WHEN THE RAIN FALLS IN UI

By Mathilda Yakubu

It always starts the same. A quiet breeze. A sudden darkness. Then that unmistakable smell of rain hitting dry ground. By the time I looked up from my notes, the sky had already begun to spit.

It was a Tuesday, and I had just finished a two hours class at the faculty lecture theatre. I thought I could make it back to Queens hall before the storm, but the weather had other plans. A few of us took shelter under the corridor. I clutched my bag like it was a shield, hoping the downpour would be brief.

“UI rain no get joy,” someone beside me muttered. I turned and smiled. I had seen him around, tall, always with a book in hand, usually walking alone. “You think it’ll stop soon?” I asked.

He shook his head. “It’s UI. The rain decides.”

We waited together, 10 minutes! 15 minutes! The rain didn’t stop. The puddles started forming, swallowing the pathway. We knew we had to make a move or be stuck till evening, so, we walked.

We laughed when our shoes got soaked. We cursed when a keke zoomed past and splashed muddy water on our legs. We bonded over shared annoyance about lecturers who don’t show up, hostel generators that never come on, and the two thousand naira sharwarma that now tastes like wet paper.

By the time we got to SUB, drenched and cold, we had shared more than just an umbrella. He offered to buy me snacks, I declined, then agreed, then laughed at myself.

“My name’s Samuel” he said as we sat on the steps eating puff-puff.

“I’m Tolu.”

He smiled. “Nice to finally meet you Tolu, Maybe UI rain isn’t so wicked after all.”

Since that day, every time the rain falls in UI, I remember that moment. That unexpected beginning. That reminder that sometimes, even in the middle of discomfort, something soft and new can bloom.