By: Dosunmi Paul
In a faraway land within the University of Ibadan lies a tiny but powerful kingdom known as the Republic of Porteria. Its rulers, the hall porterians, reign supreme. They wear no crowns but their authority is legendary, their fines unending and their registers thicker than a lawyer’s diary.
Here, power is not given, it is collected preferably in naira notes. Every resident in the hostel knows the unwritten laws of this Republic. “Thou shall not pour water over the balcony to the ground”, “thou shall not go in with a female visitor outside the visiting hours”, “thou shall not use a hotplate for cooking”.
But the most sacred commandment of all is this: “Thou shall not forget to pay thy fine, for it is by fines that the kingdom thrives.” You can ask Dende who was caught using, you know? to cook beans for supper last week or Sehinde who poured water from his room in B block because the sink in the Kitchenette was already soaked with food waste or even those A-block freshers who were fined #1000 each for having a dirty, water-logged surrounding.
It is rumored that the hostel porterians possess divine accounting powers. They can collect charges (fines) faster than POS agents and record them in invisible books. Money comes in, but receipts are rarer than rainfall in the dry season.
Indeed, transparency in the Republic of Porteria is a concept spoken of but never seen. The overbearing attitude of hostel porterians has become an art form. They are the self-appointed guardians of morality, discipline and most essentially hostel economy. Perhaps, a little knowledge of accounting or fund raising skills was required for their appointment. And heaven helps the student who tries to question their authority, such bravery is celebrated by instant additional fines.
What makes it worse is the silence of the hall management. Everyone knows the porterians’ powers are well flexible. Their discretion is so wide that even the Oxford Dictionary has refused to define it. As a king with authority over his subjects, they are with that authority to have free entry and exit into student’s rooms. They can also charge their pockets because the subjects must pay taxes to their masters. What more shall I say about our beloved rulers? Perhaps, an experience with them should teach better.
Forget tax collectors or the IRS, these masters of the fine print have perfected the art of ‘student finance’ better than any banker. They protect our property with an iron fist and a wallet always ready for tribute, ensuring that no rebellious student can get away with the smallest slip.
Truly, without their ever-watchful presence, who would remind us that order is best maintained not by dialogue or fairness, but by sudden and unexpected charges? Their role in cultivating creativity among students particularly in the art of sneaky fine evasion should be celebrated as a brilliant unintended consequence of their ‘just’ rule.
Yet, despite the tyranny cloaked in duty, life in the Republic of Porteria goes on. The students have learned to adapt to whisper warnings like secret codes, to dodge patrols like seasoned spies, and to smile politely while calculating how many days of garri their next fine has stolen.
Some even argue that without the porterians, hostel life would lose its spice, for what is an existence without a little chaos served daily at the sound of “You are fined!”
Still, one cannot help but wonder if someday, the winds of reform will blow through the Republic. Maybe transparency will no longer be a myth, and fairness will be more than a rumor. Until then, the students remain loyal citizens, grumbling, laughing, paying, and surviving under the watchful eyes of their ever-faithful monarchs, the porterians of UI.
