The Exam

I take a deep breath and step forward as it's now my turn. I hand her my card and slips, my heart racing as I await her reaction.

As she looks up, my eyes widen in fear as she hands me back my slips but holds onto the card, a smile spreading across her lips.

"Take it, go in," she says.

My heart rate drops, and I feel relieved as I step into the corridor. Thank God!

I take a deep breath, trying to calm my nerves. This is it, Mandy, you can do it. Breathe in, breathe out, in, out.

I approach the widely open door to the left, my heart pounding in my chest. Someone follows close behind me, and we enter the hall together.

The hall is quiet and subdued, with only a few people milling about, the invigilators. I scan the room, unsure where to sit, and notice the boy beside me is equally uncertain.

"Come and sit here."

I turn my head to see a man gesturing to an empty sit.

The boy quickly takes the seat, and the man turns to me. "There's a seat here," he says, pointing to the first seat in front of me.

I adjust the chair and sit down, feeling glad for the seat's proximity to the exit.

As more people enter the hall, they're directed to their seats.

The room gradually fills with the soft murmur of voices and pushing of chairs as some people are standing to leave, and others coming in.

"Now listen," a man speaks up, his appearance not visible to me.

"Those of you who just came in will start immediately. When you're done, exit the hall," he continues.

"Am I understood?"

"Yes," some people respond in unison, their voices producing a calm response, like the gentle rush of water. So soothing!

The system in front of me is a computer, just like the one I used during my JAMB exam.

While I'm more comfortable with laptops, my previous experience with JAMB has prepared me for this moment.

I take a deep breath, grasp the mouse, and position my index and middle fingers on the buttons.

The screen prompts me to enter my registration number, and I click on the left button to access the input field.

My fingers feel sweaty and shaky as I unfold my slips and begin typing my registration number, one digit at a time. I take another deep breath before clicking the "Enter" key.

The screen loads, and my questions appear, English, Literature, Government, and what the?

My eyes widen in surprise as I see CRS (Christian Religious Studies) among the subjects.

I didn't register for CRS in my JAMB exam, so why is it here in my Post-UTME exam?

I gaze at the screen, confirming that it's indeed my profile, with my name and picture visible. But why is CRS among my subjects?

Well, I can't afford to waste more time, I'll just start with the familiar subjects, maybe economics might be hidden among the questions.

With only 58 minutes left, I take a deep breath and begin with English, tackling the 10 questions despite encountering unfamiliar vocabulary.

Moving on to Literature, I'm extremely suprised by the challenging questions, feeling overwhelmed with only 48 minutes remaining.

I furrow my brows, frustrated by the tough questions. Would I even be able to gain admission?, These questions are really hard.

Despite my concerns, I move on, relieved to find Government, one of my strongest subjects, relatively easy to tackle.

With 37 minutes left, I confidently answer most questions correctly.

I move on to the next subject, CRS, my heart sinking as I realize there's no economics in sight.

With only 20 minutes left, I must act quickly. I take a deep breath, muster my courage, and raise my hand to attract the invigilators' attention.

However, they seem unaware to my gesture. I notice the girl sitting next to me glance my way, her hands still on her mouse.

I lower my hand, feeling a bit defeated. And I really don't know why I'm telling her, but I feel I have to.

"Uhm, I was given CRS instead of economics."

She pretends to scratch her neck, her eyes locked on mine, "I think that's how it is. I got CRS instead of economics too," she whispers back.

"Oh," I turn back to my screen, I'll just answer the questions then.

With 18 minutes remaining, I click on the CRS questions, hoping my Christian upbringing will help me answer them correctly.

The questions are mostly based on quotes from Paul, which I find challenging. However, I make an educated guess, selecting answers that seem correct.

My heart races as I work through the questions, my time moving rapidly.

With only two minutes left, I realize there's no time to review my answers. I take a deep breath, close my eyes, and whisper a silent prayer,

"Dear Lord, I've done my best, and I'm leaving the rest to you. Please take control."

I open my eyes, submit my exam, and stand up carefully, avoiding making any noise with my chair.

I gather my slips and exit the hall, joining a stream of people heading out of the building. We flow through a separate corridor, the familiar path we came with, recognizable.

Scanning the area for my mom, I spot her engaged in a conversation, laughing with a girl who's narrating a story with few other people listening attentively.

I make my way towards her, feeling relieved, now that my exam is behind me.

"Ahh, Amanda! How was it?" my mom asks loudly, drawing the attention of those nearby.

"Uhm, it was good."

She raises an eyebrow, skeptical. "The way you say it doesn't sound like it was good."

I sigh, "Well, the questions were really unexpected and tough, but I did my best, though."

"For real, they were hard. Do you remember the questions?" The girl next to me asks.

I shake my head, "I don't really remember, but I know in English, there were questions that required finding synonyms, antonyms, and understanding sentence stress.

The antonyms weren't just easy ones, either. The words were really complex."

The fact that they payed attention to me while I spoke really makes me feel aknowledged, and I'm glad.

The girl nods, "Yeah, they were hard. And to think only five thousand people will get admission out of all of us."

My mom's eyes widen in surprise, "What? You don't mean it!" her brows furrowed in disbelief.

I chuckle, "Hmph, it's true o," and take a seat, placing my bag on my lap, unzipping to put away my exam slips.

"Five thousand?" My mom repeats, discussing it with the woman next to her and the others, their voices sounding concerned and suprised.

But I'm feeling relieved, the weight of the exam lifted off my shoulders. The fact that only five thousand people will be admitted doesn't bother me as much as I thought it would. I'm just glad it's over, and now I can wait for my results calmly.

"Let's go," I flinch as my mom taps my shoulder.

"Okay," I nod, eagerly wearing my bag, then standing to adjust properly before following my mom.

"Byee," I hear someone say, to me?.

As I turn around, I see the girl I spoke with earlier waving at me with a friendly smile.

"Uhm...," I return her smile and wave back before turning to leave.

Catching up with my mom, I walk beside her, noticing her glancing my way.

"What's got you so happy?" she asks.

"Nothing, Mom. I'm just relieved the exam is over."

"I see. Do you feel confident about your performance?"

"Yeah, I do. I put in my best effort, even though I had to take CRS instead of economics."

Her brow furrows slightly, "CRS?"

"How did it go then?"

"It was good. Some questions were challenging, though. They were asking a lot about 'According to Paul's letter to...' and similar topics."

"Hmm, that's nice. I hope you're among those who get admitted," she says.

"I hope so too," I respond.

We continue walking, and as we do, I realize the environment has become somewhat confusing. I've lost track of the paths we took to get to the exam center, but we're clearly not alone, many people are walking alongside us, all seemingly heading in the same direction, away from the center.

"Do you still remember the way out of the school?" I ask my mom.

"Not really, I'm confused too," she replies. "But I think we crossed the road earlier, so it should be around here somewhere."

She stops and turns to cross the road, gripping my wrist and carefully looking both ways for oncoming vehicles before leading me across with the flow of other people.

"This should be it," she says, sounding more confident.

She's right though, the open exit is already coming into view, and I can see people streaming out of the school.

After exiting the school, my mom leads me to the same road we took to get here, with many others following suit.

We stop at a bus stop, and I notice my mom beaming with excitement, her smile infectious.

"What's got you so happy, Mom?" I ask.

"I'm just happy to see my mom again!"

I giggle, "Wow, that's surprising!"

"Let's go jor," she urges, already walking.

Just then, my stomach growls. I'm hungry!.

"Mom, I'm starving!" I call out, clutching my belly for emphasis.

She turns around, "Do you want Pepsi and gala?"

I shrug, "Sure, why not?"

We walk to a nearby shop, where she buys two gala and a Pepsi for each of us. Then, she finds a bus heading to Orlu Park.

The ride is quick, and we soon arrive. "I'll call Grandma first," she says, pulling out her phone to make a call.

As I wait, I take in the sights of the village, it's transformed! The roads are good, the buildings are beautiful, and it hardly feels like a village anymore, at least in this part. I can't speak for the rest, though.

"She's not home yet," my mom says, tucking her phone back into her bag. "We'll go see her at the market instead."

I nod and follow my mom as we take a bus and soon arrive at a bustling market.

The environment is chaotic, with people selling foodstuffs and various items by the roadside.

We cross into the market, and I'm struck by the array of goods on display, coconuts, lemons, oranges, and many more, including some I've never seen before.

My mom navigates the winding market stalls until we finally stop in front of a particular open stall.

My eyes instantly lands on her, and my mom rushes to embrace her.

This woman seems ageless, looking just the same as the last time I saw her.

"Ah, Amanda!" she exclaims, her smile the exact same as my mom's!

"Good afternoon, ma," I greet her.

"Kedu?" (How are you?) She asks, her smile seems to not want to fade away.

"I'm fine," I reply, not failing to return her smile, the one that reveals my teeth.

"Were o che," (sit down) she gestures at a bench right in front of me.

As my mom did earlier, I remove my bag and take a seat on the bench, next to a parked motorcycle.

She's still in the crayfish business, a venture she's maintained for years. I notice bags of crayfish stacked in a corner, and her stall floor is elevated above the ground where I'm sitting.

As old as she is, she still has this spirit and desire to work and earn money, and that I admire.