly ajar doors to see the life of a Nigeria student. While some student lay on their stomach, thinking of a meal or some mischief, I presume, I heard other retards from a game house, down stairs screaming out their hearts.
When I finally saw the bathroom I gave glory to God. If you do not die as a Nigerian student you can survive anything, even HIV/AIDS. I do not have ideas about bathing. I grew up in the village where we ran to the stream with bare bodies and threw ourselves into the water and drown our lives out. We would swim, play games and sing songs. We admired the birds from our paradise and thereafter go home to a well prepared meal. Life then was a great one. We never thought of growing up. The best we thought of was growing up with money, not the process. We never even thought of school.
Then when I graduated from the village-life to the city I had my bath in buckets. Then we used steel buckets. The neighbours would know you are about to have your bath. The bathing process was the most interesting. When you successfully beat the queue at the bathroom you would squeeze your body into a small room, place your soap and scooping bowl on a bar. Then you can hang your towel in hell or wherever available. We scooped water from the bucket on our heads to the timing of other impatient neighbours who would push us outside at the slightest opportunity.
So there at the bathroom I dodged the pool of water which gathered and placed my bucket and prayed to God for guidance and direction. I had my bath. In Mbanefo hall, Salvation is like having a bath. The way the water drips can be likened to sins being washed away. While the water dripped down my face and I forgot all my worries and enjoyed the purity of the water.
Water has no enemy. It finds friends in anyone with an open mind. While I walked back to the room I saw no reasons why past leaders who schooled in Nigeria cannot alleviate the pathetic situation of the Nigerian student

By Nwilo Bura-Bari Vincent (campus hit magazine)