CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE: ENVIRONMENTAL
"BANG! BANG! BANG!" went the hostel prefect, banging fiercely on someone's locker. "Everybody wake up!"
Urgh! My eyes flew open in protest. I reached into my school bag for my wristwatch and checked the time. Five o'clock in the morning. Five! On a Saturday! I groaned inwardly. Why must we be woken up this early?
I had remembered Morayo mentioning that on Saturdays, the hostel prefect usually allowed students to wake up around seven. But apparently, today was different.
"The house mistress has said that there won't be any water for several hours because the generator is under repair," the prefect announced, her voice echoing across the dormitory. "The solar won't be used to pump water for the time being, and there will be no electricity until the afternoon. To ensure everyone can fetch water and bathe at the proper time, you all must wake up immediately."
Gosh! The only thing I've consistently disliked about Nigeria is the inconsistency of power supply. Everything else—the food, the culture, the chaos—I could live with. But light? That was a whole other matter. At home, electricity was reliable, and the contrast was glaring.
I turned to Victoria, nudging her gently. "Are you going?"
Her eyes fluttered open. "Yeah… and no," she replied cryptically.
"What do you mean by that?" I asked, confused.
"I'm not going to fetch water," she said firmly, "because the queue will be long. We're supposed to cut grass anyway."
Ah, that explained it. I had almost forgotten—Saturdays in boarding school were reserved for environmental duties. In some other schools, I remembered, this task occurred on Thursdays. But since all students in our school attended classes on Thursday, the housekeeping and maintenance duties had been shifted to Saturdays.
Environmental day was exhaustive. Everything that could be cleaned or tidied—swept, scrubbed, wiped, polished—had to be done. And yes, any patch of grass that refused to obey the hand of man had to be cut. I swallowed, imagining the stubborn blades that awaited me.
"Let's try our luck, just in case we get dirty after environmental," I suggested to Victoria.
"Nah," she replied, rolling over. "I won't sacrifice my precious sleep just to queue up. I'd regret it later."
Maybe I should have taken her advice. I lay back down, attempting to reclaim a few more minutes of rest. The sounds of other students' footsteps and chatter, however, made deep sleep impossible.
"BANG! BANG! BANG!" came the prefect again. "Everybody wake up!"
By now, the sunlight streaming through the windows indicated it was closer to seven. Groaning, I sat up, my muscles complaining from the overnight chill. "Everyone, outside!" the prefect called. "The house mistress is waiting."
Peering out of the dormitory, I saw a queue of students already forming. The senior girls, as usual, were not participating in environmental duties—they were strolling leisurely, enjoying their freedom. One day, I would be one of them, I thought, a little wistfully.
The house mistress began assigning chores. I was given the front area of the hostel to sweep and trim, Victoria received the adjacent patch, and Morayo had the 'lucky' task of cleaning the bathrooms with a few other students.
"Which one are you taking?" Victoria asked, holding a hoe. "Hoe or cutlass?"
"I'll take the hoe," I replied, slightly nervous. I had little experience with manual gardening tools, and the cutlass looked far too dangerous in inexperienced hands.
"Come, I'll teach you how to handle it," Victoria said, demonstrating a clean swing. I followed her movements, trying to mimic her technique. Surprisingly, using the hoe became strangely satisfying. There was rhythm in the motion, a cadence that made the stubborn grass yield slowly but surely.
Meanwhile, Morayo appeared from the bathroom section, wet and soap-splashed, yet triumphant. "Done!" she called cheerfully. "Not too bad, right?"
I smiled, admiring her efficiency. Victoria grinned beside me. "Not perfect, but neat enough."
Just as I was beginning to enjoy the sense of accomplishment, Vanessa appeared. Of course, she had to make an entrance, striding confidently with a cutlass as though it were a crown. My stomach twisted in anticipation. She was clearly here to impress, likely hoping John—or someone else—would notice her heroic efforts.
"Morning!" she greeted, flashing a wide smile.
I groaned inwardly. Morayo's smirk told me she was thinking the same thing. "Look who decided to join the chaos," Morayo whispered. "Ready to cut grass without cutting anyone?"
Vanessa waved dismissively. "Relax, I've got this."
Oh, we would see about that.
As the minutes passed, Vanessa's exaggerated movements became increasingly erratic. She swung the cutlass with flair but lacked control. Twigs flew everywhere, and she frequently had to bend down to retrieve her fallen tool. I couldn't help but laugh quietly, glancing at Victoria, who was maintaining her impeccable technique beside me.
Eventually, Vanessa's stamina began to wane. Her dramatic swings slowed, and she huffed under the midday sun. Victory, I thought silently. Even the show-off eventually realised that environmental duties were no easy feat.
By mid-morning, the front of the hostel was spotless. Grass neatly trimmed, the pathways clear of debris, and every sweeping stroke leaving a satisfying trail of order. Victoria beamed, clearly proud. Morayo's corner was sparkling clean, and I felt a genuine sense of accomplishment despite aching arms and sun-kissed cheeks.
Vanessa, meanwhile, had slumped beneath the shade of a tree, panting as if she had completed a marathon rather than a few minutes of manual labour.
"Lesson learned," Morayo whispered to me, chuckling. "Show-offs rarely last the distance."
I nodded in agreement. Boarding school wasn't just about classes; it was about endurance, humility, and sometimes, learning to laugh at yourself. Environmental Saturday, as exhausting as it was, had a strange way of uniting us all—even Vanessa—in the shared misery of physical toil.
Afterwards, we queued at the water point to wash up. Cold water stung our skin, but the refreshing rinse reinvigorated us. Drying off under the sun, I felt a rare combination of fatigue and satisfaction. We had survived our first environmental Saturday—and in the process, I had learned to respect even the smallest blades of grass.
As we made our way back to the hostel for breakfast, Morayo nudged me. "You survived well, Floral. I'm impressed."
I smiled. "Thanks. Honestly, I didn't think I'd enjoy it this much. There's something strangely satisfying about turning chaos into order."
Victoria laughed. "Wait until next Saturday. Environmental has a way of showing who's truly lazy and who's diligent."
I groaned. "Oh no… Saturdays are going to be like this every week?"
"Welcome to boarding school life," Morayo said, laughing. "Exhausting, messy, but unforgettable. And never underestimate grass—or Vanessa."
We laughed together, walking back into the warmth of the hostel. Boarding school could be maddening, tiring, and chaotic—but it was undeniably exhilarating. And I knew, deep down, that these Saturdays, no matter how gruelling, would create memories I'd never forget.