Under The Mango Tree

Chapter 3. Strike, Survival, and Silent Nights

By mid-semester, the lecturers went on strike.

No warning, no negotiation—just a bold announcement pasted on every notice board: *“INDUSTRIAL STRIKE: ALL ACADEMIC ACTIVITIES SUSPENDED.”*

Suddenly, Deborah’s schedule went from 7 a.m. classes to late brunches and long phone calls. Some students went home. Others stayed, unsure of what waited outside campus. Deborah stayed, so did Ijeoma. And so did Tolu.

They found rhythm in the pause. Days became slower, conversations deeper. Tolu introduced her to his circle: Korede the poet, Lami the fashion designer, and Sunkanmi who spoke only in music lyrics. They’d sit on hostel steps sharing stories and groundnut, creating memories the school calendar couldn’t.

But it wasn’t all soft sunsets.

There were nights when food was scarce. Days when water didn’t run. Moments Deborah felt lost—staring at the ceiling fan, wondering if she was wasting time. But those were the nights Tolu would call and say, “You good?” in that simple way that made it okay to cry a little.

She didn’t know what this was between them. But she knew it felt safe.

One night, they sat outside the hostel gate. The mango tree shadowed them as they watched the stars.

“What if this—” she gestured at the empty campus “—isn’t what I thought university would be?”

“Maybe it’s not meant to be what you imagined,” Tolu said. “Maybe it’s meant to be what you become.”

She didn’t reply. But she held that sentence tight, like a song lyric she’d never forget.