Strike!
It was almost funny how familiar everything felt. ASUU had already given their ultimatum earlier in the semester, and that actually resulted in a two weeks strike. Those two weeks came like a breath of fresh air. People travelled, slept properly, caught up on life and returned to school looking slightly more human. We resumed with the silent fear that things would soon return to normal, and of course, they did.
What made everything worse nice was how the strike ended. ASUU, in their usual dramatic fashion, said they were giving FG one month to respond or there would be consequences. A threat that was meant to sound really scary. The way it was said carried weight. We all believed them, trusted them. A countdown practically began in people’s heads.
Not long after we settled back, the second round of rumours began. Another ultimatum. Another meeting. Another “ASUU is not happy with FG” story. The information came in different shapes. Some people swore that this one was certain. Others insisted it was waiting for one final decision.
Strike again. Yay!!
We wanted it so badly that we all prayed for it to happen. It was almost embarrassing how prepared some of us were. Assignments? If they could be skipped, they were avoided altogether. People postponed writing practical reports. Mental batteries? Totally drained. It was as if everybody agreed silently that school was now on borrowed time. Some of us literally decided not to study for a test that was to hold on the day we were expecting ASUU’s feedback. To us, our whole reality was to be rewritten. Our worlds, to be recreated.
The d-day came. ASUU released statements that said, in careful language, that they were still addressing the federal government. That sentence was long enough to be both promise and delay. It meant the argument was not settled and the fasting kept going. It also meant the news feed became a waiting room. And then the silence dragged. Hours passed. People kept refreshing their phones like the answer would magically appear if they tapped hard enough. Hostels were unusually calm. Even the unserious people pretended to be monitoring updates. Analysis was flying everywhere, accuracy nowhere.
By Friday evening it was clear. The long awaited update dropped and it was the most empty statement ever created by human hands. ASUU basically said they were still “engaging the federal government”. That phrase alone ruined the entire campus mood. It told you absolutely nothing and still managed to kill every last drop of hope.
Saturday carried the hangover. People woke up late, not because they were tired, but because their spirits were still trying to reboot. Hostels were quiet in that specific “collective shame” way. Nobody had class, but the guilt was loud. Every skipped assignment. Every abandoned report. All the tests people confidently ignored because they believed a strike would save them. Everything sat there waiting for Monday like a landlord waiting for rent. Ashura helped soften the blow for some. The Friday night movie show with popcorn also rescued a few broken souls. Honestly, if not for that movie night, I would have been in my room staring at the ceiling and questioning my life choices. People pretended it was normal fun, but deep down it was pain management.
Others suddenly developed new energy to “catch up” as if they had not spent the last seventy two hours refreshing news pages and praying for freedom. Then there were the ones who broke character entirely and started reading like their future depended on it. Shame is a powerful motivator.
Group chats didn’t help. “Meeting continues next week.” “Union is still considering.” “More updates soon.” Useless lines. Everyone knew the truth. We had simply been played, again.
Still… humans love fantasy, and students even more. The hope continued to burn while we waited.
