Pains in my sojourn as a medical student in Nigeria

Two days ago, a medical student approached me at a pharmacy where I went to pick up some drugs. My sister-in-law, who happens to be a pharmacist there, asked her to approach me since I was a senior colleague of the medical student. Though I was in a haste, I asked her a few questions, and her responses brought back memories of tough times I had while I was in her position about a decade ago.

The tales are true about how much we needed to read and digest in medical school here in Nigeria. I practically read while I was on public transport and sometimes took my jotter into the convenience. Much was expected from us, even beyond the relatives; society at large was already calling us doctors, even though they were oblivious to the hard times we faced. The volume of what we needed to read was usually large, and there was no guarantee of anyone having a grasp of the essentials.

Our scores competed favorably with our shoe sizes, and for some of us, our shoe sizes were higher than our scores. We used to spend 14 months on the 400-L session, which was basically two courses: pharmacology and pathology. You understand what it means when you have to study two courses for 14 months; that was how bulky and difficult the session was last year. I remember one of our lecturers telling us some of us would resit exams while others would even repeat the session. A cold chill ran through our spines, and we lamented this even after that day's lecture. Of course, I was spurred to try my best, but the best in medical school is no guarantee for success.

Another dimension of medical school is the ability to finish in an average amount of time. Six years was the minimum, but one could spend as much as 10 years in my school, for example, despite not experiencing external factors like industrial action. In other colleges of health in Nigeria, some could spend well above 10 years before graduation.
After the pain of reading, attending lectures, and writing examinations, I got the shock of my life when my guardian told me from the moment I opened his office door that I did not do well in my results. I knew the implication; it was a repeat, as I already had a resit. Also, I was going to be left behind by my original classmates. I wished the ground would open and swallow me when I heard the news, but thankfully, I managed to hold my ground.

After the news of my session repeat, I was depressed and withdrew from friends. What hurt me more was failing a two month course out of the several examinations I had written. I was shocked to have passed the course I perceived to be the harder of the two. I was required to rewrite the examinations that related to the course in which I failed. I took some drastic decisions during the period of waiting for the repeat examinations. I picked up the Katzung pharmacology textbook and summarized the 53 chapters therein. My friends and colleagues in similar shoes thought I was crazy, but I ignored them. I didn't even come to class; I chose to study at home. It was difficult to bond with a new set of people who were my juniors.

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Eventually, among the repeat results released after the examinations, I led in those make-up examinations and competed favorably with the new class I joined. Of course, I continued my journey through subsequent years in medical school. The troubles seemed unending, but I never had to repeat them, even though I had some retake examinations to take. That period was a tough moment in my life.

Seeing the medical student approach me with advice on how to engage in the session that gave me a tough time, I knew better on how to guide her.