Vesh' confidence (creative nonfiction)

Graduating from high school came with a flood of optimism, especially since I had just graduated from one of the best high schools in the country. My results proved that I was a little more than average compared to my peers, and luckily for me, I developed a sound academic background thanks to the extra mural coaching classes my dad ensured I enrolled in while in elementary school.

My joint admission and matriculation board (Jamb) examination score came out with a one-mark pass above the cut-off mark for medicine, and with my little extra effort at the post-Jamb, I was good for the course I had applied for. My hopes were, however, dashed when my university of choice denied me admission on account of my not having my West African examination result officially ready, which was a prerequisite to being offered admission. The implication was that I was going to be homebound for a complete year. I kept in touch with my classmates, and for every congratulatory message I sent to my friends who got admission to other universities of their choice, my heart got struck with pain from an invisible sword.

The following year, when I attempted the Jamb examination, I unfortunately ended up with a score less than that which I needed for my desired course, and I had to make do with what was available with the hope that if I was lucky enough to be among the top 20 candidates after the freshman year, I would be automatically transferred to the course I had desired. This plan was similar to that of about two hundred colleagues in their freshman year, like me, as it was an opportunity to achieve our lifelong ambition of studying medicine. Being colleagues of like minds, we had cliques, or caucus, as you'll say, and for me, I had four other friends that stuck together.

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"This method would equally give us the right answer." Vesh said confidently. He had this huge physique and a commanding tone. I was not comfortable with his methods, which always seemed long and exhaustive, most often arriving at wrong answers.

"I think you should work with my method; it's faster and more accurate. I suggested it to him when he got stuck at a physics equation, leaving him more confused than confident. I commended his efforts in breaking down the methods; however, I knew that for the goal we had, which was to be among the best candidates at the end of the final year, my quick methods were more reliable. After a few other attempts to convince Vesh to discontinue his methods of solving equations, which my other colleagues would rather just keep mute and watch him struggle with the board during our private and group study sessions,

My heart was troubled for him because I loved the fact that Vesh was passionate about academics, but his speed was not enough to match the competition that lay before us all. Perhaps he would be good as a teacher, yet I feared for Vesh, seeing that the topics he passionately studied were not going to be significant after the freshman year. I enjoyed the study sessions, mostly because they were interactive and questions we could not solve on our own could be trashed out as a group.

Eventually, at the end of the freshman year, hearts raced erraticly due to many expectations of what the sessional results would be like. I made the top 20 candidates of the over two hundred students struggling to cross over to medicine alongside two other friends in my study group. Vesh, unfortunately, did not qualify as one of the top candidates and had to continue with the course he was offered at the start of the year. Vesh and I remained on the same campus for the next three years, but I always had a feeling he missed a great shot due to the methods he employed while studying.