A 17-Year-Old Christian Boy’s Journey

The first thing Tobi heard on campus was the generator’s cough - steady, metallic, and stubborn - before the morning sun even cleared the edge of the hostel roof. Somewhere nearby a tap ran with a thin hiss, and the air carried fried akara from a kiosk that had no business being that early. He stood just outside the gate, one strap of his bag cutting into his shoulder, and watched new students drift in like a tide. Boys in crisp shirts argued over directions to the faculty offices. Girls laughed too loudly, as if volume could keep fear away. Tobi swallowed the dryness in his throat and tightened his grip on the small Bible he’d packed in his bag like a passport.

His mother had hugged him at dawn, her wrapper smelling faintly of camphor and pepper soup. “Don’t let them make you small,” she’d said, as if the university could shrink him by force. Now the campus noise pressed against his ears, and the heat rose from the ground in wavering waves. He could almost feel the old life fall behind him - the church youth programme, the familiar sanctuary coolness, the way prayers used to land softly in his chest. Here, everything sounded louder than his faith.

A man in a blue vest walked past with a clipboard and a whistle that hung around his neck like a threat. “Freshers! Move with your department!” he called, and the word freshers sounded like a label on a product. Tobi adjusted his bag and hurried after a stream of students toward the administrative block. His phone buzzed with a message from his admission group: Meet at the faculty portal by 8am. Don’t be late. He checked the time again. 7:41. His stomach tightened, not from lateness alone, but from the fear that if he missed something small, he would miss everything.

He wanted this day to feel like a beginning, not a test. He wanted to walk into his first lecture hall and not act like someone who had been admitted by mistake. When he pictured himself in classes, he saw himself raising his hand confidently, taking notes neatly, and going back to his room to pray without shame. That picture was bright in his mind, and he held it close as he followed the crowd past posters plastered on walls - some about student elections, others about “freshers’ week” parties that promised music until late at night.

At the faculty portal, a long line of students stood beneath a ceiling fan that never turned fast enough. The air smelled of sweat and paper dust. Tobi joined the back of the queue, his Bible tapping lightly against the side of his bag each time he shifted his weight. A boy ahead of him wore a wristwatch too big for his arm and kept checking his reflection in a glass panel. When Tobi glanced at him, the boy noticed and smirked.

“You dey early?” the boy asked, voice dripping with amusement.

“Just trying to be on time,” Tobi answered, keeping his tone calm. He didn’t want to fight this new place with defensiveness.

The smirk widened. “On time no mean anything. Na God go help you. That one you carry?” He jerked his chin at Tobi’s bag.

Tobi’s fingers tightened around the strap. “It’s my Bible.”

“Abi,” the boy said, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. “I like your confidence. But make you no carry am go class come write like pastor. Lecturers no dey respect that thing.” He turned away before Tobi could reply, already absorbed in someone else’s conversation.

Heat climbed Tobi’s neck. He wanted to say, God can handle academics. He wanted to say, My faith isn’t decoration. But the truth was, even as he stood in the line, he felt his faith wobble under the pressure of being watched.

When his turn came, the officer behind the desk barely looked up. “Name?”

“Tobi Adeyemi.”

“Course?”

“Computer Science.”

The officer’s pen scratched across paper. “O level?”

Tobi answered smoothly, reciting numbers he’d memorised during long nights. The officer stamped his form with a thick thud, then slid it across. “Go to the Department. Next.”

Tobi stepped away into the corridor, relief flooding him for a few seconds. Then the corridor swallowed him again. Students walked past in groups, their laughter sharp and quick. A poster by the stairs advertised a church event for later in the week - he noticed it like a lifeline - and beside it another poster for a “welcome party” with a photo of people dressed in shiny outfits. The contrast made his chest tighten. He wondered how those two things would fit together. He wondered if he would have to choose.

At the Department office, the lecturer on duty was a thin man with gold-rimmed spectacles. He spoke fast and didn’t smile much. Tobi listened, trying to catch everything. When the lecturer asked for a quick introduction, Tobi stood, palms slightly damp.

“My name is Tobi Adeyemi. I’m from Lagos State. I-”

The lecturer cut in. “Christian? Muslim? Mention it later. We don’t need religion here.”

The words landed like stones. Tobi blinked once, confused by the bluntness....