If you’ve ever lived in a university hostel, you already know that peace is a luxury. 
But that Tuesday morning in my block? Chaos wore slippers and came visiting.

It all started with water. There was scarcity that week, and everyone was acting like thirsty camels. 
Around 5:30 a.m., a rumor spread  “Water don come!”  and the whole hostel woke up like fire drill.

Girls flew out with buckets of all shapes and colors  some fine, some looking like they survived World War II.

Now, one particular girl, Sade, reached the tap first and arranged her five buckets like she owned the borehole. Then Amaka arrived, breathing heavily like someone who sprinted from Lagos to Ibadan.

“Abeg, lemme put my own small bucket,” Amaka said.

Sade replied, “Wait your turn jor, I was here first!”

You would think that’s where it’d end. But no  one minute later, Amaka “accidentally” shifted one of Sade’s buckets to the back.

That’s how it started.

Sade screamed, “Are you mad?!”
Amaka shouted back, “You dey shout for who?!”

Next thing  gbam!  one bucket flew.
Then another.
Then soap water joined the party.

People rushed out with towels still tied halfway, some recording with phones, others shouting, “Fight don burst oh!”

Me, I just stood by the wall like a referee, holding my toothbrush, whispering commentary like a sportscaster:
“Sade with the blue bucket approaches… oh my God, Amaka dodged it! What a move!”

The porter finally came, threatening to lock the tap. Everyone scattered like ants.

By 7 a.m., peace returned  and the next day, guess who you saw fetching water side by side, gossiping about someone else?
Yes, Sade and Amaka.

Hostel fights are temporary. But the gist? Eternal. 😂