CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN: CHATTING WITH FRIENDS
"I came to this school because of John and Joan's brother," Morayo said casually, but her words struck me with surprise.
"John and Joan?" I repeated, trying to be sure I heard her right. "Are they those twins in our class?" My voice carried hesitation, because deep down I wasn't really expecting that to be the case.
"Yes," she replied, her eyes fixed on me. "They're the fraternal twins sitting at the corner in our class. You've seen them."
"Wow," I murmured, masking the little shock I felt. "I didn't know you three were close like that."
She chuckled lightly. "Nah, not really. We're not that close. It's just that our families know each other. My dad happens to be their family doctor, so we've been in touch from time to time." She turned to glance at Vanessa, who looked lost in our conversation, her eyes darting from me to Morayo, trying to catch up with what we were talking about.
"Ohhh, I get it now," I said, leaning back against the chair. "I'm sure their brother must have complimented this school in a good way if you actually chose to come here because of him."
Morayo nodded slowly, her gaze shifting toward the sky that was already darkening into dusk. "Yes, he did. He painted it so beautifully—so much that even my mom was convinced enough to put down the name of this school in my entrance form. His words carried weight."
"Well, the school is kinda likeable," I said with a little shrug.
She smirked. "Hmm, you just got here yesterday. Don't rush into conclusions yet. Give it time."
"True," Vanessa finally chipped in, relief flashing across her face as she caught a part of the conversation she could understand. "I even heard one of the seniors in my room complaining earlier. She said she wished the years would just move faster so she could finish from this school."
Morayo sighed, resting her chin on her palm. "Many people say that. As for me, I miss everyone at home. This place… sometimes it feels like a cage."
I bit my lip. "I can't really say I feel the same way yet," I admitted. "Like you said, it's too early for me to conclude. Besides, with my brother and friends around me, I don't feel the absence of my parents that much. Maybe later I will."
"Let's go back to the hostel then," Morayo suggested, rising to her feet.
"But we just got here," I protested, glancing at the compound where students were still busy with evening routines. A group of boys were fetching water while some girls carried buckets, giggling and chatting away.
"Okay fine, let's stay a little longer," she said, adjusting her skirt before sitting back down. She followed my gaze.
"Are you noticing what I'm noticing?" I asked, tilting my head toward the scene in front of us. "Look at them—students bathing openly in the compound, fetching water, even playing around."
Vanessa smiled, almost shyly, as though she had never expected such sights in a boarding school.
"It's actually quite normal," Morayo explained. "It's dusk already, and most of the school authorities are indoors, so no one will bother them. The taps in the girls' hostel are usually overcrowded, with queues that can frustrate you. But in the compound, it's easier—you barely see queues, except when the water runs low."
"Wow. I just hope there won't be a time when there's water shortage in this school," I said, eyeing the long line of buckets standing in front of a tap.
Morayo gave a small laugh, shaking her head. "Don't say 'hope'. It's not a prayer or a curse; it's reality. There will surely come a day when water runs short—especially during periods when there's no electricity to pump water and the solar isn't working."
"Don't they have a generator?" I asked curiously.
"They do," she replied, her tone dropping into seriousness. "But it's usually on only in the mornings. There was even a time when the borehole at the boys' hostel was under repair. That period was chaotic! Boys would troop into the compound or even come near the taps in front of the girls' hostel. We girls had to come out fully dressed—even if we just wanted to fetch water—because those boys were everywhere. They called it top chaos." She chuckled at the memory.
"Wow," I muttered, eyes wide. "You must have seen a lot in your years here."
She shrugged. "Well, every school has its good days and bad days. For me, the worst days are Mondays and Thursdays. I dread them! Mondays come with awful food and stressful subjects. Thursdays are no better. But the weekends? Oh, the weekends are bliss! You can rest, stretch out on your bed, and breathe. Unless you're like Victoria and some other scholars who refuse to rest, always buried in books."
"That means there's a lot to learn from Victoria," I teased, glancing at her and then at the quiet Vanessa.
Morayo's eyes lit up. "I'm just glad tomorrow is spaghetti day. You don't know how much I love jollof spaghetti!" She clasped her hands together like she was praying.
"Gosh, Morayo, you and food," I said, laughing.
She turned to me mischievously. "By the way, what's your favorite food? Let me guess—swallow?"
I licked my lips, smiling proudly. "You guessed right. Since I'm Yoruba and from Ondo, I can't resist poundo yam with any type of soup. That's my weakness."
"Awon omo Ondo da? (Where are the children of Ondo?)" Morayo said in her mother tongue, a grin plastered across her face.
We all laughed.
"I'm Igbo, from Imo State," Vanessa said, joining the conversation more actively now. "So, I can't relate to that. For us, it's more about fufu, garri, and of course, our soups."
"You don't even look Igbo," Morayo said, narrowing her eyes playfully. "You look more like a Yoruba girl."
Vanessa burst out laughing. "Yeah, I get that a lot! Even Floral gets it. She actually looks more Igbo than me."
"Lol," I said, shaking my head. "Funny enough, no one has ever brought up my tribe to me before."
"Well, no one can ever mistake me for another tribe," Morayo said proudly. "I'm Yoruba through and through. I look like one, talk like one, behave like one, and even my name screams Yoruba—Morayooluwa."
Her pride was infectious, and I couldn't help but smile.
I looked at her curiously. "But wait, are you trying to say that those bearing English names instead of native names shouldn't be proud of themselves?"
Morayo shook her head quickly. "No, that's not what I mean at all."
I nodded slowly. "Good, because my parents gave me an English name. They said it sounded unique."
"What's your Yoruba name then?" she asked, turning her gaze back to me.
"Oluwadumininu," I answered with a smile. The name rolled off my tongue with a certain warmth.
Though it's a very common name among Yorubas, I still held it dear.
"I was honestly expecting something like Asake, Aduke, Abike, or even oríkì names," Morayo teased with a mischievous grin.
I laughed, shaking my head. "Sorry to disappoint you."
The conversation lingered into more playful banter, laughter echoing in the cool evening air. The compound was still alive with students, but for the three of us sitting together, time slowed down. In that moment, we weren't just classmates thrown together by chance; we were friends learning about each other—our families, our backgrounds, our likes, and our differences.