Law school Happened
This time last year, I was busy attending every available webinar in preparation for law school. I got busy buying black clothes (uniforms) hangars, bedsheets and black shoes as a teenager preparing for dormitory life.
A year later, I sometimes want to pinch myself to the reality that the much-anticipated law school phase was over. Like it all happened within a snap of my fingers.
I recall that transformative moment. When everything was intense and after three hours passed by like three seconds, I was ushered into a new phase. A lighter phase, I thought at the time. But in reality, while I submitted my last exam answer script, I picked up another anxiety. The labour market.
My colleagues outwardly celebrated the end of the law school phase. Others loudly lamented that law school was a wilderness. I didn’t jubilate and I wasn’t sad either. I don’t express intense emotions like joy or shock. I stay numb.
I remember thanking God for bringing me to that point. I briefly recalled my journey from university to that moment. It flashed right before my eyes like a quick Instagram reel.
I called my mother because her joy is my joy. We dissected the journey briefly. Shared hearty laughter that it was over. Then, I called Ray. The best support one could ever have. He didn’t disappoint. He cheered loudly as usual. I read some messages from my friends which made me smile. But aside from them, I felt a bit displaced, I guess I was still adjusting to the new phase.
Without taking time to absorb that moment, I immediately began ticking off my to-dos like getting my hair done, attending the dry cocktail and getting my boxes packed to avoid being thrown into the streets of Lagos by the hostel porters.
2023 had me in a constant beta mode. I tried to read at night, despite the hot jams streaming through my hostel’s windows from the infamous W Bar, mixed with the happy cheers of young, restless Lagosians dancing at Muri Okunola Park. At some point, the lyrics of Johnny Drille’s live performance mingled with the text I was reading.
Section 5 of ACJA….. haa…..lle….lu…yah, my baby loves me…
Still, guys, I read.
In the daytime, the annoying sounds from the bikers who rode with reckless abandon blended with the lousy honks from the traffic below my room. The pungent smell from the gutters blended with the heat of Lagos to convene in my corner. Still, I read through this cacophony.
On weekends, I showed up for my study plan. Those weekends turned to months yet I showed up. I recall my externship period and the black reading chair that sat in a corner of my self contain. I sat on it to study both at times when I didn’t feel like reading. I sat there till the ‘feeling’ came upon me. I created inspiration and didn’t wait for it to magically fall on me.
My social battery was dead. I faked smiles and talks to sustain conversations I could not avoid. I didn’t want to talk to people in school. I can’t say why. I don’t think I made many deep connections there. The Lagos campus was quite intense and competitive. 75% of persons there wanted a First Class grade and everyone was focused.
At law school, I noticed that people talked in a way that sounded different from mine. They were mostly Yorubas and I, Ibibio. A few colleagues once yabbed my Ibibio tongue. That hurt me and made me realise that I sounded different. I found it difficult to pronounce ‘Temi’ the correct way. But this experience made me realise that laughing at another person’s difficulty with speaking the English language the way the Queen would, was cruel.
I discovered my love for chocolate-flavoured biscuits and drinks. I overdosed on episodes of Suits, The Good Wife, A Time to Kill and every Law Related Movie on Netflix. They helped me make sense of the unwinding and unending process I had found myself. I enjoyed a good laugh with Tomiwa, my favourite roommate, I enjoyed the early morning breeze and solitude I had when I went to study. I discovered Substack, and Pinterest and loved Sahil Bloom’s newsletters.
Apart from experiencing law school, nothing different happened this year. There were no great waves to ride. I just had a slow and constant tide.
Adulthood Shenanigans
On St. Valentine’s Day, I received a surprise call from a stranger. The voice told me that my true love had paid for a spa treatment for me.
As green as I was, I read about the things to expect at a spa. Well, those articles failed to point out the fact that the room where I’ll be massaged will have coloured light and a white Bedsheet. Then, I’ll be given a white towel to cover. The whole scene was giving a Nollywood ritual room with Kanayo O. Kanayo.
In April, I attended my first adult-only party. Oh dear, it didn’t begin with an ‘opening prayer’ But rather, a pint of alcohol was forced down each participant’s throat. More like a ritual, to wash your eyes and clear your brain so you lose guard of your Sunday school morals. That was to be the official opening or initiation into the party spirit.
I enjoyed the loud music but the atmosphere wasn’t my cup of tea. Ironically, the party started at past 11 pm, the time normal babies like me wind up to sleep. I discovered that while I liked loud music I was too shy to dance in the open. No thanks to a false belief that many eyes were watching. When in reality, no one cared. But I admired how others danced without a care in the world.
I dislike alcohol but it flowed freely in the party. In the end, we had to spend the night in a nearby hotel. By morning, I had to rush back to the hostel, with a face caked with dried make-up, a skimpy gown and my heels in hand. I felt like a Lekki prostitute returning from the night’s job.
When my Uber ride dropped me off, I had to run past a bus filled with students going to a crusade I was scheduled to attend.
I had to cover my face for two reasons. One, they were waiting for me to join them and two, I wasn’t dressed as a person who was going to attend the crusade they were planning to attend.
Genrumen, I rushed up the flight of stairs to my room and quickly switched into a prayer warrior look. Ran downstairs to the bus stand. I politely thanked the bus coordinators as they hugged a sister in Christ. As usual, no one knows what goes down at night. All we do is, see you in the morning and say, good morning.
Living in Insanity
I felt quite displaced in the new city. I missed a lot of my familiar things. I missed the proximity of places in my home state. I even hated Chicken Republic’s rice – the Lagos version, I call it. I think that the Uyo and Abuja taste better.
Fun is costly in Lagos. That too, wasn’t funny. Transportation was costly. I missed my shawarma plug. I just wanted to be in my house and never step out for fear of a stray bullet debit alert. The few friends I had here lived afar off and a little meet-up needed intense planning and intentionality. I just lost that spark in my eyes and the wonder with which I viewed the world.
The only time I decided to taste the Lagos Friday night life didn’t go down well. On my way home by 11 pm, my Uber driver slept off on steering. How did I know? I observed the car had slowed down in the centre of a highway. I wasn’t looking at the driver so I didn’t know he had fallen asleep. I only asked aloud and into the silent dark, is this car okay? And that jolted him. He would later confess that that question woke him up.
He sped past the third mainland bridge saying it was a dangerous zone at night. According to him, some boys from nowhere could throw a stone at your car, causing it to stop and then use the opportunity to rob you.
I asked about the time he resumed his day’s job. He said, 5: 00 am. I begged him to avoid picking up another ride for the night. But did he listen? The Lagos Bustler should be feared.
In the daytime, I saw Lagos danfos and they saw me too. I bet most people don’t recognise that those yellow buses are Volkswagen vehicles that have lived 109 years on the rugged roads and will be living for an additional 59 years.
I recall the first day I entered one. I didn’t believe it could carry us safely to destination. The driver knew better. He casually told a colleague to help him push the bus, so it could roll off and stagger into a start.
The noise the car made almost left me deaf. The driver’s door kept opening even as the bus moved. As it opened, he’d use his left hand to casually close it and continue the drive. Amidst this madness, everyone acted normal.
I recall my first sight of many homeless persons observing a siesta under a bridge. They slept in one accord. The common stench coming from everywhere. The heat from the sun burned three times hotter, you’ll think God is punishing the town for all its fornication and atrocities. I’m afraid my energy does not match up with the energy on Lagos Street.
As for food. The city people initiated me into their street food. You won’t believe that I joined the queue of labourers to buy ewa agoyin from one mama by the roadside. Eating amala and ewedu mixed with gbegiri became a normal routine for me. And what is Lagos without jollof rice?
25 and Joy in Chaos
Life at 25 – 6th August 2023 at 3:30 pm
Out here in a park with other happy people.
Sitting alone with my thoughts. I enjoy the breeze. The sounds come from the happy people.
I’m very happy to be left alone.
I feel slightly nervous about how I’m ageing. Growth can be breathtaking. Look how time flies. I was born yesterday and here am I already.
I turned 25 this year. I watched my body metamorphosis into womanhood. I loved it but yearned for a flatter stomach.
I missed being younger. Like 20 or 21. But I quickly identified that I was living the answer to my prayers. I’m experiencing tidbits of the long life and prosperity I pray for.
Yet, at other times, I felt suffocated by the many things I wanted to achieve before 30. The book I want to publish. The kids I want to have. Girl2Girl Network etc.
25 was the peak age of my teenage dreams. I knew I fantasized about living outside Nigeria and working too. It’s obvious I wasn’t living my dream spot at 25, but I’m not giving up on myself yet. My people used to say, owo ma d’uwem, itong aya kongo nkwa. It means, as far as you have life, you can hope that things will be better.
At this age, I want to keep my dreams alive and turn vivid visions into reality. I notice that I crave more times of solitude. I fear I’m growing into a calm lady with a sharp, observing eye and an inquisitive mind.
The Taste of Rejection
Law school caused a break in my budding writing career. I wrote about my progress in my 2022 year in review. I had to abandon my skills to complete the project I started in 2015.
Even after dropping my exam pen, I could not put my thoughts on paper. I started several drafts but left them unfinished. Anxiety paralyzed me. Rejection was heavy on my shoulders and I couldn’t share feelings with anyone. Ray only noticed that I was acting strange but didn’t understand the reasons. I didn’t want him or anyone to belittle what I felt. I knew the usual advice, ‘keep trying, you’ll get in.’
They didn’t understand that I aimed for an epic win. One that involves landing a job before law school ends. It happened to other people, why was I different? I just stopped explaining how I felt to anyone. It was a phase of my life I couldn’t wait to get past.
I recall telling God that this phase was wearing me out. The waiting period. Waiting for law school results. Waiting for responses after writing a test. Standing by the door of your Gmail app to look for positive responses. Omo!
I sent out applications to choice law firms and it broke my heart that I was not the choice candidate because I did NYSC before law school. These firms typically employ first-year associates undergoing their NYSC.
I opted to serve before law school because my name didn’t make it to the law school quota and I didn’t want to spend an entire year doing internships. I recall being a diligent student at university in preparation for a bright future but all those efforts aren’t worth much now.
This taste of rejection made me doubt my competency. I was anxious. Lost self-confidence. Lost my faith. I felt lost in the world and felt like the world was against me.
I was aired repeatedly. I didn’t know if to keep applying as a resilient girl or to give up and try something else. I went from anger to avoiding everyone including my friends. I merely up a smiley face because I’m known to be an optimistic person but in reality, I was in a bad mental space.
Amidst these struggles, one amebo who never cared if you lived or died, will call out of the blues to know what next will be happening in your life. For heaven’s sake! I just finished an important exam! We both know that what he wants to ask is, ‘How far? Have you gotten a job?’ or are you unemployed?’ will you relocate to Uyo?’
I roll my eyes.
When is the right time to give up, please? Because with 2023 ending, I’m giving up on sending out applications to law firms. It feels like I’m one of the beggars you see in traffic in the hot sun seamlessly throwing myself at potential employers. Not me anymore. I don’t think I’ll do that in 2024. I’ll leave law to those people the profession chooses. Maybe I’ll try something different.
No one adequately describes the emotional and mental struggle associated with changing phases and rising through life. I still hurt as I write this but hope that in 2024, I’ll write a happier post.
Cheers to my Winning Team🥂
I enjoyed my old friendships. They served me this year. I mentioned earlier that I didn’t make many deep connections at law school, so my friends came through virtually for me. Their occasional calls and texts filled my cup. Ene, Ubong, Anie and Amune would call during my externship with hot, hot gist which made my day. I laughed till I cried and experienced genuine happiness for a moment. I realised I wasn’t the calling friend but enjoyed texting.
Ray came through for me this year. From being my alarm clock, waking me up to study to affirming me with reasons why he believes in me and why I should do the same too. He supported me even as I navigated life in Lagos – a city he hadn’t visited before, quite ironic.
The friends I made during my NYSC year came through for me this year and I felt like I made a good decision being their friends. Shout out to Ofon, Tolu, Esther, Remi and my Soso.
While taking tiny steps at progress, my people took giant steps. My sister completed her MBA programme. My brothers both had their respective Canada-related desires. Anie finished her Masters. Sylvia, Juliet, Kima and Uby made their first million. Amune, Germaine, and Iheanacho Mfon completed NYSC. Ene swam in dollars, while I helped her convert the figures to naira, as her favourite calculator. Odu got engaged.
My mom and I got better, at least, I could respectfully tell her my mind and she respected and recognised my self-agency. We haven’t fought this year, thank God. I recall the way she hugged and kissed me multiple times when I returned. I recall our banters when she failed to call me on a Sunday evening. I enjoy her care and ‘Have you eaten?’ ‘Should we make noodles for you?’ Lol. I had better run out of her house soon or else, I’ll be completely spoiled.
Learnings and Observations
Half of the world got married and the other half started displaying their choice on their timelines.
Men are scum, men are scum but people were still getting married to their scum. In my mind, with all these marriage announcements, make person no sha marry my husband oo, if not, mfana’yaba.
The ‘90s kids are now doing adult stuff. Their bodies boldly carry evidence of sex in public and the like. I marvelled at the brevity of life. It’s a short trip around the sun.
In a moment, I find myself at the altar, holding the microphone and standing behind a lady in a white ball gown, saying, ‘I do’. I recall when we were younger and clueless about the man who would be the recipient of our vows. But look at us now.
Conversations metamorphosed into questions about the men in our lives, and the year we would be settling down. I realised in a short time, we would talk about the kids and their energy. And if care is not heeded, we will blindly and carelessly repeat the mistakes and patterns of our parents.
While taking tiny steps at school, I observed the world around me. I observed the ‘90s kids doing the rat race, especially those living in Lagos. Waking up to beat traffic, sticking to jobs they didn’t love but doing it for the money.
I realised the need to grow with your friends and not necessarily aim at networking upward and looking like a pauper desperate to change your social circle.
I realised that men misinterpreted the kindness of girls to mean a green light. In Aunty Kes’s words, “Once you shine teeth with them, they’ll take it to mean, she likes me,” No wonder some girls act mean to men.
My elder bro once told me that when we are in school, success is linear. It includes good grades, popularity and a choice friends circle. But life after school differed. After school, success became more personalized and in many contrasting variations. People manifest their desires. Some become farmers in a village, others get married almost immediately, others relocate to Zambia, and others aim for giant titles.
I’ve seen this play out. After school, everyone retires to face their path. Some disappear into oblivion, others become so popular you can’t recall sharing a classroom with them.
Living within the walls of law school shielded me from some terrible policies except for inflation. I felt the harsh pangs of inflation and fuel subsidy removal. I recall being unable to afford a bolt fare to and fro the airport because of the cost. I disliked the discomfort I experienced in the disjointed journey to the airport when I tried avoiding an Uber.
I dislike being broke. I get to lose patience with myself and snap at those closest to me. Maybe, I have issues with being content. But despite those feelings, I had to accept my current state and embrace my responsibility to work through and out of this level.
Musings and Miscellaneous
No one will tell you about their law school boyfriend or girlfriend. But I’ll expose them. Just like your NYSC camp boyfriend, people at law school get to, you know… But your girl was focused. This year was for flights not feelings!
This year, I was recognised as a fellow of the Platform Young Professionals Bootcamp – a leading fellowship for young, talented Nigerians. It offered me a chance to connect with brilliant young minds, shaking the world. If you’re under 25, I’ll recommend that you join the 2024 cohort.
In 2022, I wrote that I wanted to identify with a local church. Yes, that happened but between 2022 to 2023, I hopped from one branch to the other. My life lacked permanence and this affected my presence in these local assemblies. In the end, that desire for a local church is still left unfulfilled.
I believe that a church, beyond its spiritual goal, is a social group. One I’d love to identify with. Make friends, volunteer my skills and undergo it’s training.
I started using the Youversion App and loved it. I enjoyed studying the books of the Old Testament and gleaning lessons from them.
I missed putting out content on the internet. And I’m grateful to Zainab Balogun O. and ‘Lóore Ìdòwú who reached out to me in my hiatus.
I used notion to track my weekly progress and record my weekly reviews on Sunday evenings. It helped me stay accountable to myself and focus on my goals. I usually answered some prompts that helped me evaluate my weekly performance and also plan for the coming week. I observed the parts I got better at. The progression and the grey areas to be covered. Notion also helped me track my job applications.
I had a Win list where I recorded each big thing that happened to me in a month. It helped me stay grateful amidst my monotonous and permit me to add, slow progress rate at law school.
I journaled less. Put on weight even while undergoing mental stress. I also got tired of my natural afro. Why would I forget to add that I participated in mock trials at law school and did well?
After my bar exam, I visited Badagry, and enjoyed tours around the first-storey building, and the first primary school and other historical sites the town boasts of.
When I returned, I came home to a bed bug-infested house. The itches made me scratch my skin. Now my skin needs a second chance at living.
In December, I served as the editor-in-chief for the maiden edition of the NLS Mindcheck Yearbook for my Law School Set. I enjoyed combining the leadership nature of the role with its creative and critical parts. Yet, I still had issues hitting the publish icon on Medium. I feared no one would read from me being that I was gone for a year. I thought I had lost my writing mojo but I’m glad I have this out.
2024: Hopeful
It’s my first year free from formal expectations like law school or NYSC. In a way, it feels like my NYSC year – a blank canvas to paint my days as I desire. To dream and go for the dream. These thoughts get me excited. I hope to stay accountable, weekly and monthly.
The fact that I’ll be formally a Nigerian-trained Lawyer does not get me as excited as the thought of my official photoshoot or my call to the Bar day. I promise to keep y’all posted with all the shenanigans. Life’s many activities shall not sweep my feet off my writing. Amen?
For the new year. I will not be afraid to build in the open and grow my network of creatives. To have a tailored use of social media. To hold tightly onto my writing skills. Be a giving friend and less of a receiving friend. Serve in church. Settle in a Nigerian city. Take care of body and mind and live a life I design.
My friends want to get married in 2024. I’ll be the happiest if that happens and I know a good number of them, from law school, at least, who will be walking down that aisle in 2024. I don’t want to get married that year. I need to start with my finances and have a sense of personal direction.
My mom holds a different opinion. She says that if I meet a wealthy man, my money will not be needed. My mother believes I should marry a man a lot older than me so he can ‘take care of me’. I still think I would love to start my career though. But let’s see how that goes. Who knows? I may join the matching Pjays the next December.
This review doesn’t seem as glamorous as 2022. But heaven knows, I tried. I tried to show up for my goals and have faith in my dreams. That in itself is my tiny win.
Thank you for reading to this point. If you enjoyed this piece or it sparked any positive emotion, please hit the 👏icon up to 50 and let’s connect on Medium. Gracias!
