MY SIGN-OUT DAY
Onah Kingsley@kingsleyonah599198
7 months ago
The day dawned with mixed feelings. There was the hardest of all the departmental courses to crack, and there was a whole day of riotous celebration awaiting. The celebration had, in a way, alleviated the tension of exam phobia. Today, no matter how hard the exam may be, two hours at most, and we shall be done, and then the avalanche of “congratulations” pouring in from every angle will soon wipe away any memory of the unpalatable examination. Friends and well-wishers can’t wait to stain our white shirts with different colors of markers. The sign-out day is the only day when staining someone’s shirt is a sign of love and a good gesture.
It is always an unforgettable experience for almost every university finalist. So special it is that even those who knew they were not likely to graduate are the ones with the wildest celebrations. It’s like a nation gaining independence from their colonial masters, or as if Arsenal has won the Champions League. Students would spend and be spent just to outdo one another in dressing and make-up. There are even instances when students would stroll into the hall halfway into the exam, of course, with a sparkling white shirt, hair as a bunch of brooms, and a face baked with layers of cosmetics.
Usually, the confused invigilators would either look at them with anger or with pity, or some may probably remember how they did worse things in their university days and ignore the foolishness, silently handing them question papers and answer sheets. Such students knew they only came to fulfill righteousness, nevertheless, when they hear “everybody submit at the count of ten”, like a sprinter mustering his last energy to win a race, they will start scrambling for someone they can quickly scribble something from. Then, after a reluctant submission, they will put on a beaming smile and jump out of the hall like indomitable conquerors, saying, “FINALLY, IT IS OVER.
The first person I ran to meet after I submitted my answer sheet was my course adviser. I would have been fine if she was the only one who signed on my shirt that day. She has been my favorite lecturer because we had the best flow of communication from the outset. But despite our good relationship status, somehow she had forgotten my name. She was caught off by the noisy atmosphere and intruded by my unexpected presence. “What is your name again?” she happily asked, as I gave her a black marker. I told her my name and she quickly wrote something on my shirt.
Going out of the hall, I wasn’t as mad or excited as the others. Maybe because I was still skeptical about the possible outcome of the exam: it was tough. Or maybe I was shy and uncertain of what I would meet out there. What if nobody came to celebrate me? What if my reaction to their congratulatory gestures was awkward.... I wasn’t sure how exactly to react. I had put on a white buttoned short sleeve and covered it with a cardigan. That was because I wasn’t sure I would allow anyone to sign on my shirt. It seemed childish.
The thought of escaping home through the back door flashed through my mind. I could just go home and sleep and wake up the next day. By that time, the paraphernalia of sign-out day would have been over, and I could simply tell them that I was tired and sick after the exam and needed to rest.
But it was already too late_too late to run away. As soon as I stepped out of the hall, I was arrested by throngs of course-mates, friends, church fellowship members, and even well-wishing strangers, and before I could say “thy kingdom come,” I was painted rainbow while basking in the elation of limitless ecstasy.
