ACW-UA BI - WEEKLY PUBLICATION || ISSUE 01 || April 7, 2021

HOW COULD I BE?

Beautiful is a word I rarely think about. Especially with the stereotypical definition of what or means in our life. I always felt certain that nothing could indeed be objectively beautiful. The day I was employed to be a bodyguard to Usman Na'allah, my eye fell on beauty. The type that made me imagine her as the only good thing in life. Later on, I discovered she was Yesmeen, the daughter of my employer. The Na'allah family consists of the father and the three women he could legally impregnate. I was employed to take care of all security threats to Usman, the first born son of the first wife. When I eventually became the bodyguard, a position I strived with about 97 people to get. My understanding opened to realise that the only security threat this food-full, head-empty piece of lucky sperm would ever face was in the issue of his heart. 

His deluxe which only he (plus me. I followed him everywhere even into the toilet.) I could go to, & his deluxe was full of Romance text. The type I thought only teenagers read, not full-grown men. On one of our escapades in the deluxe, always firmly locked behind us. Usman asked what I thought of the reactions of citizens to the Government's new decision. Yet I wondered, how on earth, love related to a newspaper report. Truth be told, what I thought wasn't necessary. What he wanted to hear was instead.

"What the Jonathan regime did yesterday was needed. Although hard. Very hard for any ordinary citizen."

"Thank GOD, I ain't an ordinary citizen. I am a fuel merchant son." The leaves of the paperback flipped violently. And the Crunching of the neatly deep fryed chin echoed afterwards.

"Is Yesmeen good enough for me?"

I knew this was coming. For the past two months, anytime we heard of or saw Yesmeen, he always had that faint red glimpse which I thought only bloodied black shit had.

"More than enough Sir!" The sofa I was sitting on was deeply padded. And it made me sit confrontationally against Usman's adjustable leather chair. At his back, was the entrance. I saw whoever came in.

"But she don't look at me at all."

"She does, maybe you do not notice her."

"Notice?" He dropped the book facedown on the marble table, the spine spread. "Do you know how many times I have been commended on my ability to notice a growing infatuation? Or the number of female wowed by my literary poweress? I know when a girl doesn't look at me."

"You never know."

"Yes, I don't. But I think my friend, Toheeb would." He picked up his book, his supple flesh flapping to produce a noticeable sweat patch. I knew Toheeb-everyone knew him. And he was in a rare breed of crafty humans. He was a man who could engineer the process for a brother-in-law to sleep with his brother's wife. A human that had a track record of making married women fight over him in front of their husbands. 

Toheeb was no good friend. And everyone knew that. Except of course, Usman. Usman only noticed the unnecessary good part of a life. Like the sugar particles in a soup or white muscus on a dirty maiden. His sight only concentrated on the Irrelevant good parts. The Na'allah patriarch had given me direct employer instructions not to allow both of them come in contact with each other. But how could I prevent this relationship? How could I stop an emotional Yin from meeting his Yang. It was impossible. Usman rose up, lifting a coloured ribbon to put between the books he was reading. It was to show where he stopped for a next time.

I do not think it was Usman who called Toheeb to come yet his dangerous presence got everyone scurrying. He was known to have a sharp mouth and a large stomach. The Goliath type of Stomach. Toheeb asked Usman why he was sad? Usman kept staring at Toheeb, Before answering, "Have told you not to ask that question again. I am ok. Whatever sadness you think you are seeing is a product of your imagination."

Toheeb raised his brow, surveying the parlour, his eyes rested on me at Usman's right side. His eyes were on Usman as he talked to me. 

"Waiter, I am hungry, please bring something to eat." Usman gave a radical laugh, the type that make it seem his fat had left him for sometimes. But he didn't try to correct the impression I was making. He rather added "and bring mine too." The way Usman said it, it was as that of a pregnant man in laughter yet even in that way, his word was a command. I unclasped my hands and the creaking door announced my exit from the room. At the other side of the door, a server was with a slate of Chin-Chin and another with a pack of milk. The third was coming with two coolers. All along they had hidden behind the door, fearful of Toheeb yet wise enough to know they couldn't go too far away. I collected the Chin-Chin and milk beckoning for the third to follow me inside. Unlike the two, he was dressed in a clothing of his choice. Almost like me.

"I have told you several times that is the only way you can get her." Toheeb was still sitting on the couch, however this time, only a part of his butt was on the chair. His whole hands gesticulating. I knew what he had done in other times to give him ways to get Yesmeen. But it seemed they always didn't work or probably he didn't apply them. Toheeb, smiled to me, relaxing back on the chair. The glance I with slices of horror. I turned my face back to Toheeb, His hands were already grappling over the Chin-Chin. 

"Food-monger junior." I mouthed. I turned on my heels, back to the door, my socks smoozing perfectly well with the tetazzoed floor. I continued watching them while the TV got their attention. Whatever Toheeb advised this time was serious. And Usman was likely going to do it.

On Wednesday, through inter-com my boss told me to see him, he had a feverish time to his voice while he spoke. I said my prayers before going to the next door. On the bed, Usman's bed was ruffled and vain. In his naked upper body and blue shorts. I couldn't recognise him.

"What happened?"

"I don't know." Immediately he said that, he had to raise himself up, propping his back on his King George IV bed with a pillow. "I think it is is because of eating two much with Toheeb."

"Too much? I don't think it is that. You eat more than that on some days and even feel healthy."

"Not today! Inform my father that I am sick." 

I wasn't happy that it seem he was rushing something. Yet I called his father with the intercom and gave it to the Usman to speak. Rejection of the handset was his first gamble. It didn't work. So he had to take it.

"n-not fi-a-a-a-e,"

"mor-r-r-e th-h-a-a-n headache." 

And many other deliciously slurred response was what he provided. From the smile, while Usman beared his phone call I knew whatever he had planned was what playing. He dropped the theme and again carried his deadly face ablaze.

"Baba is coming. To check me. Get everyone prepared."

"Yes Sir.!"

I left his presence. And delivered the message to the head of interior activities. Whatever was happening was acting. The type that couldn't win an Oscar although fair enough for a national award. That day, I wore a black corporate suit, making the watch stand out from my demure shirt. From the walls that put us in different rooms, the loud laughter of Usman was something I wasn't used to. My ears befriended the walls in an attempt to know why he was so delighted. I had never seen a sick man laugh so heartily. It was unnatural, near fake. The rumbles of his discussion however, did not manage to pour out from behind the walls. For that, I came directly to the front door, in the hope that I would hear the real gist from there. I did. It was a temporary musing.

My stance in his front door was an epitome of inactivity tell his father decided to appear. The Na'allah patriarch had definitely made time to be with his first son because he came in an exodus of his muscular vehicles syllogized with regular bouncers. The kind that only had lumps of flesh yet no skill or wisdom. From the sitting room, I led the acid-bleached man with his two guys to the room.

Usman was now worst off. And I begin to think the wide women who kept going and coming had a part in this. The tissues of his fat were oblivious, his face shadowy and blank. I turned to one side of the chamber.

"Usman what sickness is this?"

"Baba, oh it is you. I do not know what this is. But even the gum of my teeth shakes, marrows of my joints frozes. I do not think this illness has been named."

Na'allah's hand rolled on his Son slowly. "What is this that Allah has done?" He stood from the fluffy bed. His bodyguards moving back to give him an avenue to crisscross as he willed, to think.

"I have been warned that a day luke this would come. But I chose not to believe it. Yet, seeing my first born. You, the first product of my loins become nearly wasted. I have to do it. I have to."

Even if Usman was really sick. Why couldn't he be taken to the Hospital. Whatever the cost, the Na'allah family wouldn't definitely feel it.

"Ameer, call Yesmeen. It I the devil who will shed tears of defeat not I." He sat down back, nestling his son, while the lighter or the two, was busy on the phone. From my angle it seem one of his hand was shorter than the the other. But such I observation could only lead to the downfall of anyone who tried ri attack him.

"Seriki, Yesmeen asked when?" The phone dangled in his shorter hand.

"Now! Ameer! Now! Can't you see my son?"

Ameer delivered the same message with force to Yesmeen. And from the loudspeaker, we could all hear Yesmeen say she was on her way.

One of the few things that make .e happy as a man is Yesmeen. And the sole reason am callimg her is that I am assured of her caring excellence." He raised his left hands toward the older guard. "It was her who nursed me to health during that time of my tribulation. Those unfortified days."

Truth be told, I was getting stressed. His presence had forced me to offer even an higher level of service. The kind that could entince proprietors. However, this talk about Yesmeen set a series of thought in my mind. Did the sleeping man know that this was what his father would do? Was this what Toheeb advised? Or was he truly sick and by luck Yesmeen was to take care of him?

Some minutes after noting that Usman had truly slept. He whispered about how innocent his son still was. I laughed, knowing the extent of my immediate boss's innocence. It was something close to a married prostitute. Na'allah stood up, removing his cap to crop his hair, then facing me.

"Your credentials have gone before you. Make it of much use I my son's life." He left the room, cap in hand with the smile his official photographs knew him with. The mad man's theme.

I didn't know when Yesmeen xmae but the fragrance of her dish for him was something. It announced her. Even as she dropped her food down the passage where the sitting room was. The great smell made it a rough day for my stomach. And her beauty, a terrible ones for my groin.

"Is Usman in?" She asked pensively, her hijab folded in two lumps around her model-like neck. The words from her mouth made put it in mind that she wasn't a little girl any longer . She now has the throaty tinge of a woman in her late twenties. My eyes wanted to wander off on her body like an adventure and it would have. If not for her creamy brown eyes that shot me at my heart. 

"Yes. I would tell him your food is ready."

Usman was wide awake and at the edge of his bed watching analysis of that analysis of that night European football. 

"Yesmeen said the food is done and you should come to eat."

"Yesmeen has been in here and you did not tell me all along?"

My sealed lips made him rise, I at first thought towards me but I realized it was to his wardrobe. "Send anyone away from the house. If a command does not work, use threat. And be fast about it." 

His words was my command. Despite the impracticability of his threat. "Tell Yesmeen to come in."

"Sah?" Did Usman understand what he was doing. He alone with a female in a room.

"Tell Yesmeen to come in. And bring the dish I prepared after chasing those people away."

"He is unable to do anything. I think it would be better you see him personally to understand the gravity of his illness."

"Gravity? You think I didn't hear footsteps in that room?"

"They were all mine." I moved away from the entrance. And said, "he is expecting you." I walked away, the household staff were either going to be in the kitchen or outside. So my first call was the kitchen. It was easy telling all of them to leave the compound, then on and searched around the compound. Noone.

Then back to Yesmeen's dish. My fingers creased the creased the soup top and I lapped it in my tongue. That soup defined good food. A knock at the door and I entered, Usman was in an exhilarated form, yet still kept himself static. Yesmeen was rummaging his wears. I dropped the food at his tableside.

"Why did you bring the dish here?"

"I thought it was wiser that way."

"Wiser? Methinks it is a step of folly." She was barefooted now. I noticed that as she turned to me. "You can go now."

I didn't bother to go to my room or even outside. My legs stayed right at the door and I listened. 

"Usman Sabiu Jamdal Na'allah do you have to go through all these faking to get me?"

"You don't need to act those things you are doing. I very well know what you want and you know I know." Her voice was getting higher and higher. I couldn't catch Usman voice.

"Lay with you? What sacrilege? I didn't believe you could go to that extent." The raspings of her footsteps got nearer and I tiptoed down the passage. When the door didn't open, I knew Usman had used one of those his slippery methods. I strode back again.

"Are you crazy? Not even considering invest, you are not worthy the lay with me. Even your guard has a better chance?"

My mouth widened and my groin grew hotter.

"Don't do this. Usmannnn... Don't….In the name of Allah please... Don't…" Moanings filled the air for a long time. Was I man enough to be her prince charming. Who would save her? Did I really want to save that luscious looking beauty? Thumpling and scuffle & some ah-ah.

A little weeping & you would pay fit these. 

Then I heard the sound of a satisfied man. It was not at all a family of belching, it was more similar to the whispers of a woman. If I could change the hand of time. I now knew I wouldn't help her. I couldn't.

"Breakthrough!" I was still at the door side when he called my name but I didn't respond. Did he expect me to step into their presence in her forced nudity and his patriarch nakedness. I could if he wanted me to.

"I trust him enough that he would have gone away. You know I thought you would be as sweet as you looked. I am disappointed. You aren't. So I am done with you. You aren't worth any pain or stress."

"Of course! I am done with you. If possible, i do not want to lay my eyes on you again because you potrayed what you were not." Only whimpering of a defeated woman sieved through the door.

"Get out!" I have heard enough. You aren't even a virgin, so why all these. Get out I said."

Flesh hit flesh and a heightened cry escape the wood panels. 

"River" by Bishop Briggs started playing. On the dial, it was Usman calling with his intercom number. I cut the call by putting it in airplane mode. Few seconds later I turned the airplane mode off. My joints weren't in favour of my standing up and they showed their displeasure by causing much pain and they managed to convince my knuckles to join the campaign. Yet even though my knocks were slight creases on his door. He told me to come in.

As I would repeat again. I am a poor storyteller and even worst, a descriptor. Even at that, I pitied Yesmeen. The kind you would pity an old woman who killed her sextet with her own hands. She was a virgin and hey blood was sprawled in runny lines where she laid, whispering. Usman was at his side of his bed. Changing stations. His upper body was clothless, his lower, rolled in a towel.

"Get this woman out of my sight! Throw her out!"

"What will happen when Seriki hears?"

"Nothing." He was still standing but this time, he has a book in hand, which he pinned to the wall and wrote on.

"I told you to send her out. I have tasted what I wanted and I am not satisfied. And if I couldn't with a goddess like her, will I be with a whore? Oh just take her, her shouts are stabbing my heart."

His thinking Na'allah would do nothing surprised me but in lifting Yesmeen, I was too much in shock. Despite the grandeur and strength that she seemed to have. She was still tender. Still budding. Yesmeen didn't struggle with me or try to go against me. She remained vulnerable with the flow. I pitied her. And carried her off to the vehicle. Even with her blood-stained clothes, she was dry. Very dry. 

On the express, her soul asked where we were going and I told her to heaven. We were going to heaven where I would ravish her.

EPILOGUE

I hate pop-ups nevertheless when I saw a prompt about the Na'allah heir suicide. I loved the news. But I didn't show my wife.

After coming back from voting, what I had in mind was to lay down and watch whether "change" would keep office or the former customs officer would win. Junior and Jamdal did not allow me to enjoy the lying down aspect but I could keep the TV aspect albeit with a distracted glaze. Then another prompt. It was a message from an unknown number. In my line of work, it was suspicious enough. But I opened it.

"Breakthrough, you are the nearest person I have to a friend in this world. So when you see this message four years after my death. Know that it is because my message has no other portal to the human world except through you. From whem I went to school, my father placed Yesmeen as a peculiarity I could not understand. I only knew I wanted to be Yesmeen. To be perfect.

To say my secondary school days were better is true, but only in the surface level. If I dear to tamper with the emotions that ran underneath it. You would drop this message from intricacies and complex narrations. Yesmeen was a goddess. A deity I learnt from books that could only be connected with when worshipped or was it praised? And I did. I praised her exceedingly well & in the words of my classmate, "as if she was my god?' Still, her peculiarity wasn't attainable. It seemed even wider with a large gulley between us.

Yesmeen never knew all these and till now will not know except you told her. It was then my eyes fell on literature of men like me. Although some of the relationship wasn't like mine. A part of me was adequately articulated in their writings. To reach Yesmeen's celestial nature. I had to do it as it was done on the beginning. I had to know her.

So I employed you because she wanted to know you. Yes, Breakthrough! She wanted to know you. With you as an amour in my Armoury I knew it was only a matter of time to get to know her. Toheeb laid the strategy, you served as the bait. I was the Knower. That day I was to know Yesmeen and become celestial, perfect and a god.

As I write this, you are about to carry Yesmeen from the bed. And I am disappointed. Yesmeen is far from the goddess I conceived her to be. My lips have sought her elixir and the dredges of the aftertaste are as sour as the main course. She wasn't perfect, she wasn't a god and not even Celestial, so if she wasn't. How could I be?"

 Testimony Akinkunmi is a first year student of law at the University of Abuja. He is a story teller, analyst, book reviewer, researcher and essayist. 

BLOOD OF THE TREASON

Let me remind thee

of the tasteful breast 

that lay upon our mother's chest

Flowing in the veins

of the black like

Negro speak river 

Listen to the forebares,

You'll hear them telling

the story of Kinta kunte 

Have you forgotten

how our mothers were naked and

chained in the dungeon

of the whitehead? 

How can you leave away

the sand and hold

onto the dust? 

The whitehead finished the 

water in the pot and 

give us the dirt to suck

Ah!!!!!!! 

Why bathing in the dugout

when we own the river?

Drowning in the tainted blood

when the river belongs to black. 

The treason blood keeps

running in the black vein.

Dwell not in the treason

blood for it a taboo

in our land 

Let's go back to our fatherland

They will lead us back to

our mother's chest

where the blood running

in  Blacks vein beneath.

 © UDOTS

   Olawunmi Yakub is a outstanding poet, currently a student of the University of Abuja 

    THE MISUSE OF SCHOOL PROPERTIES: An Institutionalized Problem  

    Introduction       

    I really do not know if an index rating of countries with the best maintenance culture exists just as there is a corruption index for countries in the world. But I’m pretty sure if it does, this country will certainly take its rightful position at the bottom. Here’s why: our refineries of a little over 50 years operated on a 5.55 percent capacity as at 2019 ( NNPC, 2019) whereas the over 100-year-old Houston Ship Channel refinery of Texas still operates at optimum capacity; our national stadium of barely 20 years is now home to a handful of species of grasses and legumes that herdsmen now consider it a good place to graze; the mighty Adjaokuta Steel Industry of no more than 41 years is now considered a vestige of the 3rd republic ( wonder why they haven’t made it a museum already!); and the appalling state of our federal and state roads finally cements our place at the bottom of this hypothetical index. All these instances speak volume to our gross lack of maintenance at the national level.

       On the individual level, it is sadly the same story. It is said that at least 70 percent of Nigerian smartphone users use phones with broken screens.  

       Seeing the ill-maintenance culture plaguing us on the national and individual level, it comes as no surprise that the academic institutions now bear the brunt. 

The Problem

Walking into the University of Abuja, one cannot help but wonder how old the institution is and when told it is just 21 years old, the shock is hard to conceal. Looking at the entrance gate of the university precisely that of the Mini Campus (which is where I reside); it seems to be in a state where one could say_ in modest terms_ that it is tired of life. Rusty bars and worn out paint all adorn an institution’s gate which is supposed to be a trail blazer of the country’s academic structure. The classes are no different. Dilapidated ceilings, crumbling seats, rickety marker boards_ the list goes on. 

     But before you go all out and blame the government, I’ll like you to know that we the students have got a hand in it! Granted, a share of the blame must also go to the government, and the school authorities for letting things get to this sorry state; but that does not acquit us of our charges. 

       When you look closely at students’ behaviour in UniAbuja, you’ll discover that a great number of students behave uncaringly when going about their activities. The way they dispose of wastes such as sachet water remains on the bare floor even when a waste bin is close by; how they sit on the desk instead of the seat itself, leading to rapid deterioration of the chair; and how they post bills nonchalantly; all point to the glaring fact that we are part of the problem.

      When it comes to the hostels it is no different. In fact, it is much worse_ with reports making the rounds that it is very much worse in the girls’ hostel than in the boys’! As a guy who resides at the boys’ hostel, I will give you_ with pleasure_ firsthand information of what it’s like in there.

      Most guys hardly sweep the surroundings except their rooms. Out of about an average of four wall sockets in each room, you might be lucky enough to find just one working with ricketiness. Most tap handles are broken. And when it comes to the situation of things in the toilet, trust me you do not want to have that conversation. 

     So my friends, when it comes to the ill state of our university, we and the government are to blame_ the government for not constantly rehabilitating the structures, and we for not maintaining the ones available. With that, we delve straight into how to solve this problem.

     Solving the problem

      I have established at the start of this article, that this ill maintenance culture of ours is institutionalized, i.e. it has long stayed with us that it is now considered normal. Consequently, this problem is deeply rooted among us and it will take much more than a magic bullet solution to eradicate it. The following measures I have suggested here are mostly long term.

Declaring a psychological war: work on the mind, for it is the key to dominance

     Since this problem has been with us for too long a time, it has become psychological hence the mind must be dealt with first if we do not want to simply pour water in a basket. The school administration and indeed the government must without hesitation launch a campaign with a captivating theme through which they would reorient the minds of the students and Nigerians at large. This would require a great deal of time and will correspondingly, require patience. But I am confident that this will lay a strong foundation for subsequent measures.

 Revamping the facilities: Rome was not built in a day but it was built everyday

      The present state of our facilities is simply unacceptable. The decay is virtually present in every facet of our facilities. For this reason, our facilities need attention. The government and our school administration should begin without hesitation, rehabilitation. And only after the students’ minds have been worked on can the new facilities endure over a long period.

Surveillance: the fear of being caught is perhaps the best way to prevent crime 

      Ever wondered why thefts in supermarkets hardly make the news? CCTVs. That’s why! Apparently, the idea that you are being watched is just enough to convince a person at the edge of committing a crime to back out.

      Although the students’ minds have been worked on, it is not enough. Simply because there will always be incorrigible bad eggs_ people who will always be bad. For this reason, the school must invest heavily in surveillance systems. The CCTV is the piece de resistance here. Investing in surveillance systems will yield a twofold result. First, it will help discourage the act of vandalism. Second, it will fish out without stress, those who partook in the act. This will ensure that these bad eggs who refuse to be good end up where they should_ in the waste bin.

(a) Discipline: because the sentence against an evil work is not executed speedily, therefore the heart of the sons of men is fully set in them to do evil ( Eccl. 8:11, NKJV)

     The biblical verse above encapsulates the idea I am about to elaborate on. When the culprits are caught with the help of the surveillance systems in place, appropriate disciplinary actions must be meted out. 

     I have noticed and maybe you have that virtually all misconducts in the University of Abuja have one penalty : expulsion. And even when they are caught, they are not immediately penalized with some reports saying that they are made to wait till they are at the final year level before the penalty (expulsion) comes. This should not be so. I can understand that the school administration wants to get rid of the bad eggs and at the same time deter would-be bad eggs with this draconian measure. But may I say that this measure should not be used for mere misdemeanors such as vandalizing school facilities and petty thefts as it is too heavy and leaves no room for repentance. To this end, I propose these less heavy disciplinary actions below.

(b) Imposition of fines: fining the culprits is a great way to punish them and also to bolster the school’s income instead of simply telling them off. When the culprits are fined heavily, the stress which they go through coupled with the thought of giving away that much money is enough to both serve as punishment and as deterrence. This can also be introduced as a follow-up punishment for much more grievous misconducts such as cultism to make the overall punishment even stiffer.

(c) Community service: I have always wondered why community service as a punishment never features in our legal codes. Little wonder then, why our prisons are greatly crowded.

      Community services should be included as a form of punishment. And they could be used in conjunction with the aforementioned punishment_ a potent combination! The thought of being seen by others doing a demeaning task such as washing the toilet is more than enough to deter would-be culprits. As they say, emotional pain is much more grieving than physical pain. On the flip side though, you just might be giving the cleaners a break!

    On the whole, it is important that these penalties be meted out swiftly and lawfully.

   CONCLUSION

   Old habits die hard, they say. But with the right mindset and much work, it eventually will die. Our habit of negligence has to be discarded. If we are to move this institution to greater heights, all hands must be on deck. The government, the school administration, and we the students must make a concerted effort to make it work. Other countries have done it, we also can do it.

 Joshua O Matthew

darlingjesus4@gmail.com

HELP FOUNDATION SBOR; WHY THE BILL IS TIMELY.

By ATER, Solomon Vendaga

I belong to the school of thought that believes that Educational Right should be given the blessings of recognition as a Fundamental Right in Nigeria and be welcomed gladly by confreres that enjoy the estate in chapter IV of our current constitution. For me, the right to education is an inalienable and undeniable privilege that is in itself intricately intertwined with development and consequently a means to so many ends such that when not catered for results definitely into what will rob the sanity of the society.

For instance, it is in education that man power is generated for the country, knowledge to improve scientific research towards a developed society is gotten from education, minds are built in the educational sector and the society is free from the disaster of erroneous thinking and embrace development. However, how can these be achieved if little or no attention at all is given to the sector or the structures in place are not in tandem with the current realities and it only suits the school managers at the expense of the students?

It is in addressing the above realities and many more that HELP Foundation for student in the early days of December, 2020 proposed a bill to the National Assembly for a substantive law to address the issues affecting the educational system in Nigeria. The bill focuses and stresses the need to recognize, define, provide for, preserve and protect the rights of students on Nigerian Campuses. This is because like other vulnerable groups in our society, students are constantly under the threat of exploitation from those who supposedly are meant to protect them, not only that, the added danger of the culture of haphazard academic activities on campus with autocratic decisions from school managers as guiding principles have negatively impacted the sanity of these students.

Besides, students as consumers of educational services deserve protective advantages and should be considered when decisions concerning these services are taken. In other words, the system should be symbiotic and balanced.

In fact, it is a pity that the culture is considered as normal with no attention towards confronting and challenging the system. HELP Foundation becomes the first ever student-concerned body to address this misnomer.

It will interest you to know that the bill which is of course the first reformative package of this novel but result-oriented body is called the Nigeria Students Bill of Rights [SBOR]. The Bill has in its 4th section, 12 articles which I love to call the perfect roadmaps to a world standard best practice system in Nigeria. These articles provided for rights ranging from accessible, affordable and inclusive education for all, access to heathcare, administrative accountability, due process, proper representation, amongst others.

The goal of this effort has always being the hope to seeing the educational system in Nigeria adopts the world standard practices, culture of sanity and dignity.

It is on this note that we call on all the relevant stakeholders in the educational sector and all the advocates of better education in Nigeria to gear up efforts to support this Bill. I am convinced that our collective voices and efforts will certainly produced the desired change we hope to see.

ATER, Solomon Vendaga is a second year student of Law at the University of Abuja. He is currently the Coordinator of HELP Students Network, UniAbuja Chapter.