For me, it was the Margaret Ekpo Refectory. My heart simply folded into itself. In that moment, I felt the kind of grief a son knows, standing before the ruins of his father’s house, burdened by the quiet shame of having failed to protect his inheritance.
Named after the fiery women’s rights activist, and politician, the imposing structure with its soaring arches and cavernous dining hall, stood as a monument to generations of students who passed through the University of Nigeria, Nsukka. Within those walls, students did far more than eat.
The refectory used to be an intellectual marketplace where politics wrestled with philosophy, where literature met ideology, where friendships were forged, movements conceived, and ambitions nurtured. It was where future professors debated future politicians; where union leaders rehearsed themselves into becoming the nation’s conscience; where the pulse of Nigeria could almost be palpated. It was, in every sense, a university.
You can therefore imagine my horror when I recently watched videos from student hostels, particularly the iconic Eni Njoku Hostel, showing overflowing toilets, broken plumbing, collapsing ceilings, filthy bathrooms, and students living amidst sewage and squalor. One news outlet described the conditions as “repulsive,” reporting that students had resorted to cooking outdoors while enduring maggot-infested surroundings. How the mighty have fallen.
