The observer

   The air in the hall was electric, charged with a tension that only a heated debate could bring. I sat at the back row, arms folded, eyes keen, observing the chaos unfold before me. My juniors—ah, those small but mighty warriors—were displaying levels of eloquence and fire that had me shaking my head in admiration. Talent dey cry, but who go wipe the tears?

The debate  hot die! Words flew like arrows, slicing through arguments, piercing egos. That 100-level guy? Fearless. That 500-level guy? One-man army, standing firm like a general in battle. And Mujeeb? Omo, Ife don talk say time up, but the podium became an extension of his soul. He no gree stop. Passion or wahala? Who go talk am?

Then came the judging. "Y’all using bias shii, keep it up," I muttered under my breath. But make we no lie, the 200-level debate? Outstanding. Like, so dope that I had to give a small clap before regaining my Ghost composure.

And then—refreshments. Biscuit and water? 😭 Emi, a whole baddie, reduced to this? I sighed. Na Tinubuuuu make me collect am sha. But when I remembered my struggle at inductions for the past four years, hunting food like a lost soul, I swallowed my pride and the biscuit.

Still, my life sweet, no cap. My transport? Paid for by people I had never even met before. Just like that. Grace. The universe aligning in my favor. And to top it all off, my lip combo? Ate. No crumbs left.

Dr. Mesioye, it's goat I have o but can I register him for the dog show 😌.

See y’all when I see you. The ghost is watching

The ghost doctor