England, 2016: Thirty-Year Reunion, College

England, 2016: Thirty-Year Reunion, College

  

The gathering took place on Friday, July 29th through Saturday, July 30th, 2016, at De Vere Venues, Staverton Park, Staverton, Northamptonshire, United Kingdom.

Days before the event, a final list of who would attend was sent out. Everyone wanted to look their best coming into the reunion to impress their colleagues, many of whom they had not seen   Ibadan     for thirty years, since medical school graduation.

In Australia, Switzerland, Canada, Nigeria, and the United States of America, colleagues packed their bags. Anticipation reached a crescendo. The women purchased glittering dresses, and the men shaved and dyed their hair. Only Moses left his gray to run amok, for which he earned the Wisdom Hair award.

When we arrived at De Vere venues, matching all the names on the list to all the faces on the ground proved a task. Unless friends revealed themselves, they were strangers.

In the mid-afternoon of Saturday, Salako, Provost of the College of Medicine, on the speech podium, glanced at a man who had entered the auditorium. The man wore a brown-colored, dome-shaped hat. ‘The hat,’ the stranger confessed, ‘is hiding badly-dyed gray hair.’ Sympathy and laughter welcomed him.

Following the ‘Remember to give back to Alma Mata’ speech, people zigzagged across the hotel vestibule to search for classmates.

‘Have you seen Fred Akpochafo?’ asked a sharp-eyed, toothily smiling fellow of a bespectacled man with an easy smile and pumped-up speech. ‘I am Fred,’ the guy in glasses responded.

Upon mutual recognition, Chinwe Nwokoma and Fred mobbed each other in fifteen-minute bear hugs and handshakes, following which both men suffered elbow dislocation.

‘Did you see Ntekim Bassey?’ the guy with the badly-dyed hair asked Barry. A croaky voice answered, ‘I saw him half a second ago.’

The longer people conversed, the more certain they were that a particular voice belonged to a particular colleague.

Ayo and I had exchanged many e-mails but not until Saturday was I able to match the person to the name. Yet he remained fuzzy in my memory. We continued to trade jabs of handshakes and hugs throughout the evening, waiting for a complete memory download.

Each handshake tugged on the memory. Each hug recruited more sleeping neurons. Yes! He is Ayo, his voice never left. It was just hiding, somewhere in the nuggets of the hippocampus. The same experience happened with Benjamin Oke, I think.

More mind authentication lazily occurred when I saw Ajibola and Osahon, Mase and Mojisola, Adebayo, Prof. Musa, Pal Loolo, Man Jaji and Evelyn, Kehinde and Sammy Best, Chuks, Essein, Tony N. and Taiwo. Peter Olukowi almost slipped away. ‘My father is Henry Akpabio,’ said a boy to me.

People such as President Yemi, Obi, Abolade, Emeka, Bolo, Onome, Peter Eweje, Ngozi, and Vero, I will never forget.

By the evening of Saturday, seventy percent of the class had been identified. More discoveries continued during dinner. Sunday morning and afternoon saw new revelations.

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