Life As It Is

March 5

They finally told us to submit three project topics. The time is near closer than I can ever imagine. Five years of lectures, case notes, assignments, endless library sessions, and now, this: the final hurdle before the end of my law journey. Somehow, it feels both thrilling and terrifying.

The announcement came at the end of today’s lecture. The lecturer, with his usual calm and slightly intimidating air, wrote the instructions on the board: each student must submit three potential topics, from which one will be chosen for their final project. Simple, yet monumental. Three topics to represent everything I’ve learned, everything I’ve absorbed, everything I hope to be as a future lawyer.

I left the hall with my head spinning. My mind immediately went to possibilities. I’ve always been the type to overthink, to imagine every angle, every implication. And now, with the final-year project looming, my imagination had gone into overdrive. I needed to choose wisely.

I’ve narrowed my thoughts down to three potential areas, each appealing for different reasons.

The first: Law and Cybercrime.

I’ve always been fascinated by how technology intersects with law. Cybercrime is rapidly growing in Nigeria from phishing and identity theft to cyberstalking and online fraud. There’s so much ambiguity in our legislation, and courts are constantly struggling to keep pace. I could write something like:

“Digital Shadows: Evaluating the Adequacy of Nigerian Law in Combating Cybercrime in the 21st Century.”

The title alone makes my heart race. It’s ambitious. It promises a deep dive into statutes, case law, and emerging trends in technology. But I also know the work will be demanding. I would have to analyze legislation, recent judgments, and even international practices — and then there’s the practical side: interviewing practitioners or gathering examples, which could be tedious but also exhilarating if done well.

I’ve spent hours imagining how the introduction would read: the modern era, a society increasingly dependent on technology, criminals exploiting digital gaps, and the law trying to keep pace. I can see the paragraphs forming in my head, even though I haven’t written a single word yet.

Then, there’s the second option: Election Law.

With Nigeria’s complex political climate, the legal framework surrounding elections is endlessly fascinating. From voting procedures to dispute resolutions, electoral law feels both urgent and dynamic. I could frame a topic like:

“Balancing Democracy and Legislation: Analyzing the Effectiveness of Nigerian Electoral Law in Ensuring Free and Fair Elections.”

The idea excites me because it’s not just theory it’s current, practical, and incredibly impactful. Every election, every petition, every court ruling could serve as material. But the weight of it scares me too. The research would require detailed study of the Electoral Act, recent court cases, tribunal decisions, and maybe even interviewing lawyers involved in election petitions. It’s intensive, but it feels like a topic that could leave a mark.

And finally, there’s Constitutional Law.

I’ve always loved the elegance of constitutional interpretation. It’s the backbone of everything we study. There’s so much room for critical thought, debate, and philosophical exploration. A topic here could be:

“Constitutional Safeguards and Human Rights: Evaluating the Protection of Civil Liberties in Contemporary Nigeria.”

This one is more reflective, almost theoretical, but deeply personal. I think about the cases I’ve studied where individual rights were weighed against state interest, the nuances of freedom of expression, the powers of government, and the limits imposed by law. This topic would allow me to explore those gray areas, make analytical arguments, and perhaps even propose reforms.

Sitting in my apartment tonight, I can’t decide which one resonates most. Cybercrime is modern, urgent, and technology-driven. Election law is dynamic, political, and socially significant. Constitutional law is foundational, intellectual, and timeless. Each represents a different version of who I want to be as a lawyer.

I try to visualize the research process. For Cybercrime, I see myself in the library, surrounded by statutes, cases, and law journals, scribbling notes, analyzing every loophole, imagining hypothetical scenarios of online fraud. I can almost hear the quiet tapping of my pen on paper, the gentle rustle of turning pages, the occasional sigh when a case contradicts the one before it.

For Election Law, I picture newspapers, tribunal reports, political commentaries, and court judgments stacked across my desk. The weight of each case feels almost tangible. I can imagine summarizing petitions, analyzing judgments, and even questioning the efficacy of our legal processes. The excitement is tempered by anxiety: what if I can’t access some crucial case files? What if my arguments aren’t strong enough?

And Constitutional Law… here, the mental image is slightly different. It’s quieter. I imagine myself pondering over constitutional provisions, comparing sections, reflecting on historical amendments, and thinking critically about how courts interpret rights versus state powers. There’s a certain serenity in this path, a contemplative satisfaction, but also a pressure to think deeply and not oversimplify.

I keep reminding myself: these are more than papers. They’re the final statements of my law school journey. The culmination of years of lectures, late-night readings, moot court experiences, and relentless practice. Choosing the topics feels like choosing a legacy a way to demonstrate not just what I’ve learned, but how I think, how I analyze, and how I engage with the law.

Part of me wants Cybercrime for the thrill something current, something edgy. Part of me leans toward Election Law for its relevance and the potential impact of my research. Part of me whispers that Constitutional Law is the most “me” analytical, careful, reflective.

I make a list on my notebook: pros, cons, research demands, potential supervisors, personal interest, and long-term relevance. Each topic has its merits. Each could be the one to define this year. But the sheer responsibility presses on me. I want it to be perfect. I want it to be something that I will be proud of, something I can look back on and say, I gave my best, and it mattered.

The reality is: this is no longer just about passing a course. It’s about proving to myself that I am capable of handling complex legal analysis independently. The time is near the deadline looms and every passing day reminds me that this project is both an ending and a beginning: the ending of my formal law education, and the beginning of my professional life.

I stare at the page, my pen hovering. The apartment is quiet except for the distant hum of traffic outside. I imagine drafting the introduction to each topic, imagining how the research would unfold, weighing every advantage and potential pitfall. Cybercrime feels urgent, Election Law feels pressing, and Constitutional Law feels profound.

I realize that, ultimately, the topics I choose will reflect my mindset, my priorities, and perhaps even a bit of who I am now: a law student on the edge of graduation, eager to make an impression, cautious but ambitious, aware of the challenges ahead, and excited about the possibilities.

And so, I write down the three options once more, circling each one carefully, feeling the weight of this choice. One will eventually be selected as my reality, my project, my statement of the final year. The time is near closer than I can ever imagine and soon, I will have to commit.

For now, I sit in my quiet apartment, letting the possibilities swirl, the ideas settle, and the excitement mix with nerves. This is it. This is the beginning of the end, and the start of something entirely new.