The Sociology of Madness

She stood there like a statue, looking so lost. She couldn’t believe she had been caught while lost in her train of thought.

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She had never been caught all her life, and now, standing in front of the whole class, clueless and embarrassed, she looked like a child that was caught stealing from her mother’s pot of soup.

“Are you deaf or something?” Professor Obara thundered. “What was the last thing I said?”
Sotonye stared at her shoes like the answers were etched into the leather.
“You see what I’m always saying? Failure is an option. While others choose to ace their papers, some have chosen to fail!”
The class burst into laughter.

I didn’t laugh though and that was because I was her seatmate and I already knew that Sotonye had a very complicated relationship with reality. If daydreaming were a competition, Sotonye would be an Olympic gold medalist with sponsors and so many endorsements.

We were both Accounting students at Rivers State University, and this was not even a core course. It was our GST 102: History of Philosophy lecture.
Every Thursday morning, we would gather like packed sardines, as the whole faculty of Management Sciences was made to offer that course. We would all gather in the general auditorium to listen to Professor Obara deliver ancient theories in a tone that could make water boil.

Sotonye joined us in second year. She was a direct-entry student from the Rivers State Polytechnic. She embodied this smallish frame, was always seen carrying one oversized bag, and had a voice that was too enthusiastic for 8 a.m. classes. From the very first week she got admitted, she attached herself to me like a sticker.
“I like your energy,” she said. I didn’t know what that meant exactly, but she kept showing up beside me in class, so I went with the flow. Before long, we became seatmates and somehow, friends.

Sotonye lived in her own head as she would ask me the most ridiculous questions amid lecture.
“Dinma,” she whispered one day during Obara’s lecture around Descartes, “do you think mosquitoes ever get tired of sucking blood and just want to drink Ribena?”
I literally choked on my saliva.
At another time, she said, “I think Einstein was just a misunderstood man. People like me and him? We see things that others don’t see.”
I had to remind her that she was in Accounting class and not Physics.

She was the only one who would
literally boil corn and bring it to class, looking tied in a nylon bag. She even hid to eat it during lectures.
Sotonye would ask weird questions like if the concept of "mean" in statistics applied to people with bad character.
“She’s not alright,” my friend Ellarh said one time. “Such a weirdo”
“She’s just nutty,” I added.

But I grew to like her. I mean, everyone needs that one slightly crazy friend who reminds them that life isn’t that serious after all. And that was Sotonye; so nutty, but harmless.

Then came the day of our General Studies seminar. I tell you, this was the funniest day of my life.
We had a compulsory group presentation. The instructions were as simple as ABC: dress corporately, bring printed handouts and be serious. You could see the whole class looking like professional bankers or people working in the corporate world. Most of us wore black trousers, white shirts and sensible shoes.

I was unusually early as I tried reaching out to Sotonye so that we could rehearse together; even though we both chose different topics. I still didn’t even know her topic since she said it was going to be a surprise. I picked up my phone for the umpteenth time and as I raised my head to glance at the door, my eyes met the shock of my life.

Sotonye walked into the hall, looking like she was about to dance ijo-shaku-shaku at a wedding. She wore a full Yoruba attire - aso-oke wrapper, blouse and a matching gele, with beads that jingled when she walked.

“Is there a traditional day I didn’t know about?” I asked Ellarh.
“It’s culturally corporate,” Sotonye said aloud, clutching her folder like it was a plate of small chops.

When it was her turn to present, I literally held my breath. I honestly expected the chaos, and of course, she did not disappoint.
“Good morning, ladies and gents of this fine academic tribe,” she began, like a motivational speaker. “Today, I bring you sweet wisdom from the streets. My topic says: The Sociology of Gossip.
My soul left my body.
Her slides looked like they had been designed by a bored teenager who just started exploring Canva.
The opening slide had a meme showing two women whispering. The second slide read, “Gossip: The Original News Network.
The whole class erupted in laughter.
But then she went on to explain how gossip functioned as a means of social bonding, accountability and information control as well. She quoted Freud; even though she pronounced it “Frood” and made references to Plato’s “Republic” in a way that I’m sure Plato himself wouldn’t recognize at all.
And when I thought I had seen it all, she played a short audio clip she had secretly recorded of two girls in the hostel gossiping about someone’s makeup and boyfriend. (she disguised their voices, thank God)

At the end, the whole class fell silent, maybe expecting the thunderous voice of Professor Obara. When nothing was heard, one guy in the back clapped. Then another. Then the class exploded into a round of applause.
Even Professor Obara, who usually had one facial expression for every emotion-irritation, leaned forward and said, “That was actually unusual. But very much original.”

She even got an A. How? I still don’t know.
Towards the end of that academic year, I met her at the open sitting space in the Faculty of Management Sciences. She was eating groundnuts and humming Simi’s “Duduke.”
“Sotonye,” I said, “how do you even think of these things?”
She shrugged, cracking open another pod. “I just freestyle. Babe, life is too structured abeg. I like to mix things up.”
“You’re nutty,” I said, shaking my head.
She winked. “Nutty as a fruitcake.”
And honestly? I wouldn’t have had university any other way.

Thanks for reading me❤️