The next morning, our first period was Mathematics. So after getting ready and having breakfast, I took my jotter, calculator, checked the syllabus to see what we were supposed to do that day, and then headed to the library.
When I arrived, the librarian herself had just arrived too. The library hadn’t even been fully cleaned yet. I found a place and waited until they finished before going in. Miss Martha, our librarian, asked why I wasn’t in class. I replied that our teacher was busy and that I had an assignment I wanted to complete.
I went straight to the mathematics section, picked three calculus textbooks, found a secluded spot, and sat down to start my calculations calmly. Since we had a double period, I calculated that I had one hour and twenty minutes. As I worked, I kept checking my wristwatch. After one hour passed, I realized I had only twenty minutes left.
My full attention was on my calculations because I was really enjoying the product rule I was working on at the time. Suddenly, I felt like someone was watching me. I quickly raised my head and removed the earpiece from my ear. To my surprise, I saw him smiling at me. From the look of things, he had been watching me for a while.
I quickly looked away and lowered my gaze, wondering what he was doing there when he was supposed to be in our class teaching mathematics.
“Mind if I join?” he said in his calm voice.
Without looking at him, I replied, “No.”
He pulled the chair beside me and sat down. Immediately, I caught his scent. I shifted my chair slightly because his shoulder was touching mine. He began speaking to me softly, so softly that even if someone were close by, they wouldn’t hear what he was saying.
“Why aren’t you in class?”
“I’m sorry,” I replied briefly.
“Sorry for what?” he asked, adjusting his chair to face me fully. I moved my chair back again and said, “For not attending your class.”
He chuckled softly and said, “It’s not my class, it’s OUR class. We are all supposed to be participating in it.”
He paused, then added, “By the way, we missed you in class today. The class was exciting, but I thought it would have been more exciting if you were there. So I asked about you and was told to check the library—and here you are. So, why are you here?”
He asked while looking straight into my eyes. I looked away, fidgeting, embarrassed by what I had done. He reached out and gently turned my face toward him so we were looking at each other.
In a whisper, he said, “You think I’m not good enough to teach you, right?”
I was overwhelmed with embarrassment. I quickly pulled my face away from his hand, covered my eyes with my hands, and said firmly, “No.”
To my surprise, he burst into laughter—and I don’t even know when I joined him. After we stopped laughing, he picked up my jotter and said, “Let’s see what you’ve been doing for the past one hour.”
I said nothing. After studying my work, he said, “Wow. We were in class trying to solve a few problems, while you’re already done with the term here.”
I widened my eyes. “I’m not done with the term, sir. I’m not even close.”
He folded his arms across his chest—a habit I noticed he had—and said, “You are special. Do you know that?”
I quickly replied, “No, sir, I’m not. I just love studying.”
He kept staring at me, looking confused. That was when I really looked at him closely. He wasn’t Hausa. I lowered my head.
“What tribe are you?” he asked softly.
“Fulani,” I replied, playing with my fingers.
“But what you just spoke is Hausa, right?”
“Yes.”
“So you’re Hausa-Fulani?”
I shook my head to say no. He didn’t ask further.
“I’m Yoruba. I’m from Ibadan, Oyo State. My name is Ibrahim Adeniran Oluwaseun. Will you do me the honor of being my friend?”
He stretched out his hand for a handshake.
I raised my head and looked at him again. His skin wasn’t fair like mine, but it wasn’t dark either. He was very tall and slim—not skinny, but straight-backed. His height didn’t make him stoop. He had a long face, a long nose, thick eyebrows, and a slightly wide mouth with thin lips that were now smiling. His face was framed with light sideburns and a small beard on his chin. He wore white glasses over sleepy-looking eyes.
I exhaled softly and said, “I’m Fulani from Jigawa State. My name is Maimoon Muhammad Dikko. Yes, I would like to be your friend—and I’m sorry for missing OUR class today.”
“It’s okay, friend,” he said, dropping his hand when he saw I wasn’t going to shake it.
I checked my watch and was shocked to see that the next period was already far gone. I jumped up quickly, gathering my papers, completely flustered. He also stood up, picked my jotter with the calculations, and said, “I’ll look over these calculations, if you don’t mind.”
“No problem,” I replied hurriedly.
He met me at the door as I was signing out. When I stepped out, he followed behind me. That was when I really noticed how tall he was—my head barely reached his chest.
“See you tomorrow,” I said as we left the library.
“See you in CLASS tomorrow,” he replied, emphasizing the word class.
I quickly walked away; I didn’t want him to delay me further since I was already late for English class. When I entered, Aunty Grace questioned me about where I had been. I told her I was in the library doing an assignment and didn’t realize how much time had passed.
During break, I asked Hafsat how the math class went. She pursed her lips and said, “Why do you care? You’re the one who left us with that tall man.”
“Sorry,” I said, lowering my head. She glared at me and looked away, clearly still angry.
“Is he good?” I asked.
She hesitated, then said, “You’ll find out tomorrow. We have him double period in the morning.”
“Oh my God, Moon, he’s so good! I’ve never enjoyed mathematics like I did today. He explains everything in detail and makes sure everyone understands before moving on. Honestly, Moon, you really missed out,” Hasiya said as she came to my desk, her face glowing.
I stood up and addressed the class. “Okay people, tomorrow I’ll give the Thin Tall Man a chance.”
“The Thin Tall Man?” they echoed.
“Yes,” I said matter-of-factly. “Didn’t you see him? I think the name fits him perfectly.”
The whole class burst into laughter. Hafsat and I held hands, laughing hard. From the corner of my eye, I saw Amira, her face filled with annoyance.
---
Episode Eight: The New Imam
That night in the hostel, Amira came to our room while I was done bathing and preparing to sleep. She sat at the edge of my bed. Since we were now seniors, we no longer used bunk beds. I still shared the room with Hafsat and two Christian girls, Naomi and Abigail. Four beds, four lockers, four study chairs with tables, and two fridges.
The room was always neat because Hafsat was extremely clean—and bigger than all of us—so she naturally acted like our senior. No one dared to mess up the room. We shared one toilet, which cleaners washed twice daily.
I was standing in front of Abigail’s locker mirror when Amira entered, wearing a long hijab that touched the floor. I knew she had already slept and woken up.
“Moon, this your blanket is so soft. If I sleep on it, I won’t wake up for Fajr,” she said.
I turned to her. “Do you want me to give it to you? I have another one.”
“No, if I use it, I won’t wake up for Fajr,” she replied quickly. We all laughed.
Hafsat, lying on her bed reading a novel, asked, “Amira, is it true our Imam has gone for Umrah?”
“Yes, wallahi,” Amira replied. “That’s actually why I came. He’s gone for Umrah and won’t return for at least a month.”
I moved closer to her. “So what happens now? Who will lead our prayers and teach us?”
Amira, being the mosque prefect, had all the information. “The senior master said they’ll find a solution. Maybe when we go for Fajr tomorrow, we’ll see a new face.”
I held my head. “Oh God, I don’t like all these changes.”
Amira adjusted her seat. “Change can be good sometimes, Moon. That’s what I came to tell you. Don’t let these changes affect you negatively. Give change a chance—you might even like it. I don’t want you to lose interest in your studies because of a new Imam. You and Hafsat are almost done here.”
Hafsat smiled her usual sideways smile and whispered, “She likes you.”
I stood up. “I like you too, Amira. And insha Allah, nothing will happen to my studies. Besides, I have you.”
Amira had been studying ahead of us since she arrived at the school, which was why Hafsat and I often studied with her. Laughing, she said, “You people don’t even study seriously with me.” She wished us good night and left.
I lay back, thinking about the day’s events. I realized I hadn’t done right. I should have given the Thin Tall Man a chance, as Amira said, before judging his teaching. Skipping his class was wrong, and I could have been punished for it. Yet he hadn’t shown anger—he even sought peace.
Before sleeping, I promised myself that I would make up for my mistakes the next day.
The following morning, just as expected, we heard a different voice leading the prayer. We joined in, then went to Islamiyya class. While revising our previous lessons, he walked in. Despite the early morning darkness, the classroom lights were on.
I stared at him in shock.
It was the Thin Tall Man.
He wore an ash-colored jalabiya, black trousers, and a black cap. No glasses. He closed the door, leaned against it, and folded his arms across his chest as if he was cold. His eyes scanned the room until they met mine. I quickly lowered my gaze.
He cleared his throat. I raised my head and saw him smiling at me—I smiled back unconsciously, then quickly looked down again.
“I was asked by the senior master to guide you through your Islamic studies before your teacher returns from his pilgrimage,” he said.
He leaned against the board and continued, “I don’t know how you do it here. Do you have a class monitor?”
“Yes,” we replied.
Amira stood up and explained everything, showing him our timetable. He listened attentively, nodding.
After she finished, he said, “With your permission, I’d like to make some changes. Instead of group progression, we’ll focus on individual progress so no one is left behind. Because of time, we may add night classes. I’ll discuss it with the senior master.”
He came to my desk, checked the Qur’an in front of me, then said, “We’ll start tomorrow, insha Allah. Time is already up today. Ma’assalam.”
Everyone replied “Bissalam,” except me—I felt uncomfortable because he had stood so close to my seat. Every breath I took carried his scent and aftershave.
---
Episode Nine: Give Me a Chance
The Geography lecture that day was very interesting. Now I understood what Hasiya meant—he explained everything thoroughly and carried everyone along. He referred to things I had mentioned earlier and explained them in simple terms.
Toward the end, he gave us classwork: write what we understood about the topic in ten minutes. I couldn’t find a sheet of paper, so I signaled Hafsat. She ignored me. Frustrated, I turned to Amira—but before she could respond, a sheet of paper appeared in front of me.
I looked up. “Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t mention it. What are friends for?” he replied, giving me that you remember look.
I smiled and started writing. Then I noticed he had sat on my desk beside me. His scent filled my senses again. Suddenly, my ideas vanished; I couldn’t even form a sentence. I had smelled masculine scents before, but this was different—it made me uncomfortable. I began fidgeting with the edge of my hijab.
He leaned close to my ear and whispered, “Am I making you uncomfortable?”
Startled, I looked up—and our eyes locked. Everything froze: time, the class, even my heartbeat. I saw nothing but him. I smelled nothing but him.
Then Hafsat’s voice broke through. “Sir! Sir!”
I blinked, and reality returned. We had been staring at each other. I looked away quickly, mortified. I noticed the whole class staring.
“Yes?” he asked, his voice still unsteady.
“I’m done, sir,” Hafsat said sharply.
“Done with what?” he asked.
“The classwork, sir. You gave us classwork, remember?”
“Oh,” he said, rubbing his head. He stood up and said, “Keep it. I’ll collect it tomorrow,” and walked out—leaving behind his glasses, phone, and papers.
Hafsat stormed to my desk, hands on her waist. “Were you flirting with the Thin Tall Man, or am I blind?”
Before I could respond, the physics teacher entered. Hafsat sat down, signaling you’re dead.
The teacher joked, noticed the forgotten items, and sent me to return them. I reluctantly agreed.
At the staffroom, I met another corper who said Ibrahim wasn’t around. I left the items with him and turned to go—only to bump into someone.
I didn’t need to look up. I knew it was him.
“I brought your things,” I said.
“Okay, thanks.”
“I was sent by our physics teacher.”
“Okay.”
As I walked away, he called my name. I didn’t stop. He hurried ahead, caught my hand, placed something in my palm, and said, “This is for you.”
I looked down.
It was my jotter.
On the front page, beside my name, he had written:
Episode Seven: The Thin Tall Man
The next morning, our first period was Mathematics. So after getting ready and having breakfast, I took my jotter, calculator, checked the syllabus to see what we were supposed to do that day, and then headed to the library.
When I arrived, the librarian herself had just arrived too. The library hadn’t even been fully cleaned yet. I found a place and waited until they finished before going in. Miss Martha, our librarian, asked why I wasn’t in class. I replied that our teacher was busy and that I had an assignment I wanted to complete.
I went straight to the mathematics section, picked three calculus textbooks, found a secluded spot, and sat down to start my calculations calmly. Since we had a double period, I calculated that I had one hour and twenty minutes. As I worked, I kept checking my wristwatch. After one hour passed, I realized I had only twenty minutes left.
My full attention was on my calculations because I was really enjoying the product rule I was working on at the time. Suddenly, I felt like someone was watching me. I quickly raised my head and removed the earpiece from my ear. To my surprise, I saw him smiling at me. From the look of things, he had been watching me for a while.
I quickly looked away and lowered my gaze, wondering what he was doing there when he was supposed to be in our class teaching mathematics.
“Mind if I join?” he said in his calm voice.
Without looking at him, I replied, “No.”
He pulled the chair beside me and sat down. Immediately, I caught his scent. I shifted my chair slightly because his shoulder was touching mine. He began speaking to me softly, so softly that even if someone were close by, they wouldn’t hear what he was saying.
“Why aren’t you in class?”
“I’m sorry,” I replied briefly.
“Sorry for what?” he asked, adjusting his chair to face me fully. I moved my chair back again and said, “For not attending your class.”
He chuckled softly and said, “It’s not my class, it’s OUR class. We are all supposed to be participating in it.”
He paused, then added, “By the way, we missed you in class today. The class was exciting, but I thought it would have been more exciting if you were there. So I asked about you and was told to check the library—and here you are. So, why are you here?”
He asked while looking straight into my eyes. I looked away, fidgeting, embarrassed by what I had done. He reached out and gently turned my face toward him so we were looking at each other.
In a whisper, he said, “You think I’m not good enough to teach you, right?”
I was overwhelmed with embarrassment. I quickly pulled my face away from his hand, covered my eyes with my hands, and said firmly, “No.”
To my surprise, he burst into laughter—and I don’t even know when I joined him. After we stopped laughing, he picked up my jotter and said, “Let’s see what you’ve been doing for the past one hour.”
I said nothing. After studying my work, he said, “Wow. We were in class trying to solve a few problems, while you’re already done with the term here.”
I widened my eyes. “I’m not done with the term, sir. I’m not even close.”
He folded his arms across his chest—a habit I noticed he had—and said, “You are special. Do you know that?”
I quickly replied, “No, sir, I’m not. I just love studying.”
He kept staring at me, looking confused. That was when I really looked at him closely. He wasn’t Hausa. I lowered my head.
“What tribe are you?” he asked softly.
“Fulani,” I replied, playing with my fingers.
“But what you just spoke is Hausa, right?”
“Yes.”
“So you’re Hausa-Fulani?”
I shook my head to say no. He didn’t ask further.
“I’m Yoruba. I’m from Ibadan, Oyo State. My name is Ibrahim Adeniran Oluwaseun. Will you do me the honor of being my friend?”
He stretched out his hand for a handshake.
I raised my head and looked at him again. His skin wasn’t fair like mine, but it wasn’t dark either. He was very tall and slim—not skinny, but straight-backed. His height didn’t make him stoop. He had a long face, a long nose, thick eyebrows, and a slightly wide mouth with thin lips that were now smiling. His face was framed with light sideburns and a small beard on his chin. He wore white glasses over sleepy-looking eyes.
I exhaled softly and said, “I’m Fulani from Jigawa State. My name is Maimoon Muhammad Dikko. Yes, I would like to be your friend—and I’m sorry for missing OUR class today.”
“It’s okay, friend,” he said, dropping his hand when he saw I wasn’t going to shake it.
I checked my watch and was shocked to see that the next period was already far gone. I jumped up quickly, gathering my papers, completely flustered. He also stood up, picked my jotter with the calculations, and said, “I’ll look over these calculations, if you don’t mind.”
“No problem,” I replied hurriedly.
He met me at the door as I was signing out. When I stepped out, he followed behind me. That was when I really noticed how tall he was—my head barely reached his chest.
“See you tomorrow,” I said as we left the library.
“See you in CLASS tomorrow,” he replied, emphasizing the word class.
I quickly walked away; I didn’t want him to delay me further since I was already late for English class. When I entered, Aunty Grace questioned me about where I had been. I told her I was in the library doing an assignment and didn’t realize how much time had passed.
During break, I asked Hafsat how the math class went. She pursed her lips and said, “Why do you care? You’re the one who left us with that tall man.”
“Sorry,” I said, lowering my head. She glared at me and looked away, clearly still angry.
“Is he good?” I asked.
She hesitated, then said, “You’ll find out tomorrow. We have him double period in the morning.”
“Oh my God, Moon, he’s so good! I’ve never enjoyed mathematics like I did today. He explains everything in detail and makes sure everyone understands before moving on. Honestly, Moon, you really missed out,” Hasiya said as she came to my desk, her face glowing.
I stood up and addressed the class. “Okay people, tomorrow I’ll give the Thin Tall Man a chance.”
“The Thin Tall Man?” they echoed.
“Yes,” I said matter-of-factly. “Didn’t you see him? I think the name fits him perfectly.”
The whole class burst into laughter. Hafsat and I held hands, laughing hard. From the corner of my eye, I saw Amira, her face filled with annoyance.
---
Episode Eight: The New Imam
That night in the hostel, Amira came to our room while I was done bathing and preparing to sleep. She sat at the edge of my bed. Since we were now seniors, we no longer used bunk beds. I still shared the room with Hafsat and two Christian girls, Naomi and Abigail. Four beds, four lockers, four study chairs with tables, and two fridges.
The room was always neat because Hafsat was extremely clean—and bigger than all of us—so she naturally acted like our senior. No one dared to mess up the room. We shared one toilet, which cleaners washed twice daily.
I was standing in front of Abigail’s locker mirror when Amira entered, wearing a long hijab that touched the floor. I knew she had already slept and woken up.
“Moon, this your blanket is so soft. If I sleep on it, I won’t wake up for Fajr,” she said.
I turned to her. “Do you want me to give it to you? I have another one.”
“No, if I use it, I won’t wake up for Fajr,” she replied quickly. We all laughed.
Hafsat, lying on her bed reading a novel, asked, “Amira, is it true our Imam has gone for Umrah?”
“Yes, wallahi,” Amira replied. “That’s actually why I came. He’s gone for Umrah and won’t return for at least a month.”
I moved closer to her. “So what happens now? Who will lead our prayers and teach us?”
Amira, being the mosque prefect, had all the information. “The senior master said they’ll find a solution. Maybe when we go for Fajr tomorrow, we’ll see a new face.”
I held my head. “Oh God, I don’t like all these changes.”
Amira adjusted her seat. “Change can be good sometimes, Moon. That’s what I came to tell you. Don’t let these changes affect you negatively. Give change a chance—you might even like it. I don’t want you to lose interest in your studies because of a new Imam. You and Hafsat are almost done here.”
Hafsat smiled her usual sideways smile and whispered, “She likes you.”
I stood up. “I like you too, Amira. And insha Allah, nothing will happen to my studies. Besides, I have you.”
Amira had been studying ahead of us since she arrived at the school, which was why Hafsat and I often studied with her. Laughing, she said, “You people don’t even study seriously with me.” She wished us good night and left.
I lay back, thinking about the day’s events. I realized I hadn’t done right. I should have given the Thin Tall Man a chance, as Amira said, before judging his teaching. Skipping his class was wrong, and I could have been punished for it. Yet he hadn’t shown anger—he even sought peace.
Before sleeping, I promised myself that I would make up for my mistakes the next day.
The following morning, just as expected, we heard a different voice leading the prayer. We joined in, then went to Islamiyya class. While revising our previous lessons, he walked in. Despite the early morning darkness, the classroom lights were on.
I stared at him in shock.
It was the Thin Tall Man.
He wore an ash-colored jalabiya, black trousers, and a black cap. No glasses. He closed the door, leaned against it, and folded his arms across his chest as if he was cold. His eyes scanned the room until they met mine. I quickly lowered my gaze.
He cleared his throat. I raised my head and saw him smiling at me—I smiled back unconsciously, then quickly looked down again.
“I was asked by the senior master to guide you through your Islamic studies before your teacher returns from his pilgrimage,” he said.
He leaned against the board and continued, “I don’t know how you do it here. Do you have a class monitor?”
“Yes,” we replied.
Amira stood up and explained everything, showing him our timetable. He listened attentively, nodding.
After she finished, he said, “With your permission, I’d like to make some changes. Instead of group progression, we’ll focus on individual progress so no one is left behind. Because of time, we may add night classes. I’ll discuss it with the senior master.”
He came to my desk, checked the Qur’an in front of me, then said, “We’ll start tomorrow, insha Allah. Time is already up today. Ma’assalam.”
Everyone replied “Bissalam,” except me—I felt uncomfortable because he had stood so close to my seat. Every breath I took carried his scent and aftershave.
---
Episode Nine: Give Me a Chance
The Geography lecture that day was very interesting. Now I understood what Hasiya meant—he explained everything thoroughly and carried everyone along. He referred to things I had mentioned earlier and explained them in simple terms.
Toward the end, he gave us classwork: write what we understood about the topic in ten minutes. I couldn’t find a sheet of paper, so I signaled Hafsat. She ignored me. Frustrated, I turned to Amira—but before she could respond, a sheet of paper appeared in front of me.
I looked up. “Thank you, sir.”
“Don’t mention it. What are friends for?” he replied, giving me that you remember look.
I smiled and started writing. Then I noticed he had sat on my desk beside me. His scent filled my senses again. Suddenly, my ideas vanished; I couldn’t even form a sentence. I had smelled masculine scents before, but this was different—it made me uncomfortable. I began fidgeting with the edge of my hijab.
He leaned close to my ear and whispered, “Am I making you uncomfortable?”
Startled, I looked up—and our eyes locked. Everything froze: time, the class, even my heartbeat. I saw nothing but him. I smelled nothing but him.
Then Hafsat’s voice broke through. “Sir! Sir!”
I blinked, and reality returned. We had been staring at each other. I looked away quickly, mortified. I noticed the whole class staring.
“Yes?” he asked, his voice still unsteady.
“I’m done, sir,” Hafsat said sharply.
“Done with what?” he asked.
“The classwork, sir. You gave us classwork, remember?”
“Oh,” he said, rubbing his head. He stood up and said, “Keep it. I’ll collect it tomorrow,” and walked out—leaving behind his glasses, phone, and papers.
Hafsat stormed to my desk, hands on her waist. “Were you flirting with the Thin Tall Man, or am I blind?”
Before I could respond, the physics teacher entered. Hafsat sat down, signaling you’re dead.
The teacher joked, noticed the forgotten items, and sent me to return them. I reluctantly agreed.
At the staffroom, I met another corper who said Ibrahim wasn’t around. I left the items with him and turned to go—only to bump into someone.
I didn’t need to look up. I knew it was him.
“I brought your things,” I said.
“Okay, thanks.”
“I was sent by our physics teacher.”
“Okay.”
As I walked away, he called my name. I didn’t stop. He hurried ahead, caught my hand, placed something in my palm, and said, “This is for you.”
I looked down.
It was my jotter.
On the front page, beside my name, he had written: