THE DAY THE GHOST WALKED AVMS WEEK

The sun rose like it was angry ☀️.

11:00am, and already I could feel it—that DVM heat, the kind that doesn't just burn skin... it interrogates your soul 🔥.

There I was, standing in the valley of the shadow of death, surrounded by collars, coats, and questionable cologne ☠️.

Another successful initiation into the sacred madness called AVMS Week.

I showed up like a prophecy fulfilled ✨.

The Ghost had entered.

But by 12:46pm, things took a sharp left.

Presido, your DJ... your disc jockey of doom... did us dirty.

From Burna’s “It’s Plenty” to Rema’s “DND”—omo, my spirit did backflip 🤸🏾‍♂️.

Was he playing heartbreak Olympics?

I searched the air for Ozeba. None.

Alan Walker? Vanished.

Just raw sound confusion 🤯.

Verdict? Make una no pay am. Simple. The music taste was treason 🚫.

By 1:53pm, I almost ghosted 👻.

Thank God I didn’t.

Because na so Deputy Dean show up like Thanos with the attendance sheet of destiny 📝.

One competition started, and this 100L guy came on stage, full chest:

“COLENG! Entrepreneurial!!”

I froze ❄️.

Entre-what?

A whole engineering college?

As how na? AS HOW NA?!

The boy reminded me of Po from Kung Fu Panda 🐼.

Cute confusion.

2:19pm, I was mid-writing when the generator decided to retire from life ⚰️.

Light went off like an unpaid promise ⚡.

Oh chim.

Oh my shwest bone.

Oh my stoma.

Sweat rolled down from my mandibular ramus to my gluteus maximus 🥵.

This suit? A punishment from Lucifer himself.

Y’all slyed me.

You did me dirty

Then came the spotting. The sacred seeing 👁️.

Dr. Barakat walked in like oil money. Low-key olowo vibes 💅.

Obanimi was yawning like a lion. Na DVM 1 HOC o, I no lie.

I almost snapped him but the spirit warned me—“he go cast you.”

I moved in silence. Like pspspsps 🐱

Meanwhile, Mujeeb fought gallantly in the debate...

But designer shoes took the win 👠. Painful.

As for your coat—burgundy abi wine—omo, e pain me.

You people looked like highschool prefects on steroids.

Well-coordinated cultists.

I respect it.

2:45pm, the PA system started singing in tongues 🎙️.

I swear I heard Morse code 🛸.

Then the shame hit—nobody asked Dr. Barakat questions. Nobody!

Y’all weren’t listening.

Me? I be different. Ghost dey always ready—I wrote mine down ✍🏾.

No cap 🧢.

2:51pm, the crowd screamed for Ice-Spice like she be Messiah 🧊.

Love? Madness? Both?

Even the gods of CVAS looked up in awe ✨.

By 3:07pm, Vetpreneurs rose like ancient kings 👑.

Prof Dipeolu entered. No smile. No blinking. Pure intimidation.

Aura whispered into the mic:

“This microphone is not good.”

Special Sam, you owe us explanation 🤨.

I got bored again. Resumed spotting.

What I saw? Art.

COLVET shawties. Pure beauty.

Joyce. Adeife. Fikayo.

And others whose names my spirit couldn’t hold.

They stole my focus, my memory, my GPA 💔.

Then, 3:15pm—light went off again.

This gen really hates progress 💡.

Prof Dipeolu noticed the aroma of rice and chicken 🍗.

She’s sharp.

We all are. Vets observe like FBI agents 🕵🏾‍♂️.

4:56pm, and then—Item 7 dropped like a royal scroll 📜.

I was about to enjoy my rice when this aunty said:

“My lowest CGPA was 4.0”

At that point I just paused.

Omoh, I didn’t sign up for academic flexing 🥲.

Wait... isn’t this the same aunty *My own Wheels* that gave me sweet one time?

Plot twist!

Sweet still dey sweet sha 🍬.

5:02pm, one guy dropped wisdom:

“Having a resit doesn’t mean you can’t make it in life.”

Bars.

Ghosts respect resilience 🧠.

By 5:28pm, food don land.

Me? I vanish.

I no dey eat in public—my steeze no permit am 🥷🏾.

This was my longest symposium.

But also my funnest.

SUG President even showed up.

And I—I, the humble Ghost—walked amongst mortals.

History felt it.

Memory kept it.

And the boys? They walked off with medals, honour, and vibes 🏅.

 The Ghost is not like the rest,

I write legends.

I bend time ⌛.

This is how you tell a story.

No rules. No limits.

Just pure, chaotic, imperial ink.

As long as vibes exist,

The Ghost will write.

#GhostDocChronicles