If you’ve ever walked the winding path of university life in Nigeria, missed lectures, crashed systems, group work, departmental politics, random strikes, and those mysterious 8 a.m. classes with lecturers who think attendance equals affection, you’ll understand why Final Year Week (FYB Week) isn’t just a social event. It’s a rite of passage.
I’ve dreamed of it. Visualised it. Romanticised it. And now that it’s here? Best believe I’m showing up and showing out. Not because I love loud gatherings (I don’t), or because I live for the spotlight (I don’t), but because I say this with my chest, I deserve this celebration.
Eight semesters of non-stop hard work. Dozens of courses that made no sense until after the exams. Group members who brought vibes instead of value. GPA pressure. Family expectations. Life. And through it all, I stayed. I stood. I showed up.
And so yes, I’m going to wear that matching outfit. Yes, I’m going to take all the pictures. Yes, I’m going to eat like it’s my birthday and dance like no one’s watching. Because this is more than just a week of parties. It’s closure. It’s a reflection. It’s a full-circle moment.
I get it. Some of us are tired to the bone, emotionally, mentally, financially. For others, the school has been more of a battlefield than a campus. You want to leave and never look back. But if there’s even a little spark left in you, a little energy, let me say this: don’t skip your victory lap.
You’re not celebrating because you graduated with a First Class (congrats if you did, sha). You’re celebrating because you didn’t quit. That alone is a flex. In a country where education keeps getting harder, and systems often feel like traps instead of tools, you made it through.
Even if your degree was your parents’ dream, you were the one who stayed up reading, you wrote those CATs, you walked in the rain for 7 a.m. lectures that never held. So please, eat that cake. Wear those colours. Take those pictures. Own your moment.
For the Love of the Moments
Personally? I’m excited. I’ve helped organise FYB Weeks before, so I’ve seen firsthand the energy, the joy, the madness. The planning chaos. The last-minute “who will perform?” panic. The outfit drama. And the love. FYB Week has magic. It’s the one time we all collectively agree to exhale. And you don’t want to miss that.
I even have a secret plan: I might recruit a “cosplay boyfriend” just for the week so we can rock coordinated fits. I saw a couple do that last year, and honestly, I haven’t recovered from the cuteness. I already have my colour palette picked out. I’m also looking forward to meeting those School of Science and Technology (SST) guys who’ve been hiding inside labs like they’re in Squid Game. Come outside, please. The world is waiting.
But beyond the aesthetics and romance, it’s about the bond. The way my girls and I will hype each other. The loud shouts of “you ate!”
FYB Week is the big full stop at the end of the longest paragraph. It’s not just an event. It’s a narrative of struggle, perseverance, sisterhood, last-minute project submissions, and blurry slides that somehow became test questions.
So, when I attend that Thanksgiving service, when I dance in the sign-out shirt soaked in marker ink, when I wear my gele with pride, know this: I’m not showing off. I’m showing gratitude.
