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We have been here for a while waiting for the bus to come to pick us at the venue of the get-together party organized for the graduating students for the year ending 2010/2011 harmattan semester. The organizing committee had made an arrangement for all graduands to be conveyed to the venue. At some point, as you'd expect, some impatient ladies started making efforts to get to the venue to the venue. Since the ladies have gone ahead, we thought they would make the organizers know that the bus hadn't come to pick us, the guests.
Jane was magnanimous enough to remember we were waiting so she put a call across to us. It was bad news.
Grin! Grin!! Grin!!! Jimmy's phone rang.
We are at the venue but everywhere is silent.
Why? Is the party not holding again?
The party is on but people are sober. We lost someone.
Yeah. The best graduating student in FMS died in his sleep last night.
When the call from Jane ended, we do not know what next to do. What is there to celebrate when we have just lost one of the illustrious sons of our generation of graduating students.
My livers were not strong enough to make me attend such parties even though some of the guys had already gone to the party, right there and then, I returned to my hostel.
Next thing. I took my friendly diary at the locker of my bed and a scribble about the events that had occurred in the last few days of my university life (I hope to write a big book about my university days).
I made up my mind not to celebrate my graduation, at least, not in the meantime. And the party, I am not interested in finding how it went down.
The next morning, posters of Mustapha Abdul were pasted all over campus. That guy was a comrade. He gave me a good chase in our general courses. How would he die so prematurely? As a first-class graduate, the university had decided to take the responsibility of giving him a burial befitting for an academic.
The University and the family reached a compromise to burial the young don without wasting time.
Students gathered in large numbers like when a heavy protest against a hike in school fees was staged. Some students were singing a dirge following the ambulance that carried his corpse, all on black attire with different inscriptions.
It ended after the dust to dust rites were concluded. It was such a sad memory.
Few days later, I decided to speak about a condolence visit to the bereaved family in out telegram platform since no one ever thought of it. As soon as I posted the idea, the whole group became as silent as a graveyard. So, I decided to go alone.
On the fateful day. I didn't wear any clothes with black patches, I just wanted to quench this emotion that was killing me. So I went.
When I arrived there. Many condolence visitors were trooping in and out of the bereaved home.
Silently, I went to sign the condolences register and then, attempted to enter the living room. As I struggle with my thoughts and my legs, I discovered my bladder was full of urine. Then, I attempted to urinate, only to discover it had been a long sleep and dream after an exhaustive day.