Oríjọ
(Roads That Bend)
Like any other Tuesday, the day announced itself in familiar ways, shrill alarm beeps, distant church calls from the nearby cathedral, and the faint, tired blare of car horns drifting in from the road. Aduke stirred beneath her wrapper, turning to the wall as though she could bargain for a few more minutes of sleep.
Her alarm rang and she ignored it. Five minutes later, it rang again louder, sharper. Before she could properly silence it, her phone speakers burst to life, blasting “Wake Up, Wake Up” by Minister Dunsin Oyekan.
Morning had begun, whether she was ready or not. She sat up slowly, rubbing her eyes, her body still heavy with sleep, trying to gather herself for the weight of the day ahead. Then something felt off, her gaze drifted to the other side of the room, to her roommate’s bed neatly spread, untouched, empty.
Aduke frowned, her mind replaying the events of the previous night. Her roommate had gone out. “I’ll be back soon,” she had said casually, promising to return “soon.” But morning had come, and she wasn’t back.
Aduke reached for her phone. No messages! No missed calls! A flicker of unease settled in her chest.
Where could she be?
For a moment, she considered calling. But time was already slipping away. Exams!!! She sighed, that was enough to push everything else aside for now.
By 6:30 a.m., she had already roamed the length and breadth of the hostel block in search of water. Buckets knocked against tiles, doors creaked open and shut, and sleepy voices exchanged frustration in hushed tones. Fetching water that morning felt like a test on its and finding it at that hour felt like a victory no one celebrated enough.
When she finally got some, there was no satisfaction just relief mixed with exhaustion. She bathed quickly, dressed in a rush, and by 7:30 a.m., she stepped out of the hostel, bag slung over her shoulder.
She already knew; with the sheer population of students during exam period, getting into school would not be easy.
The road was alive with urgency. As students lined the roadside, some pacing, some waving frantically at buses. When a kóropẹ̀ finally stopped, bodies moved before minds did. Aduke squeezed in, she smiled at her reflection in the window "Life no easy" she whispered "You gotta be smart".
Earlier while on the conquest for H20, she'd examined the sky with its enchanting atmosphere. The breeze was gentle and light. The sun was yet up from sleep a thrill to its radiant bloom which would rather come later in the day. The day was definitely rolling in the usual.
Moments later, the drama began. A play whose irrelevance had made Aduke as well as some other passengers curse at the korope driver, who despite knowing the gravity of entering campus from Okeodo, took no chances in hiking the fare. He lamented over the increase in fuel price, but who fell for their popular slogan anymore. He would have done what he wanted anyways.
The driver announced a fare that drew sharp hisses from the passengers. An elderly woman challenged him.
“What is this one again this morning?”
The driver shrugged, launching into his usual speech fuel price, hardship, government failure. The woman was not having it and soon what started as a complaint quickly turned into an argument with raised voices from both parties.
The argument revolved around the driver's opinion of the present government being of no use to the masses, he in addition to his earlier fuel rant lamented that the electricity was as well not stable.
Passengers shifted uncomfortably.An Finally, the elderly woman stood abruptly, frustration written all over her face as she stepped down. “Bàbá Olókó, ẹ̀jẹ́ kálọ̀ jàre!” she snapped, her voice cutting through the air. For a brief moment, silence followed, heavy and uncertain.
The argument began with the driver's opinion of the present government being of no use to the masses, he in addition to his earlier fuel rant lamented that the electricity was as well not stable.
Everyone in the bus maybe thought some sense to the claims of the driver as we all live in Kwara State but then there was Madam Oriade a 'die hard' devotee to the All Progressive Party and the drill lasted an eternity because she wouldn't bulge in the driver's direction in any way. Adults arguing was obviously a sore sight for the people around.
Finally, the elderly woman could take no more. She stood abruptly, shaking her head as she stepped down.
“Bàbá Olókó, ẹ̀jẹ́ kálọ̀ jàre!”.
Her voice lingered even after she spoke, passengers shifted uncomfortably and silence followed, the driver had no choice than to suspend his rant and set the bus in motion en-route the 'better by far' university.
Aduke could finally breath in some peace at the quiet in the bus, her mind held loads of thoughts; questions and worry crept from every corner: why has Mama called five times already that morning all of which she'd missed while she was in the bathroom; The fear of her returning to a stinking room with spoilt soup if NEPA failed to restore electricity.
As they approached the school gate, the sky began to change. What had once looked like a normal, calm morning suddenly darkened, clouds gathering with quiet authority. A light drizzle began, soft at first, almost harmless. Aduke got down at the park, adjusting her bag as she glanced upward. It didn’t seem like much. She could walk. SLT wasn’t too far.
She began to move quickly, her steps measured, her mind fixed on time. But within moments, the drizzle thickened into something else entirely. The rain came down hard sudden, relentless, unforgiving.
Students scattered in all directions, clutching books, covering their heads, running without coordination. Aduke ran too, but it made little difference. Within minutes, she was drenched hair clinging to her face, clothes heavy with water, slippers slapping against wet ground.
Around her, the road turned chaotic. Vehicles slowed, lecturers drove cautiously to avoid splashing muddy water, and students navigated puddles with careful urgency. Everything felt unstable, as though the entire campus was trying not to lose its balance. By the time she reached the lecture theatre, she was soaked to the bone, her breath uneven, her thoughts scattered.
Inside, there was no order. No routine checks!!!
The weather had dissolved structure, and students rushed in, filling seats quickly, dripping water onto the already worn floors. Within minutes, the paper began. No time to settle. No time to think. Aduke sat down, her heart still racing and opened her question paper. She froze. Nothing looked familiar.
The words on the page felt distant, like a language she had once known but could no longer understand. She flipped through the pages again, slower this time, as though something might change. It didn’t, panic settled in, quiet but consuming.
You read… didn’t you read? So why does everything look strange?
Four years this was what it had come down to. Four years of lectures, strikes, borrowed notes, and nights spent reading under torchlight because NEPA had failed again. And now, her mind was empty.
Her leg bounced under the desk, her thoughts colliding her mother’s missed calls, her missing roommate, the fear of failure waiting patiently at the end of it all. Across from her, someone wrote confidently, pen moving without hesitation. Aduke hesitated, then leaned slightly, her eyes searching for something anything to hold on to. Her lips parted, barely forming a whisper.
“Please…” she whispered, barely audible.
The girl beside her shifted.
Aduke’s eyes darted quickly to her script.
Just a line......
Just a clue.....
“You.”
The voice cut through everything. Sharp. Direct. Final. Aduke’s heart dropped. Slowly, she looked up. Dr. Kolawole was staring directly at her. “That girl,” he said, pointing, “stand up.” The room shifted, attention turning, silence deepening. Aduke stood, her body heavy, her throat dry. He walked toward her, calm but unyielding, his presence filling the space around her.
“What are you doing?” Dr. Kolawole asked again. His voice was calm but it carried weight.
Aduke swallowed.
“Sir… I—”
The words refused to come. He was closer now, standing beside her desk, his presence filling the small space.
“Is this how you want to end your final year?” he asked quietly.
That question hit differently. Not like an accusation, like a mirror. Tears gathered in her eyes.
“I was just trying to understand the question, sir,” she said, her voice barely holding.
Dr. Kolawole looked at her for a moment long enough to make her feel seen, not just caught.
Then his gaze shifted to her script. They were blank, almost untouched.
He sighed, not loudly. Just enough.
“Sit down,” he said.
The room seemed to pause. Aduke blinked.
“Sir?”
“Sit,” he repeated, already turning away.
She sat, slowly. She was yet to understand what had just happened. Her heart was still racing but something had shifted. He didn’t take her paper. He didn’t send her out. He didn’t say another word.
The rain outside softened while pens continued moving steadily across paper. As a matter of fact time continued whether she was ready or not. She held her hands tight as she said a word of prayer.
"Please help me God" she muttered.
She stared at her question sheet again. Still unfamiliar. Still intimidating. But this time, she didn’t look sideways, neither was she going to whisper or seek help. She didn't move, she was determined not to seek assistance from man as she had prayed and believed in her heart. She closed her eyes briefly. Think, she started with question number one, she read it again and again. A word clicked, then another not everything but something. A thread it seemed and she picked it.
Slowly and uncertainly, she began to write. It wasn't sort perfection nor confidence but honesty. Line after line, she pushed through the fog in her mind grasping at fragments of what she knew, shaping them into something that could stand. Her handwriting steadied, her breathing followed.Time moved.
When the exam ended, the usual noise returned chairs dragging, sighs of relief, low conversations. Aduke packed her things quietly. No one looked at her this time or maybe they did and she just didn’t notice. She stepped outside. The rain had stopped.
She began to walk, slower now, her steps steady against the damp ground. The morning replayed in her mind—the empty bed, the search for water, the argument in the bus, the rain, the fear. Nothing had gone as planned. Everything had bent. And yet, she was still here, still moving, still standing. That was the thing about roads—they did not always stay straight. They turned, shifted, tested you in ways you never expected. As Aduke walked through the quiet campus, one thought settled gently within her: not every wrong step ends the journey.
Sometimes, it simply bends the road.....
Story By:
Odusola Ayomikun
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