CHAPTER FORTY-SIX: MY SUNDAY! (3)
After devouring our smashed bread and egg, we set off toward the Chapel, the morning sun warming our backs as we hurried along the familiar corridors of the school.
"We better go before the seniors start chasing us with sticks they've gotten from tree branches," Victoria warned, her voice a mix of amusement and seriousness as she quickened her pace. I laughed at her vivid imagination but followed along without protest.
As we neared the Chapel, I noticed some seniors applying lip gloss in various shades, meticulously lining their lips with eyepencils, and painting their eyelashes with mascara. Their concentration and style were impressive, and I couldn't resist teasing.
"Aren't you going to do like them?" I asked, nudging Morayo and Victoria with my question.
"What? I don't even know if it would suit me," Morayo replied, her eyes following the seniors closely. "Besides, I don't know how to use any of them except the lip gloss. Lol!" She shook her head, clearly amused by the seniors' display.
"Me too!" I agreed, shrugging and smiling. "Maybe when I get to the senior class, I'll know how to use them."
"I love the way you give yourself high hopes that it will suit you," Morayo commented, smiling at me knowingly.
"I'm not even sure, I'm just saying my own," I replied.
As we entered the Chapel, Victoria's tone grew slightly more serious. "Enough with all these! Morayo, you should have told her the school authorities don't allow such things even in senior school."
"Then why are the seniors doing it?" I asked, confused by Victoria's warning.
"Because it's Sunday, and there aren't many staff members around to supervise in the morning," Victoria explained.
"Oh… okay," I murmured, still puzzled by the rules and their selective enforcement.
"But that doesn't stop us from trying," Morayo whispered mischievously.
"Yeah, unless a staff member catches you," Victoria added, rolling her eyes.
I sighed, feeling slightly frustrated. Why so many rules? Was boarding school life going to be this strictly regimented, leaving little room for enjoyment or spontaneity?
Morayo led the way to the seats she had reserved for us. True to Victoria's earlier words, the Chapel was almost full, yet somehow Morayo had managed to secure a perfect spot. We slid into the space she had saved, settling comfortably as the senior student began preaching the Sunday school lesson.
Morayo yawned and leaned against Victoria's shoulder, clearly struggling to keep her eyes open. Victoria, seated at the other end of our little cluster, gently nudged her.
"You can't sleep during Sunday school. You have to learn something before sleeping," Victoria admonished quietly.
"I learned that you should love your neighbour as yourself," Morayo murmured, trying to rest her head back against Victoria's shoulder.
Suddenly, a tap on my shoulder startled me. I looked up to see a senior standing there.
"Wake her up!" the senior instructed, pointing at Morayo.
I tapped Morayo lightly. "The senior standing by my right says I should wake you up," I whispered.
Morayo blinked, sat upright, and faced the senior. "Warn yourself, don't let me catch you sleeping again," the senior said firmly.
"Sorry, usher!" Morayo replied, her voice small as she turned her attention back to the preacher.
Usher? I thought, confused. I hadn't realized there were student ushers responsible for monitoring their peers during church services.
I turned to observe the senior in the seat ahead, noting how seriously she monitored the congregation. Clearly, discipline and order were not taken lightly here.
"Urgh! In this boring church, how do you expect one not to sleep?" Morayo muttered under her breath.
"Don't call the house of God boring," Victoria snapped softly, giving her a pointed look. "Listen to the Word of God instead of complaining."
I leaned back in my seat, silently observing the dynamic between the two of them, and the structured energy of the Chapel that felt so different from the casual vibe outside.
After the prayers, the atmosphere shifted into praise and worship. Students—both junior and senior—moved energetically, their voices rising in unison. Some Muslims in hijabs even joined, smiling and swaying gently, clearly enjoying the spirited environment. The room seemed to vibrate with energy, the sound of feet shuffling, voices singing, and occasional laughter filling every corner.
Students scattered chairs to make space for dancing. Praise songs were sung in multiple languages—English, Yoruba, Igbo, Pidgin, and a few Hausa songs—creating a mosaic of cultural rhythm and energy. I recognized most of the songs and found myself swaying slightly, letting the music guide my movements. Victoria and Morayo danced effortlessly, their energy infectious, and I couldn't help but smile at their enjoyment.
"Let's be in the midst of worship!" the praise leader shouted as one song ended.
Suddenly, many students bolted outside, including some of the Muslims who had initially joined in.
"Why are they leaving?" I asked, confused.
"No worries," Victoria replied calmly. "The Chapel coordinator will call the students back, unless they're also Muslims. It's a common practice here."
"They do that a lot?" I asked.
"Yes! The seniors who lead the praise know which songs are danceable and can get everyone hyped. That's why students rush in like ants chasing sugar," Morayo explained with a mischievous grin.
I laughed. "So, they find the sermon boring or something?" I asked, observing the emptying Chapel.
"PRAISE THY LORD!" an adult's commanding voice rang from the podium, halting the chatter.
"Hallelujah!" the congregation roared in response, a blend of juniors and seniors echoing the adult's authority.
"USHERS, PLEASE CLOSE ALL THE DOORS. NO ONE IS ALLOWED TO GO OUTSIDE DURING CHURCH SERVICE!" the adult continued firmly, referencing those trying to escape during the sermon. "DECORUM!" he added, his gaze sweeping across the Chapel.
"This man means business," Morayo whispered with a giggle.
"You better be quiet, or the usher will make you stand for the entire service," Victoria warned, giving her a sharp glance.
I sat quietly, feeling a mixture of awe and bewilderment. The energy, rules, and traditions of the Chapel were intense, but strangely fascinating. I could see why everyone seemed so committed, from the juniors mimicking the seniors to the serious presence of ushers enforcing order. It was clear that Sundays in boarding school were not merely about worship—they were a complex blend of devotion, discipline, and cultural performance.
As I settled in, observing my friends, the students, and the staff, I realized that each element—the dancing, the multi-lingual praises, the strict ushers—was part of a rhythm, a pattern that made boarding school life unique. Despite my initial confusion and reluctance, a sense of belonging slowly began to grow within me.
Yes, the Chapel was structured, strict, and energetic all at once. But as I watched Victoria and Morayo, feeling the rhythm of the praises, and seeing the discipline in action, I knew that Sundays here were a chance to witness life in its full spectrum—joy, discipline, music, and devotion, all intertwined. And I thought to myself, maybe, just maybe, this was one of the experiences I would come to cherish in my boarding school journey.