First Rains

Chapter One

The idea of the world being a small place seems ridiculous to me right now, here in the chapel at Sanctity College. I've never had such a large number of people to call my classmates - we must be over two hundred in this auditorium! The girl standing next to me is so short it seems like she's sitting down. I wonder why she's hellbent on pretending not to notice me. Is she shy? Or just a stupid proud creep? Whatever. I decide to ignore her presence too.

Which is the hardest thing to do because I've never met her before. I've never met anyone here before and each person stands out to me like a color I've never seen before. Some aisles away from where I stand, I can't miss the head of this long boy, sticking out of the crowd like a lollipop. Right in front of me is a guy who might never notice that he has a serious wedgie going on down there. Then there's the dude on the altar trying to make us all pray. "Open up your mouths and talk to the Lord-ah! Connect with the Holy Ghost-ah! Oh-ah! I want you to stay on fire-ah!" 

So, why does everything have to end with ah!? I immediately shush the voice in my head for daring to think such in church.

Each minute seems to pass three times slower than usual, but after about five minutes, when I'm already sleepstanding, I hear "Sit down-ah!" and drop into my seat.

We rise again to read some sort of pledge from the overhanging screens, then we are dismissed-ah.

I walk to my room for the second time in Sanctity College. Unlike most freshmen, I don't think I'll ever lose the way to my room. It's the last room on the highest floor on the farthest wing. What were my odds of getting such a secluded place to live in? When I walk in, I am again struck dumb by what the place looks like. It's about as large as three bathroom stalls squashed together. Two rusted iron bunk beds uglify it on the left side, and four ancient closets claim the right. One wide window, opposite the door, is the only source of ventilation. I move to it and lean out, taking in the miserable view of the backyard of the school cafeteria which has become colonized by rats, and wonder how this place won the title of Best Private School in the Country."

"Guy, you're so depressed you want to fall over that place?"

I spin around to meet the jet-black eyes of the boy who is my roommate and do my oh-how-amusing smile. "No, of course not. I just like heights."

"I just like heights," he mimics. "Why do you talk like that, guy? Aren't you a Nigerian?"

"Talk like what?" I feign ignorance, even though I know what he's talking about. My mother grew up in the United States, and her accent rubbed off on me. It's made me stand out my whole life, but sometimes not in pleasant ways.

"Like, I just like heights," the boy mimics again.

I just shrug. "Why do you talk the way you do?"

He eyes me like I'm a species he's never encountered before. Which I actually am. Then he says, "What's that your name again?"

"Dennis. You?"

"Faji." For some reason, he smirks as he moves toward his bed, which is the bottom bunk below mine. He wraps himself up in his blanket, takes out his iPad, puts on his headphones, and I'm alone in the room again.

My other two roommates - Favour and Amaranda - come in, we get introduced, and they get in bed with their Galaxy tabs.

But I'm a little more hygienic than that. I take off my clothes and leave for the bathroom, a group of five stalls to be shared by the 32 boys on that floor. Tonight, I'm the only one there. After brushing my teeth to my satisfaction, I take a shower in the whitest-looking stall. The water is almost freezing but at least it makes me feel clean.

When I return to the room I find that someone has turned on the lights, but all three of my roommates are in bed with the lights of their devices illuminating their faces like no one had moved from his spot. I climb onto my bed and snuggle under my blanket and remember my mother told me to text her once I'm settled. But I'm not settled yet, and I don't want to join the married-to-our-tablets committee. So I lie on my side and hug my pillow and try to believe I'm actually here. 

The thing is, the idea of living on my own, exactly like an adult, had thrilled me for a while. But Sanctity College hadn't. I'd heard rumors of this university back in secondary school and not one of them had been pleasant.  You must go to church every day of the week in Sanctity College! Romantic relationships are prohibited in Sanctity College except when registered with the school management. Jeans are forbidden in Sanctity College!

Turns out none of the rumors is far from the truth.

I remember the few paragraphs I'd glanced through from the fat handbook Mr. Bolatiti had handed to me as I was about to check into my room. "This book is our school constitution," he had said with a chuckle. "Finish it."

Excuse me? The book is 967 pages long.

But the few rules I'd read: Male students' must have evenly shaved hair within the premises. No jeans, chinos, or corduroys must be found within the premises. No two students of the opposite sex must be found holding hands, hugging, kissing, or engaging in any other form of physical contact from 7.00 pm to 5.00 am within the premises. The use of cell phones is prohibited.

I close my eyes. I'm proud that no tears are coming out of my eyes. I'm 17. I should be able to cope with this. If these doofuses I got for roommates are being so chill, why can't I?

Because, if I want to be honest, I don't want to be here. But here I am. And it's never fun for me when I don't want to be somewhere.

Or for that place.