In 2013, Kola* wrote UTME for the first time. The plan was to study Computer Science at the University of Benin, one of Nigeria’s foremost universities. Unfortunately, he didn’t meet the cut-off mark for the course.

Every year, millions of Nigerian students sit for the exam organised by the Joint Admission and Matriculation Board (JAMB) as a prerequisite for applying to any Nigerian tertiary institution. Kola had two choices: try his luck with another university or wait until the following year to rewrite the exam.

 “I couldn’t stay at home for an entire year,” he says.

He and his parents eventually found a seemingly perfect alternative. They decided that he would attend Igbinedion University in Okada, a town in Edo State, 51 kilometres from Benin.

“I didn’t even know the school existed before I wrote UTME, but it was a good alternative.”

Changing his university of choice from a federal university to a private university wasn’t a decision he took lightly. For starters, there was the tuition to consider. The average fees at University of Benin was ₦42,000 ($108) per session.  At Igbinedion, he would have to pay  ₦800,000 ($2,000). One thing was sure though. He wouldn’t have to worry about the crippling strikes Academic Staff Union of Universities (ASUU) and other staff unions embarked on every session.

What he didn’t know at the time was that there was something else he would have to worry about.

He was going back to his hostel after writing an exam in the second semester of his first year when he overheard a group of students talking about sourcing for money to give a lecturer.

 “I was not bothered when I heard this. It wasn’t my problem. But I got to the hostel and more students were talking about it.”  

His curiosity got the better of him, prompting him to ask someone what the fuss was about. He got his answer: lecturers in his university were demanding money from students before they passed them. 

They called it “sorting.”

In several universities across the country, students and lecturers are in a symbiotic relationship of exchanging money for marks. More often than not, it happens at the prodding of the lecturer. While it is common and, maybe, not surprising to see this phenomenon play out at public universities, it is strange to see it happen at private universities like Igbinedion University where lecturers are relatively well-paid, aren’t owed salaries and have higher standards to follow. But if Kola’s story is anything to go by, this happens there too.

You either pay up or risk failing a course

Bianca*, a graduate of Ambrose Alli University, a public university at Ekpoma, also in Edo State, was certain that she wouldn’t pay money to any lecturer before she made good grades. She had known about this practice before she started at the school. Her sister had gone to the university and used to talk about it with their dad. At Ambrose Alli University, they called it “blocking.”

Bianca was so comfortable in her certainty that when a classmate advised her to block a course in her first year, she brushed it off. 

“I always felt that it was for students who didn’t study and wanted to pass courses by any means necessary.” 

She got an F in two courses in her first semester at the university. And instinctively, she realised that she had read the situation wrong. She got the message loud and clear.

“From that moment, anytime I heard that there was an opportunity to block a course, I went for it.”

Like Bianca, Kola was also indifferent about it until he failed a course he thought he should have passed in his second year. The truth stared at them — they had to play ball if they wanted to graduate with their mates. 

How does it work?

Richard*, a postgraduate student at Kogi State university — the same school where he got his undergraduate degree —  told me that the lecturers didn’t outrightly demand money from students. Instead, they relied on other students, whom they had relationships with, to do their dirty jobs for them. 

This is the same mode of operation in Igbinedion University and Ambrose Alli University according to Kola and Bianca respectively: to maintain plausible deniability, the lecturers don’t handle the transactions directly. 

 “The deals are usually brokered by the class reps. They ask you to meet them if you’re not sure how you would perform in an exam, so you can ‘work’ it,” Bianca says.

She added that students, especially female students try to steer clear of the lecturers for fear of being propositioned.

Students who can’t pay in cash are expected to pay in kind. For female students, the lecturer may expect sexual favours in return for grades. Male students, on the other hand,  are tasked with buying gifts or rendering some form of service to the lecturer. 

After the payment stage, the lecturers gather the students into their offices and give them fresh answer sheets to rewrite the exam. Only that this time, they’re allowed to use their study materials to answer the questions.

Lecturers at Ambrose Alli University don’t always go through this trouble, especially when they’re dealing with 100 and 200 level students. They simply upgrade their marks. So, a  potential D will change to an A, a B or a C, depending on how much the student paid. 

“Starting from 300 level, the lecturers can’t stamp grades on scripts indiscriminately anymore because there are external examiners who go through scripts to ensure transparency,” Bianca explains. 

The deal is usually upheld, but I wondered what would happen if a lecturer collects money from a student but doesn’t hold up to his or her end of the deal. Bianca and Kola don’t think this ever happens. However,  Richard said that any lecturer who attempts this is making himself a target of violent attacks from disgruntled students.

“If a student pays a lecturer and he reneges on his promise, all bets are off. Chances are that the lecturer will be attacked.”

Sorting is not cheap

 At Ambrose Alli University, students pay between ₦5,000 and ₦20,000 to sort courses. 

“For a 2-unit course, you pay ₦10,000 for an A, ₦8,000 for a B and ₦5,000 for a C.” For 4 and unit courses, you could pay as high as ₦20,000,” Bianca breaks it down.

The minimum wage in Nigeria is currently ₦30,000 (about $77), which doesn’t cut it for a lot of people. Numbers from the National Bureau of Statistics suggest that about 40% (representing 82.9 million Nigerians) live in poverty. Yet, Nigerian lecturers don’t care that most students aren’t working and many of them struggle to get by.

Things are even more interesting at Igbinedion University. The lecturers rely on their own discretion to set a price tag, although the student’s relationship with them plays a role here. 

“The average price to sort a course is between ₦15,000 and ₦40,000. But nothing less than ₦15,000. Students pay up to ₦90,000 (300% the minimum wage) to sort courses in a semester,” Kola reveals. 

The grade a student also gets depends on their relationship with the lecturer. Usually, they settle on a B or a C. A student who sorts his or her course shouldn’t expect an A.

Students at Kogi State University pay the least amount of money to sort their courses. Richard said that the highest sum of money he ever heard anyone pay a lecturer was ₦4,000. The standard charge rests between ₦1,000 and ₦1,500. 

“Most of the students at KSU simply cannot afford to pay huge sums of money. Even when I wrote final year projects for some of my classmates, it was a struggle before I got someone who agreed to pay me ₦17,000. I could have gotten up to ₦40,000 at another university.”

You may wonder how the students afford to pay the lecturers, considering that students register several courses every semester. Bianca’s dad knew about the arrangement and sent money to her every semester. 

“My dad usually sent me about  ₦60,000 every semester to take care of this thing.”

Kola had to handle it himself for the most part. 

“I dipped into my savings to pay lecturers. It wasn’t until I got to 300 level that I told my parents about it. It was hard to convince them that it was just the way things were.”

Richard didn’t partake in sorting, at least not in the conventional sense. He built relationships with the lecturers and leveraged them to get out of paying money. 

“I try to get the lecturer’s attention by asking them questions in class. Sometimes, I visit them at their offices and try to see how I can help them. I made sure to never ask them for favours. Basically, I developed mentor-mentee relationships with them.”

“Everyone knows it happens but no one cares”

Actions have consequences. The authorities responsible for sanctioning the lecturers for their offences are the university management boards. Kola, Bianca and Richard said that if the management knew about the practice, they did nothing about it. One could argue that the management of these schools are not on top of the situation because the students, who are directly affected, keep quiet about it. But it’s more complicated than it seems. Students are scared of reporting to the authorities for fear of retribution. They cannot know which members of the academic staff to trust.

“From the vice-chancellor to the porter, everyone seems to be corrupt.  I don’t think that there’s a lecturer that hasn’t tampered with marks. All of them are guilty. Everyone in management used to be lecturers too,” Richard quips. 

He noted, with sadness, that students have also contributed to the precarious situation. 

“From my experience, the proportion of students who are willing to pay money to sort their courses are far greater than those who aren’t.”

This suggests that students also drive the demand and supply model of this practice. Here’s the thing — students want to pass their courses and want to get the highest grade possible. However, not everyone wants to put in the work. Conveniently, there’s another option they could explore: they part with some money and they pass. These kinds of students will not require a lot of convincing before they embrace grade sorting. In fact, they actively seek it out.

The Aftermath 

Bianca, Kola and Richard are out of school, but they are still reeling from the experience. 

“I hated giving those fuckers my money,” Bianca fumes. “Even though my dad sent about ₦500,000 in total throughout my stay at the school, I used about ₦130,000 to sort my courses. 

Interestingly, Bianca isn’t even sure of the grade she graduated with. 

“My statement of result states that I graduated with a 2.1. But I found my name under the 2.2 category in the convocation list. At the moment, I’m not sure of what I actually graduated with.”

While she might not know her final grade yet, she knows how much the whole experience affected her self-confidence and attitude towards learning. 

“It really fucked with me. At a point, I didn’t see the point of going to classes. But I studied for courses I knew that I didn’t have to block.”

Kola is also demoralised by the sheer insanity of paying to pass courses, especially in a university where he had to pay about  ₦800,000 as tuition every year to remain a student.

“My attitude towards learning took a beating the more I paid to pass courses. The enthusiasm totally fizzled out. If you asked me to mention something useful I gained from the university, I would be at a loss for words.”

Richard is determined to not let the situation haunt him for the rest of his life. He wants to be a part of the system and fight the rot from inside. 

“I want to be a lecturer. I want to bring my own principles and weird ideas to life. I’m not saying that I will be able to stop grade sorting in its entirety, but my students will know me as the lecturer that doesn’t partake in it.”

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Editor’s note: Names have been changed to protect the identity of the subjects.

Students in Nigerian universities have stories to tell, but hardly anyone to tell them to. For our new weekly series, Aluta and Chill, we are putting the spotlight on these students and their various campus experiences.

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This week’s Aluta and Chill is about how unsafe Nigerian campuses can be. From the student who was stuck in an abusive relationship to the student who witnessed female students being drugged at a party, these stories are chilling.

Boma, Female, University of Port Harcourt 

I met this guy in my first month at school. He was older than me by 8 years and was in the penultimate year of his medical degree. I didn’t mind the age difference. I thought it was cool, and that it would be good for me.

It was not. He was an abuser who didn’t waste an opportunity to hurt me. At first, it was only verbal assaults. Then he started to hit me. He promised to stop, and I believed him. However, he physically abused me again and again. 

I was scared every time I was with him. He was unpredictable and could go off on me anytime. I started praying for the session to end, so he could leave the school and me. 

It took me 23 months before I found the courage to leave him. I know I should have left earlier, but I thought he needed me. Even after I walked away from the relationship, I was reeling. I suffered from PTSD for some time. The sight of boys triggered me, even if I knew them. I decided to get help and started seeing a psychologist. The sessions helped, and now, I feel like I’m beginning to remember who I was before I met him. 

Lola, Female, University of Lagos 

This happened at one of the freshers’ parties when I was in 100 level. The plan was to chill there for a while before I returned to my hostel. I didn’t even mingle with anyone — I stood in a spot and watched everything that was going on.

I saw some of the older students slipping something into the drinks of female students. It was stealthy done, but I caught it. I wasn’t sure what I saw until the girls were being led away. It didn’t seem like they were in control of themselves.

I wanted to do something, but I was so scared about what would happen to me if I did. I’d heard stories about girls being drugged at parties, but to see it up-close paralysed me. 

The scene put me off totally, and I knew I had to leave immediately. It worried me so much, but I tried to sleep it off. If I doubted what I saw, it cleared when I heard a couple of students in my hostel talking about it the following day. 

Chisom, Female, University of Nigeria 

Sometime in my second year, I went out to get dinner. The queue at the restaurant was long, and when I returned to my hostel, the gate had been locked. I beckoned to the porter on duty to open the gate, but she ignored me. She thought I was being rude. So there I was, on a street that was almost empty, alone and scared. It didn’t help that there was a noise coming from an area close to where I was. They fought a lot in that place, and I feared that anything could happen in a moment. I became frantic and knocked more loudly, but nobody opened the gate.

A car pulled up beside me. Initially, I thought it was one of the security officers on patrol and felt some relief. But it was just a male student. I also thought he wanted to help me beg the porter, but he had other ideas. He gave me a speech about how a fight had broken out and how it was headed in my direction. I was borderline anxious now.

This guy asked me to follow him — he didn’t even say where — so he could keep me safe. I thanked him for the offer and explained that I was safer in front of my hostel. However, he kept coaxing me to come with him. He seemed desperate, and that worried me. He was even gently pulling me in the direction of his car. I was scared that he might force me into the car, but at the same time, I didn’t want him to leave.

Luckily, one of the people who lived in the hostel saw what was going on and alerted the porter. The lady eventually opened the gate, and when I looked back to thank the guy, he’d disappeared. 

Timothy, Male, University of Calabar

It was 2017. Cultism was at an all-time high on campus. A church member from home came to write the university’s post-UTME, and I had to pick him up so he could spend the night with me. On our way to my hostel, we were accosted by another student. I recognised him as one of the dreaded cultists on campus. Let’s call him A.

The boy I was with wore a cap that had a touch of red, and that was why A stopped us. I tried to calm him down, explaining that the kid wasn’t a student and was only in school to write an examination. I knew we might be in trouble when one of the university security officers passed and he and A hailed each other. The man knew it was a hostage situation and went on his way. Eventually, I managed to calm A down, and he let us go. But I couldn’t stop thinking about the security guy and what he did.

And oh, by the way, A is late now. He was shot dead in his final year.

Oliver, University of Benin

I was returning to school from a trip to Warri, and I got back late to Osasogie — a community close to the school. The Keke operators had closed for the day, so I had to walk to my hostel. Everything was great for a minute until two guys appeared from the darkness and flashed a gun at me. My survival instincts went on an overdrive. I didn’t think much. I kicked the guy closest to me, and I ran. To my horror, they followed. 

Unfortunately, my glasses fell off, and I crashed into the ground. In no time, they caught up with me again. Everything was a blur from that moment. They stabbed me a couple of times. When they were done, they took everything I had on me. I managed to get myself to my hostel, and I was rushed to the health centre. I spent two days there. 

Are you currently studying in Nigeria or elsewhere and have a story to share about your life in school? Please take a minute to fill this form and we will reach out to you ASAP.

Can’t get enough Aluta and Chill? Check back every Thursday at 9 AM for a new episode. Find other stories in the series here.

Students in Nigerian universities have stories to tell, but hardly anyone to tell them to. For our new weekly series, Aluta and Chill, we are putting the spotlight on these students and their various campus experiences.

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Last weekend, I wasn’t sure what this week’s Aluta and Chill theme would be. I got my “eureka” moment during a casual conversation with one of the subjects when he complained about his school health services. This triggered a painful memory of an event that happened to someone I knew when I was at university. And I figured that I might be onto something. It looks like I was right — from the student who holds her school clinic responsible for the death of a student to the student who doesn’t understand why he was almost refused treatment because of his appearance, it appears that that two major obstacles stand in the way of students and quality healthcare at school: Poorly run facilities and unsympathetic and disrespectful medical personnel.

Seyi, Ladoke Akintola University — “A student needed an ambulance but it wasn’t available. He died.”

The clinic at my school is poorly-equipped, so it’s always a struggle every time I’ve gone there. One time, I was attacked by dogs and needed to get an anti-rabies shot — they didn’t have it. The good thing is I survived every time. A student wasn’t so lucky. 

In my second year, a guy slumped during a football match, and he was rushed to the school clinic. He had trouble breathing and needed to be on oxygen support. However, the oxygen cylinders were empty. The school clinic had a weird habit of referring cases they couldn’t handle to Bowen University Teaching Hospital, even though the school had its own teaching hospital, and it was closer to the school. That wasn’t even the problem this time — the ambulance that would have conveyed him to the hospital wasn’t available. Why? Someone at the clinic had sent the driver out to buy food. Before they could sort out the logistics and get the student the help needed, he died.

The events that led to his death riled the student population up and led to a protest. Of course, no one took responsibility for the tragedy. The school management only released a statement and expected life to continue. While this wasn’t a personal experience, it hurt deeply.

Ihenacho, Electrical Engineering, Landmark University — “They said I needed a blood transfusion, but I didn’t”

I always hated going to the hospital, but I had to go to my school clinic earlier this year. I had passed out at the school cafeteria. The nurses on duty didn’t waste time before they chalked it down to malaria. I suspected that they got the diagnosis wrong, making me uncomfortable. I demanded to see a doctor and requested a blood test. It took hours before I got both, but thank God I did. It wasn’t malaria.

My blood level was a little low. The doctor said I had to do a blood transfusion and that it had to be done immediately. I was like “what?” I didn’t know much, but I knew that a blood transfusion was usually for severe cases of blood loss. It wasn’t like I was in critical condition. Besides, they hadn’t informed my parents. I refused and notified my parents. After spending a few days at the hospital, I knew I couldn’t trust them anymore. I went home and to another hospital and did more tests. They didn’t suggest a blood transfusion and didn’t even think I needed one. Thinking about that experience still freaks me out. 

Aziz, Accounting, University of Ilorin — “The nurse wouldn’t treat me because of my… haircut.”

My friend and I had a bike accident on our way to buy food. We sustained multiple injuries, and we knew we had to play it safe and go to the clinic. But it was very late in the night, and they’d locked the school gate. Luckily, we managed to stop the bleeding that night. 

We went to the school clinic very early the following morning. It took hours before we saw a doctor. After taking a look at our wounds, he wrote us a prescription and directed us to the nurses. This was where it got real — the nurses said they wouldn’t treat us. They claimed that my hair was too full, and my friend’s nails were too long. After a series of back and forth, they agreed to tend to my wounds only because a barbershop wasn’t in the area. But my friend had to chew his nails right there before they treated him. It was so wild!

Zainab, Computer Science, University of Lagos — “The nurses went off on me because of a card.”

I went to the clinic once, and I almost wished that I hadn’t. It was during my first year at school. One minute, I was fine, but I developed a fever in the next. I wanted to go home, but my roommate suggested the clinic. Besides, it was already late. The struggle started from the second I stepped foot at the clinic. First, they wanted to send me back because I didn’t come during their “working hours.” They relaxed their stance when they realised how high my body temperature was.

After that, they asked to see my clinic card, which I didn’t have. I was confused momentarily, and that was all they needed to go off on me. They didn’t hold back their words, and this went on for about 15 minutes. I was dying, but these people thought it was fun to be vicious and mean. Anyway, they opened a temporary file for me and sent me to the doctor. The doctor wasn’t warm either — she was in quite a mood. 

My fever got worse during the night. My roommates rushed me back the next morning. The card thing came up again, which was weird because I was just there the previous night, and they opened a file for me. Obviously, it didn’t go into their records. And from where they were standing, that was my fault. I was in bad shape, but that didn’t stop them from going off on me again. I didn’t understand how they found it so easy to be mean. When they eventually got over themselves and attended to me, it turned out there were no vacant beds. I had to stay at the nurses’ station until my sister arrived later that day and took me home. I’m never going back there. 

Mobola, University of Ilorin — “I needed a tetanus shot, and I almost missed an assignment deadline because of it.”

I was working on a school project — a one-bedroom apartment model — when I cut myself. I didn’t even think it was a big deal and continued with my life. When I was making a last-minute adjustment to my design, I decided to be cute. I took a picture of the wound and sent it to my mum, hoping she would just say sorry and probably send me money. Nope! She freaked out and demanded that I go to the school clinic for a tetanus shot. She didn’t relent when I told her that I had an assignment to submit in a few hours.

I got to the clinic, and the line was freakishly long. I would have left, but my mum was calling me every second to make sure I was there. When it got to my turn, I realised that I needed a clinic card. They refused to attend to me without one, even when I explained my deadline situation. 

I needed a passport photograph to get a card, and I thought I was lucky because I had one with me. However, they rejected it because it had a white background and the acceptable background was red. I mentioned my assignment again, but it didn’t inspire sympathy. Now, I was frustrated and close to tears. I dashed out to get a new passport and rushed back. The entire process was so stressful that I wondered why I even went there at all.

Finally, I got what I needed. Now, it was me against time. I raced down to my hostel to get my design and ran the rest of the way to class. I got there just seconds before the deadline. Everyone had even submitted their assignment, but I knew the class rep, and that worked in my favour. I learned my lesson though — the clinic is not the best place to go in dire situations. 

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Are you currently studying in Nigeria or elsewhere and have a story to share about your life in school? Please take a minute to fill this form and we will reach out to you ASAP.

Can’t get enough Aluta and Chill? Check back every Thursday at 9 AM for a new episode. Find other stories in the series here.

Students in Nigerian universities have stories to tell, but hardly anyone to tell them to. For our new weekly series, Aluta and Chill, we are putting the spotlight on these students and their various campus experiences.

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The subjects of this week’s Aluta and Chill are 5 students from different Nigerian universities. They talk about managing their finances at school, a memorable time a careless financial decision made them broke, and the lessons they learned from the experience.

Ekubiatobong, Female, University of Uyo

My allowance every month was ₦25000, and it was usually enough for me. However, I didn’t think to save at all because I didn’t see a need to. This would come back to bite me.

There was a month when I spent more than usual on my school and living expenses and finished my allowance. When I realised how dire the situation was, I tried to ration what was left, but it was too late. Things took an unfavourable turn when I was down to ₦100, and my next allowance was a week away. 

I couldn’t call my dad, so I did the next best thing and called my sister. She told me that she would get back to me, but I knew what that meant. She wasn’t going to bail me out. 

I managed to go to class the next morning, skipping breakfast because I couldn’t afford it. During the hours I spent in class, I was in low spirits, and everything I saw irritated me. I hadn’t had a meal when I left the campus in the evening. When I got home, an unusual thing happened. A friend came to visit me and brought food. It couldn’t have come at a better time. 

The night was sorted, but I knew I had no plans for the following day. I was flat-out broke. It turned out that luck was on my side because my sister came through and sent ₦5000 to me. 

A lot of things have changed since that time. I’m more independent now and more responsible with my finances. Also, I have a partner, and I always feel the need to have something saved up because either of us could need it at any time. 

Beatrice*, Female, Afe Babalola University

I started a clothing line business when I got into school and poured everything I could save from the monthly allowance I got from my parents into it, and it picked up nicely. It was something I always fell back on because I hated asking my parents for money all the time. 

Sometime last year, I ran out of my allowance earlier than usual, but I was convinced that I wasn’t in trouble. I thought the business would hold me until my next allowance came. Unfortunately, I ran into a problem with delivery. Most of the orders I got were from people outside the school. However, it was impossible to get the product to them because of my school security system. 

I thought I would make some sales at school, but that didn’t happen. All my plans were tied to making money from the business, and when things didn’t go to plan, I became short on money. I remember having ₦2000 left and trying to make it last for a week. That was when it hit me that I was broke. 

It killed me to do it, but I knew I had to let my parents know what was going on. Even though they weren’t in the country at the time, they sent something to me. But It took three days before I got the money. Those three days were hell for me. It was so bad that I couldn’t afford to buy food anymore — I lived on cereals. 

By the time I eventually got the money, I had learned an important lesson — I realised that it didn’t make sense to plan around money I hadn’t gotten. Now, I’m at a good point with my finances. I’m saving more and the business is doing better. So, maybe I needed to have that experience.

Mtchy, Male, University of Calabar

My dad typically sends me money every week. But one week, he made a mistake and transferred the week’s allowance twice. When he realised what had happened, he instructed me to keep the extra money and use it to sort myself out the following week. The smart thing to do was to save and work with my weekly budget, but the money seemed like a huge amount to me. I couldn’t help myself, and I squandered the bulk of it on food. 

I sobered up quickly when I came to terms with what I had done, and what it meant for me. However, it was too late. I resorted to walking to school every day for an entire week. In the middle of this, I got a cut on one of my feet. The pain was unbearable, but it was either I sucked it up or skipped classes since I couldn’t afford to take a cab to my lectures.

Sometimes, a friend helped with food, but that was it. All through the period, I was thinking about the decision making that got me there. Man, I lost a lot of weight before the ordeal was over. I survived it, though. After that, I took my budgets more seriously. I cannot go through that again.

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Yemisi, Female, University of Lagos

At the end of every session, every hostel at my school organises pageants as part of the Hall Week celebrations. I was in my first year, and I had no plans to participate until my roommate brought it up. She gassed me up so much that I was pretty convinced that I would win. 

I told mum about it, but she was against the idea. She didn’t think the money I was going to spend was worth it. It should have ended there, but I decided to go ahead, even though I knew that I would have to finance it myself.

I decided to use my weekly allowance to sponsor my participation. Every week they sent money to me from home, I used most of it to prepare for the pageant. The plan was that I would win the grand prize and recover everything I’d spent. 

Finally, the pageant’s grand finale took place, but did I win? Nope! All my money went down the drain. I needed to figure out a way to survive the week. There was no way I could call home because my mum told me not to go ahead. I couldn’t ask my friends for help either. For the entire period, I lived off my bunkmate. It wasn’t an ideal situation, but I understood that a couple of bad decisions got me there. I think I needed to learn that lesson.

Chelsea, Female, University of Nigeria

In my second year, I bought a couple of things I didn’t need from my pocket money and didn’t leave enough for emergencies. Unluckily for me, I had to spend some more money on faculty and department dues. I knew I was broke when I had only ₦2000 left in my account. To make things worse, my bank debited me for some charge before I could make a withdrawal.

I didn’t have up to the amount I wanted to withdraw anymore. I didn’t have a lot of options, so I toss my ego aside and asked one of my friends to transfer some money into my account. But that wasn’t the end. 

I returned to my room and dropped the cash on my bed before I went out for a bit. When I got back, I saw only one ₦1000 note on my bed. I looked everywhere for the other note, but I couldn’t find it. My frustration gave in to resignation, and I had a big “If I perish, I perish” moment.

I went out to blow the ₦1000 on food. I went to a restaurant and ordered a nice plate of food. But something extraordinary happened before I finished eating, I got an alert of ₦5000. It was a dividend from an investment put some money into. It was enough to keep me together for some time. I realised that the situation happened because I got my priorities wrong. From that moment, I became deliberate about spending money on my needs rather than my wants.

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Can’t get enough Aluta and Chill? Check back every Thursday at 9 AM for a new episode. Find other stories in the series here.

Students in Nigerian universities have stories to tell, but hardly anyone to tell them to. For our new weekly series, Aluta and Chill, we are putting the spotlight on these students and their various campus experiences.

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We don’t talk about it enough but affordable accommodation or the lack of it is a problem students face in tertiary institutions across the country. To be fair, a lot of universities have hostels managed by the management, but they are hardly enough to accommodate a reasonable percentage of students studying there.  Some students have to find accommodation outside the university grounds and often more than not, they  pay through their nose for it.

These are some of the accommodation problems Nigerian students face, but as you’ll  find out from the students I talked to for this story, there’s more they worry about. Why don’t you dive in and read?

Aramide, Lagos State University — I ran into a group of cultists

There are no school-run hostels on campus and the few private ones available are way out of budget. A lot of students are forced to find alternatives outside the school campus, even though most of them are not entirely safe – I’m one of such students.

In my first year, a friend and I went to visit another female friend who lived in PPL, an area known for cheap hostels and its poor security system. She wasn’t home, so we turned back to return to our apartment.

We were still fresh and didn’t know that it was a sin to greet or hail people we didn’t know. We flouted the rule, loudly greeting people as we went on our way. Before we got out of the area, a group of guys accosted us and demanded to know who we were. They accused us of wearing their colours too— another thing we didn’t know. 

I immediately made them out as cultists and kept quiet. My friend, on the other hand, was naive and thought we could talk our way out of the situation. His confidence riled the guys up and they pulled a gun on us. I’d never seen one at such close distance, and for a moment, I thought that was it. I’m not sure if I was able to hide my fears because sweat was trickling down my face.

My friend’s tone changed, and together, we started pleading for our lives. They asked us to bring out our valuables. I left my phone at home, but my friend had his phone and a can of perfume he’d just bought on him. They didn’t take the phone because it was old, but they took the perfume from him. They sprayed some of it on us in mockery. After they’d had their fun, they instructed us to run like our lives depended on it, and boy did we!

Kalu Deborah, University of Nigeria, Nsukka — I was forced to live with a friend 

Hostels in my university are allocated on a first-come, first-served basis. The sooner you pay your school fees, the higher your chances of getting a room. You’d think it’s an easy process, but the school has a way of making it extremely difficult. The application portal could crash, they could assign the same corner to different people, or they could assign people to non-existent corners.

In my 4th year, it didn’t look like I was going to get a space in the hostel. When a friend I had known since I came to write Post-UTME told me that she paid someone to ensure that she got a room, I asked if I could pay half of the money so we could stay  together. She agreed to this and that was supposed to be all. 

I understood the risk here. There was a possibility that she’d ask me to move out before the session ended and I decided to be proactive. I drew up an agreement on paper and asked her to sign it, but she refused. That was when I knew something was wrong. 

I was out of school on a weekend when I got a text message from her. She claimed that one of her cousins who was studying nursing had asked to stay with her and she couldn’t refuse. That was obviously a lie because first year nursing students  stay on a different campus. She was clear with her demands, though — she wanted me to move out.

I was livid, but there was nothing I could do about it. I went back to school and went to her room to remove my stuff. In the middle of doing that, she walked in and started running her mouth about how assertive I was by asking her to sign an agreement. The more she talked, the more my anger grew. To be honest, I was very close to physically assaulting her. Thankfully, another friend allowed me to stay in her room temporarily. Not long after,  ASUU strike happened, which gave me time to find an alternative solution. Another friend took me in and I stayed in her room until the session ended.

John*,  Madonna University — I wrote an exam under stressful circumstances

For a private university, the state of student hostels in my school is very poor. There’s always something to deal with, especially power and water issues.

When I was in 200 level, I had to write a couple of professional exams that would determine if I’d move to the next year. On the second day the exams started, word got to us that the school generator had developed a fault. The boys hostel was totally reliant on generator sets, which ran from 6 PM to 6 AM every day. We had found a way to work with that, but we weren’t going to get any electricity that night. 

Everyone was confused and at a loss for what to do. We had important exams to write the following day, and there was no way we could study. The frustration everyone felt was palpable.

There was a church 30 minutes away, and they always had light . Normally, this wasn’t a distance anyone was comfortable walking, but the stakes were high. We moved to the church in droves and turned it into a makeshift study centre —  that was a stressful night.

I was an emotional wreck when I wrote the exam the following day. Fortunately, it wasn’t a disaster. I did pass the exam, but maybe I would have done better if the living situation was better.

Precious, University of Ilorin — I went through hell before I found a hostel

My school admits more students than the hostel facilities can accommodate. They try to give preference to first-year students, but the spaces are simply not enough to accommodate the  population. 

In my first year, I resumed late to school. The  school hostels were already at full capacity and most of the hostels outside the campus [ in the student-populated areas] were also occupied. For some time, I stayed with a family friend who lived in the town but I didn’t like it there. For starters, it was some distance from the university, so it made sense that I really wanted to leave.

Every Saturday, I’d leave the house to walk the length of the student areas, hoping to find a house that had a room that wasn’t occupied. This took hours of my time every weekend, yet most of the hostels I saw were crawling with students . It was a dark period.

I met someone who offered me a good deal, but when I saw the building, I knew that I couldn’t live there. The building was practically uncompleted. Anyway, I continued my search. Finally, I got a hostel but here was the thing — the hostel was one big room with bunk beds. There were about 21 occupants, and everyone shared the same room and one bathroom. I was desperate to find something, so I took it. It wasn’t fun living there at all. I was the youngest of the lot and the guys made me do most of the work. It was like I was living in a secondary school hostel with bullies for seniors. 

Paul, Abia State University — I have to live with a roommate

I stayed in the school hostel in my first year at school but it was a struggle to get used to it. I couldn’t choose my roommate. Besides, the sheer number of students allocated to each room didn’t sit well with me. The worst part of this was how unclean the hostel was. The toilets were the worst thing you would find. I couldn’t get used to the unhygienic living conditions.

When the session ended, I moved out and decided to stay off-campus. However, finding accommodation that had everything I was looking for — water, power, and close proximity to the school — was a little difficult. And when I found one that met all my requirements, I realized  that I didn’t have the budget for it. It was either I figured it out or go back to the  hostel. The alternative was to get a roommate, whom I’d split the rent with, and that’s what I did. 

For the most part, my quality of life has improved. However, I could do without a roommate. He’s not bad but his presence means that I can’t do a lot of things without considering his convenience, and this is very restrictive for me. There’s a lot of things I would like to do but cannot because of my roommate. It’s been one hell of a ride but I’ve decided to stay alone from the next session. It’s about time.

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Can’t get enough Aluta and Chill? Check back every Thursday at 9 AM for a new episode. Find other stories in the series here.