FROM SAGE TO SAVED

INTO CAMPUS

The air was crisp that morning, laced with a kind of anxious excitement that settled deep in my chest. We drove to the campus in silence, Bishop seated beside me and one of his pastor friends in the back. The road stretched out endlessly before us, a strange metaphor for the uncertainty I felt. My mind was tangled with what-ifs and silent prayers. What if the fees weren't paid? What if this was all a mistake? But I clung to the hope that somehow, everything would fall into place.

When we arrived at the campus gates, the scene hit me like a wave. Students swarmed the grounds, their laughter and chatter creating a hum of life that felt overwhelming. The parents of these students had clearly come prepared—large suitcases, perfectly packed, their children ready to step into this new chapter of life with everything they needed. I felt small, unprepared. Unlike them, I wasn't here with a solid plan. I was here on faith.

The registration process was chaos. Each student had to handle their own paperwork and fees. Bishop, however, wasn't about to let me out of his sight. He stayed close, walking me through every step, his protective presence both reassuring and suffocating. Deep down, I was still worried about the fees. It was a gnawing kind of fear, the kind that leaves a pit in your stomach no matter how much you try to ignore it. But then, as if by divine intervention, something happened. The fees were cleared. Fully.

I can't describe the relief I felt at that moment. It was like a weight lifted off my shoulders, allowing me to breathe again. I was in. My only task now was to stay focused and keep myself together until graduation. Bishop made sure I was settled in my hostel, checked that I was comfortable, left me some cash for emergencies, and then he and his friend departed. I stood there watching them drive away, their figures disappearing down the road, and for the first time, I felt completely alone.

That night, I sat on my bed, staring at the blank walls of my new room. I set some ground rules for myself, a personal manifesto of sorts. I didn't want to be seen as weak or naïve. I wanted to be someone others would respect, someone who could stand her ground. Campus was a new world, and I needed to adapt. I even decided to learn basketball—a distraction, a passion, a way to keep myself busy. At least, that was the plan.

But let me tell you something, dear reader: the world is harsh, and if you only navigate it with your mind, it will teach you lessons the hard way. Growth often comes from the messiest places.

Before I came here, I had so many dreams and ambitions. I still do. But no one warned me about what campus life would truly be like. I thought I'd walk in and everything would just...work. I hadn't prepared mentally for the reality of it all. I didn't even have friends here. So, I made a decision: I'd reinvent myself. I changed everything—my clothes, my name, even the way I carried myself. It wasn't about fitting in; it was about survival.

The next morning, things began to shift. My roommates and I bonded quickly, talking late into the night about anything and everything. By evening, I felt brave enough to explore the campus on my own. I took a long walk, letting the quiet of the evening settle my nerves. That's when I heard it: the soft, melodic sound of a piano playing in the distance. It was coming from a tent nearby.

Drawn by the music, I followed the sound and found two boys—one playing the piano, the other singing. Their energy was magnetic, and I couldn't resist approaching them. I asked the one playing if I could take a turn, but he refused outright. His friend, the singer, chuckled and explained, "He's not gonna let you touch it." Defeated but not discouraged, I walked away. But as I turned, the singer called after me.

He caught up quickly, introducing himself and offering to show me around campus. He talked a lot, his voice full of excitement as he explained every corner of the school. I couldn't help but smile at his enthusiasm. At some point, I mentioned wanting to learn basketball, and he eagerly led me to the court.

I was skeptical of his skills—he was short, after all. But he insisted he could play, so I stayed, curious. As the sun dipped below the horizon, two other boys joined us with a ball. I barely noticed them, too focused on watching the short boy prove himself. To my surprise, he was incredible. Quick, agile, and sharp, he moved with a precision that left me speechless. Maybe, just maybe, he could be the trainer I was looking for.

Afterward, he took me to a food spot on campus, a hidden gem where the food was cheap but good. As we ate, I mentioned wanting to change my course. He showed me how to fill out the necessary forms, patiently guiding me through the process. Midway through, the two boys from the court joined us. They were light-skinned, their presence familiar yet new. One of them needed to change his course as well, so we sat together, filling out the forms and sharing stories.

It turned out that one of the boys, Jace, was already in the course I wanted to switch to. The other, Felix, seemed to have a name that stuck with me. Maybe it was because he reminded me of a character I loved from a movie. Either way, he had a charm about him that was hard to ignore.

By the end of the evening, I had somehow made three new friends. They walked me back to my hostel, their laughter and conversation making the journey feel shorter than it was. For the first time since I'd arrived, I felt a sense of belonging.

As I lay in bed that night, I couldn't help but smile. The day had been chaotic and unexpected, but it had also been a beginning—a chance to redefine myself and find my place in this new world.