CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR: MY SUNDAY!
When Victoria and Morayo eventually woke, I excitedly shared the news of my mother's recent visit. I passed around the chocolates she had brought, and both girls complimented the treats, exclaiming on how delicious and satisfying they were. The sense of camaraderie over something as simple as chocolate made me feel warm inside. It was one of those rare moments in boarding school where the little joys—like the sweetness of candy—could briefly lift the weight of the week.
The next day, Sunday, unfolded as a completely new experience for me. I woke to the persistent clattering of lockers, accompanied by the sharp voice of the hostel prefect, as usual.
"Wake up! Wake up! Get up and have your bath!" she bellowed, echoing down the corridor.
Some of the students groaned audibly as they reluctantly sat up from their beds. I, too, reluctantly slid out of bed and began the morning routine that had become second nature: bathing, brushing my teeth, and drying off. Many of the girls used their wrappers—native or Ankara cloths measured in half or full yards, depending on their height—to dry themselves. The wrappers were multifunctional, doubling as skirts, towels, and sometimes even as makeshift head coverings, depending on the girl's needs.
After drying off, most students returned to their dorms to apply body cream, lotion, or medicinal ointments before dressing in their underwear. The subtle scent of moisturiser, mixed with the faint aroma of soap, permeated the air. I took my own time, enjoying the quiet of my first Sunday morning in this way.
Some minutes later, the prefect's voice rang out once again, commanding our attention.
"It is time to move outside! Remember, it is Sunday. Take out your Sunday wear, hijab, beret, scarf, Bible or Quran, bags, and any other necessary items. Christians, no slippers are allowed in the chapel; anyone caught wearing them will not enter. Dress appropriately in the house of the Lord. Also, before putting on your white gown, complete your portion!"
I meticulously packed my white gown, my Bible, and my scarf into my bag, checking twice to ensure I hadn't forgotten anything. Victoria, observing me quietly, finally asked,
"Don't you have sandals, shoes, or even your school sandals? It would be easier to carry them."
"I have a black shoe, but I don't want to put it in my bag. It might stain my white gown," I explained, careful and precise.
"Okay, fair enough," she said, standing with her handbag slung over her shoulder, filled with her own essentials. "I was just thinking that since your shoe is neat, you could carry it, but if you insist on leaving it, I won't force you."
"Thanks for understanding," I said, zipping my bag securely.
"Morayo!" Victoria called from our corner, turning to speak to her friend. "Don't forget to take out the money!"
Moments later, Morayo approached me, glancing at my corner.
"Hey, are you leaving like that?" she asked.
"Yes… why?" I queried, confused.
"You didn't even make your bed properly. If you leave it like this, the house mistress will call you back and cane you," she advised, her tone firm but friendly.
I turned to my bed and noticed the area where I had sat was crumpled and messy. Hastily, I straightened the sheets, smoothing the blankets and fluffing the pillows. We left just in time, avoiding the prefect's countdown—a ritual she used to ensure punctuality in the hostel. I remembered last time, when I had been caught inside and had to crawl painfully out; my knees still ached from the ordeal. I couldn't imagine how infants managed crawling so extensively without complaining.
After completing our portion, I sat with Victoria outside the solar building, enjoying the cool morning air.
"Where's Morayo?" I asked, glancing around.
"She went to save us some space in the chapel," Victoria replied nonchalantly, munching on a sausage roll.
"Save space? How?" I asked, puzzled.
"Christians here are numerous, and the chapel doesn't have enough chairs. Students carry benches from classrooms to secure seats. Morayo went ahead to reserve ours," she explained, casually discarding her Gala wrappers into a nearby dustbin.
"And how does everyone know we've reserved seats?" I pressed, still curious.
"Simple. You put a book or Bible on the chair as a placeholder. That signals to others that the seats are taken," Victoria explained, taking a sip from a sachet of pure water she had bought earlier.
"Okay… so which books did Morayo take?" I asked, imagining how she could possibly reserve enough seats with just a few items.
"Stop asking obvious questions. Of course, she brought enough books," Victoria answered, a hint of impatience in her voice.
I turned my attention to a student who was once again being scolded by the house mistress for her portion.
"What's for breakfast?" I asked, shifting my focus back to Victoria.
"Bread, boiled egg, and tea," she replied, unzipping her bag to retrieve her white gown. "Do you want fried eggs with your bread? I can get some for you," she asked, her tone teasing, as if she could read my mind.
The thought of eating bread with boiled eggs made my stomach twist.
"Ajebutter, let's go buy fried eggs for our bread," Victoria suggested, her smile infectious as she folded her gown, zipped it back into her bag, and led the way to the matron's shop.
Ajebutter, I reminded myself, was a Yoruba term for a child born into privilege—a silver spoon kind of child. The matron, the assistant to the house mistress, ran the shop with efficiency, selling a variety of cooked foods that students could buy to supplement their meals. The scent of fried food, freshly baked bread, and sweet pastries greeted us as we approached, making my earlier distaste for boiled eggs fade immediately.
We purchased the fried eggs, tucking them carefully into our wrappers and making sure our Sunday gowns remained spotless. The morning air was crisp, and the sunlight filtered through the trees, casting dappled shadows across the hostel courtyard. Students moved around, chatting quietly or walking briskly to prepare for chapel, while the smell of fresh pastries, tea, and sizzling eggs mingled with the faint aroma of dew on the grass.
Victoria handed me my fried egg with a conspiratorial smile. "You'll see, this tastes much better than boiled egg alone," she whispered.
I smiled back, feeling a warm sense of camaraderie. This was my first Sunday fully immersed in the boarding school experience, and despite the strict rules and busy routines, I felt strangely content. Between the laughter, the food, and the shared little joys of chocolate, sausage rolls, and freshly fried eggs, the day already felt special.
After breakfast, we would need to make our way to the chapel, fully dressed in our white gowns, with Bibles and scarves neatly packed, and no slippers in sight. The anticipation of the service, the rhythm of Sunday routines, and the unspoken bonds between us girls made this day feel like a rite of passage—a combination of discipline, devotion, and camaraderie that made boarding school life uniquely exhilarating.
I adjusted my bag, ensuring my Bible and scarf were secure, and took a deep breath. It was going to be a long day, but somehow, it already promised memories I wouldn't forget.