By Thursday morning, Nora was finally starting to breathe easier. MTH 105 no longer felt like rocket science—just aggressive mathematics. She even got a seat beside Yetunde, who whispered lecture notes like secrets. Things were settling in. Until her pen went missing. Again.
Friday came with rain—just enough to soak slippers, but not enough to cancel lectures. Nora was in the cafeteria with Yetunde, stirring her cold jollof rice, half-focused.
“Why you dey press phone like that?” Yetunde asked, eyeing her screen.
“Trying to ignore Ayomide’s messages,” Nora muttered. “He’s...
If you're a Jambite—someone who's just written or about to write JAMB—you’re standing at a huge crossroads. Your decisions now will shape the next few years of your life. No pressure, but it's better to go in with your eyes wide open. Here’s the real advice you need:
The sun over Osogbo was unforgiving that Monday morning, slapping faces with heat and stress. Students moved like a migrating swarm into the Faculty of Basic and Applied Sciences—bags bouncing, books clutched, brows dripping.
