MY SAPIOSEXUAL LECTURER (Part 1)

Unlike all the other lectures, Dr Anita’s class was the fullest. It was the one class that was so full, students had to sit on the staircase floor of the lecture hall. I was one of those students.

When Dr Anita arrived, everyone hurried to their seats and the class became quiet in less than 10 seconds. Ask me why, I don’t know.

The classroom lights went off and the projector came on.

“Now, let us begin with today’s classwork.” Dr Anita announced as she clicked on a video on the screen.

It was a music video.

The class began getting noisy when we realised what music video it was.

Coming by Naira Marley.

Before I could take my eyes off the screen, it was too late. I began seeing things I shouldn’t be seeing. Hearing things I shouldn’t be hearing. Sucking? Vagasm? Cumming?

Ya Allah, this school will not make me miss Jannah (heaven), insha Allah. Wallahi this school will not make me miss Jannah.

After Dr Anita had successfully traumatized my five senses, she gave us the most horrifying classwork any lecturer could ever give.

“I want you to give a critical analysis of Coming by Naira Marley and its reflection on Nigeria’s sexual hypocrisy.” She instructed.

****

I did not do the classwork. And that was the biggest mistake I ever made.

Because the next day, Dr Anita summoned me to her office.

“You submitted a blank sheet of paper for your classwork.” She started off when I settled in her office. No introduction, nothing. “And why is that?”

“Because it is against the will of Allah that I write such a vulgar essay.” I replied bluntly.

Dr Anita folded her hands and stared at me, “Naira Marley is Muslim too, shebi you know?”

“It’s one thing to be born into a Muslim family, it is another thing to live as one. One is consent, the other isn’t.”

She raised her brows in amazement and chuckled. But not the cute chuckle. It’s the chuckle that screamed “You’re a bastard.”

“Consent, enh?” She clasped her hands together. “Let me tell you about consent. It does not exist in the four walls of a university. When a lecturer gives you an assignment, he is not asking for your permission. It is an order.”

I stared back at her without saying anything.

“You’re a smart boy, Mr Mohammed. I’ve read your personal statement and past credentials and I must say, I was quite impressed.” She stretched out her hands across her desk, “You don’t want to provoke me, do you?”

I already did.

“You have until tomorrow evening to submit your classwork. If you don’t turn it in, I will fail you for the rest of the semester.”

That was how our first meeting ended.

****

I remember ranting to Nnamdi about Dr Anita’s over-sexual lecture video and classwork. He was not my friend but I just needed someone to blow off some steam with. After all my ranting, this was the only thing he got;

“So, you’re saying vagasm is not a real word?” He asked while referring to one of the phrases Naira Marley used in his song.

And I never spoke about Dr Anita or that assignment to anybody again. Because nobody in this Ivory University was normal.

****

I submitted the classwork the next day as Dr Anita instructed. When I arrived, she left me alone in her office to answer a quick phone call.

During that short time, I looked around her big office. I stared at all the awards and trophies and certificates she had obtained over the years.

Then I stopped on my tracks when I saw the small picture frame on her desk. It was a picture of her perfectly “happy” family. A picture of Dr Anita, her elderly husband and two grown up kids that were around my age. In the picture, Dr Anita was smiling, which was unusual to see.

“What are you still doing here?” She asked when she returned to her office.

“I- I came to submit my classwork, ma.” I stretched out my paper to her.

She looked down at it and snatched it before walking over to her desk. She picked up her red pen from the table and circled a giant O at the top of the paper.

“You have failed this classwork. But you’ve not failed the course.” She said while putting the paper with the other pile of papers, “Now, leave.”

I wanted to argue, “But ma, you didn’t even read-”

“A late task is a failed task. Now, get out.”

****