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Fear had clenched the clasps of my heart. I could not share my internship experiences lest my supervisor deducts the hard-earned marks from my field attachment assessment marks. When she finally came today, I sighed with respite. I can now unstitch the so many episodes that you would want to miss only at misser’s risk.

Friday was the d-day. Every course mate of mine was dressed to the nines, except of course, Gerald, who is resistant to many things including smartness. It was my first time to see Marion putting on a skirt. It was also my first time to see Speria in a long dress. All the male students were in suits except me. Kyoka internship! I considered returning home to beg the stingy Thomas, my neighbor, to lend me his suit but realized I would be unlucky. Nonetheless, I could not comprehend why these guys had dressed like we were to appear before a tribunal to defend ourselves from an impending impeachment.

Everyone had their auricles and ventricles detained in their hands. We kept checking our phone clocks. About five phones were clanked down and were shattered sending their different elements to seek for refuge under chairs. Laban, the chief intern frequently chewed a word or two either with either our field supervisor or trekked outside to beep our supervisor. He’d run out of credit owing to the regularity of the calls. Everyone tuned their ears to the door. Some whispered appeals to God, “Please suffocate this man with many assignments so that he may forget to come.” Speria was overheard in deep supplication. When Laban finally returned, the announcement of the supervisor’s arrival in the next few minutes was greeted with fright.

Paper and pen talk. The rush to fill logbooks had been ongoing since students arrived at around 8 o’clock, an hour earlier than the customary time. Some sifted through the howling pages of their logbooks while others thrashed about writing their weekly reports.

Our supervisor’s car finally screeched to a halt. She scuttled to the host supervisor’s office. Anna, our course mate who continues to bag the trophy as the shortest human in our class had taken her week seven report for marking. When she stormed out of the office, we all clung on her and clamored for what her ears could have feasted on regarding the supervisor’s mood. This short mortal regrettably had heard nothing and she described the teacher’s mood as not-good-not-bad. After about a quarter an hour, our supervisors came out of office to talk to us. We all swallowed our hearts for about a second. Conversely, our lecturer had had a good report from our host supervisor. Winds of smile swept across our table. KEEP YOUR FINGERS CROSSED FOR MORE MEMOIRS