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That night, seemed like last night, the night all LAWSANs awaited, the GRAND DINNER. There was incessant firing of missed calls, or flashing, to my parents in a bid to hustle out a seemingly huge sum of N1,500 that I may partake in the well talked about dinner. The money came in the afternoon of the D-DAY. Just so you know, this piece is for persons who took conscious steps to not attending the Grand Dinner. Whether it was a dinner you wished you attended or not, will be a decision falling on your shoulders.

Before I disclose what happened that night, some questions need be asked. “I want to work on structures”, “I want to ensure continuity.” These are not words of mine but were words sung by our ever loving President during the manifesto days. Did the Garrick-led administration work on structures eventually? Or did the same administration work on continuity?? Sadly, structures were not all tackled but I feel strongly that this extant administration set records – those that attended the General Assembly and were attentive can bear witness. The LAWSA WEEK (smiles). LAWSANs were promised a Lawsa week and it happened – For the first time of course. The Legal symposium to the Cultural day was a hit back to back (that you exempted yourself from LAWSANS-IN-WORSHIP or the jean carnival is disturbing). To prove that they were hits back to back, a host of law students were ready to pay the required fee for the dinner – some persons sweated to painfully pay I believe, blame the Buhari’s Economy. Abeg kudos Baba Garrick! Oil dey your head (winks). So where was I?
The well hyped dinner seemed to be meeting up to Her hype as She showered unending rain – that you consider this a blatant superstition, how about you respect the writer or better still, write your own (frowns). My friends were indeed ready until a voice from my inner man told me to tell my sister to get some not bad shirts from Ekosodin. A wine shirt, a black suit, my regular black shoe, a new black ankle socks, my prehistoric wallet, regular black trouser, and a dearth smile accompanied me to the grand dinner. At the entrance was a dark tall guy who covered his eyes with a dark shade that night. He was not the very hefty kind of person but he could still boast of possessing an athletic body. I was just about paying to the D.O.S when this tall guy put his hand on my chest. He was not alone – they were bouncers definitely. I grabbed my ticket and entered the big hall (it was glorious) carefully moving my legs like a zombie until I found a conducive sect of the hall (so I thought).
My eye balls moved to and fro. It is an aged habit of mine to observe the people around. I noticed that there was a VIP section. This section seemed protected by my senior colleague, Ahmed, who could easily pass for a bouncer. I destroyed the thought of him being in the bouncing team when he beamed at me, though in a succinct manner plus he was on no black suit like the rest of the bouncers. I was hindered from further observations the moment a lady in white grabbed the microphone and reverenced God. Just so you know, her name is Beverly and she killed “it” with her angelic white gown convincingly. The female MC (500 level) was indeed lively and funny unlike the male who struggled to crack jokes or attract laughter only to fail on all grounds. Everything was good and even got better when recharge cards were dished out. I was unable to partake in this free gift but it did not get me flabbergasted as indeed I have never gotten a feel of successfully loading a recharge card issued to a host of quick fingers.
Lot of awesome performances left the audience jamming their hands. I joined. My table had alcoholic drinks, groundnut, as well as soft drinks – water inclusive. My close friend, Femi, seemed to have soft spot for the groundnut but totally abstained from the wine (laughs). It seemed like a hair drier was accommodating my head as I felt this unusual heat settling on my scalp. My mind came to rest when I figured out the issue. The air conditioner located just behind my seat decided to deprive my table from a cool temperature. As activities went on, my stomach sang elegies. The wine I sipped exacerbated my hunger state and so, I dropped my cup with my face constricted. “Will they not serve food?” came the cry from persons around me. It was already past 1 in the morning and I could clearly see no plates on tables – though the sharing of food had commenced pitifully slow. I found it revolting to reasoning that three to four ladies dutifully carried trays filled with two, three, or four plates of rice to give a large number of not FOOD DEPRIVED BEGGARS, but persons who should expectedly be uncontrollably permitting hunger-cacophony right there in their tommy – what happened to more hands serving the food? I was already losing my cool, though not as much as a female colleague of mine, and needed just few minutes to construct unrelenting rail words. Not even a curt smile could easily be found around me – at least it goes well to establish the fact that A HUNGRY MAN IS AN ANGRY MAN. It seemed to me like breakfast the moment a plate of rice appeared before me, for the time was conspicuously relaxed at 2am. Just as I was set to re-adjust my frowned face, I realized that I had no meat (or wildlife). Hall 4 brethren and every Nigerian not related to Dangote will only be fair with me to concur that these days, we can hardly boast of cooking ‘chow’ in the hostel and having meat as an apparatus. It is only truth to say that in Nigeria, meat is of untold significance – in fact, there is this joy you derive during the chewing of a meat that you painstakingly ensure it does not slide down your throat in any hasty manner. Baba, my face became like a squeezed sachet of water. I saw myself sharing my meatless meal with my friend as the ladies sharing the meal took forever. Some persons still had no food, I played the role of an hero as I was able to meet with the V.P who then brought 3 plates of meatless rice. The unending giving of awards compounded peoples’ lamentations. The meat issue was indeed enough to cause a NIGGA MOMENT and believe me, the award giving worsened things. Won’t say I did not manage to enjoy the small scale fashion show that took place though.
There were people, there was food. There were couples, there was music, there was entertainment, to mention a few. How about the area of Dance! Dance!! Dance!!! It might interest you to know that the Disc Jockey was always on key dropping dope gbedu, but you might get disinterested to hear that a plenitude of ladies thought it super cool to sink into their plastic chairs. After hustling to pair up with the opposite sex, of course it was unproductive for reasons I am too disgruntled to unveil, I hastily joined a pack of boys to display some obsolete dance moves. I must have been an entertainer that night as my AZONTO and the likes was a hit back to back judging from the commendations and sheepish smiles I attracted. I danced till my black trousers got soaked, thanks to sweat. The DJ had to turn off the jams as it was time to kiss the party good bye. “Femi, na so the N1,500 take go oo!”
To chip this in, the grand dinner was not unsuccessful. Chop knuckles Mr. Garrick. About the food issue, chop knuckles our V.P, for you put in great effort to ensure food got to everyone. By V.P, I suppose you know I mean Azaka Ruth. The only issue I can say I had was the manner and timing in which my food came. I will not get vexed that a large chunk of the females glued their butts to their seat during the rocking section for I do not expect them to be extremely energetic on the dance floor having worn a big time fitted beautiful gown, plus a large number had their date super glued to their chair still. That I make advise, the next time you have the opportunity to go for a Grand Dinner, ensure you make it a ticket-for-two (smiles).
In furtherance of what has been chipped in, Garrick indeed set a record that night “or” better still, he completed what he started as far as Lawsa week mattered. It is only commonsensical, reasonable, and fair for heaven’s sake (in dean’s voice) that continuity be seen to be from the next administration. Awon Aspirants, when you wan do Grand Dinner, no just mezebu dey deprive boys from meat o…N1,500 no be moi-moi. My name is Mr. OBEEZY, reporting from HALL 4.
                            OKOCHA OBED



My name is Okocha Obed, you can call me Obeezy. I love to display aesthetics through my ink—I must say writing is my small world. I consider myself a deep writer; I say I am deep because I have discovered that part about myself, even, my fabulous audience share same view. I believe in connecting to all kind of persons as there is always something to learn from everyone. I see myself as an actor; to stay on the stage, I need to think ink. The voice is a reflection of myself and my conscience. I always felt I could be like superman while growing up. It was pretty ridiculous so all I did was dream of being a soldier. It was abortive. So I created a world where I could keep talking about the ills in my community but with other flavours to show I am growing into completeness. keep reading.

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