I walked with purposeful steps towards Prof Gregory's office, myriads of unpleasant emotions brewing in my veins.

How could he?
I knew he hated me, but how on earth could I fail ARC421?

Earlier that morning, we got the announcement on our class's hangout group that our Structures result had just been released.

I rushed over eagerly to Level Four Studio where the result was already pasted on the announcement board.

Lolly and Benjamin were already there and met me first. They seemed to be battling two emotions - joy and devastation.

"How was it?" I asked, looking between them.

Benjamin sighed. "Well, Lolly and I passed."

I smiled. "That's great news!"

If they passed, I was sure I aced it.

Lolly placed her manicured fingers on my shoulders and shook her head, looking at me sadly.

My smile morphed into perplexity. I pushed past them and went through the throng of students surrounding the board. I scanned the list till I got to my name.

32F. What?!

I knew I spent so much time and effort studying for the final examination, especially ARC421.

Plus, the terms of my scholarship don't cover an extra year.
If I didn't find a solution to this menace, I would be stuck in a place where I practically knew almost no one. Maybe I would even get deported.
I had to do something, and fast.

Getting a scholarship to study architecture at the University of Manchester was an answer to my prayers.

Yes, I was what you could call an academic genius. My passion to study architecture was obvious to those who knew me.
When I sent applications to foreign universities, I never expected to be considered by one of the top schools in the US offering my dream course.

The four years of studying architecture so far have been an exciting journey. But yes, being a black transfer student, I felt the racism stewing underneath the surface.

Not all of them were hidden. Take, for example, the case of the reason for my current bad fix, Professor Gregory Stall.

When I first met Professor Gregory, I thought he was a stern owlish man.
His piercing blue eyes contrasted sharply against his olive skin which was wrinkled by age.

As he introduced himself as the lecturer that would be teaching us Architectural Structures in our 4th year, his eyes landed on me, the only black kid in the class.

"Hey, you," he said in his deep bass voice as he pointed at me. "What are you doing here?"

His tone was so derisive that I was stunned for a second.
I rose, grasping for what to say.

"Um, good day sir, I'm James Animashaun," I stuttered.

"I asked you a simple question. 'What are you doing in my class?', not 'What is your name?' If you are lost, I can ask one of my students to accompany you to the Janitor's closet, Mr Animal or whatever you say you're called."

I gulped, deeply hurt.

"I'm sorry if I annoyed you sir, but I'm also a student. I'm taking this course."

At first, he seemed very shocked and a thousand questions flitted through his eyes. But he was fast to mask it with irritation.

He narrowed his bespectacled eyes at me and asked, "You're a Nigerian, yeah?"

Was it that obvious?

I nodded in response.

"Answer me when I ask you a question!" he barked.

"Ye-yes, sir!" I said, stifling the urge to stand at attention and salute him.

"From henceforth, you will seat at the far back of this class, at the corner, well away from my range of sight. You wouldn't want me to be distracted by your tar skin now, would you?"

He turned back to the projector to continue his introductory lecture.

I recovered from my shock and relocated my sitting position.

Lolly and Benjamin who had been seated behind me threw me sympathetic looks.

Prof Gregory's attitude towards me from that time forward was one of pure animosity. I later discovered that he was an atheist and a strong racist. That explained a lot.

Lolly and Benjamin were my two closest friends.
They were carefree and didn't mind that I was black, well partly because they were, like me, also foreign students.

Lolly was from Asia. Benjamin was a white dude from South Africa. They both won scholarships like me.
What drew us together into a bond of friendship was our same local assembly-Goshen Gathering.

They both encouraged me not to be excessively pissed by Prof Gregory's obvious hatred.
They were the ones who made classes bearable.

Sometimes, I felt pity for the man. Prof Gregory was no doubt intelligent, but something was eating at him.

For him to be so consumed by hatred and bitterness that he could direct it at an innocent me without giving me a chance to prove myself was enough proof that things weren't fine with him. Perhaps depression and family trouble.

The thought of speaking to him to iron out his life and come to the Light came to my mind several times. Trying to act on it turned out bad.

Now, as I fumed on my way to his office, I felt a nudge, The Voice telling me not to go.

Despite being far from my homeland, I didn't forget my creator, thanks to the fact that my parents were amazing people who loved God and me fiercely, plus Goshen Gathering was like a second family building me spiritually.

"God, how can you be asking me to calm down? A lot is at stake here! I have been meek for too long. I have to know why he did this to me! I have to rectify it now!" I retorted internally.

I silenced The Voice and strode faster to his office.

The burgundy door was slightly ajar. That was strange.

Nevertheless, I knocked. No response.

"Prof?" I said cautiously as I peeked in. "I would like to speak with you for a minute."

I entered fully. The air conditioner was in full blast but Prof was nowhere in sight. The office, normally pristine, was in a dishevelled state.

I frowned. What happened here?

The small bathroom door to the left was ajar.

"Get out! Now!" I heard the strong warning of The Voice inside me, but my curiosity pushed me forward.

I opened the bathroom door fully and gasped.
There, sprawled at an awkward angle on the tiled floor, was Prof Gregory.

His face was blue and his arms clutched his neck, as though he had choked on something toxic or had been strangling himself. Neither made rational sense.

I hurried to him and checked his pulse. Nothing.

Oh, no, no, no!

Jumbled thoughts rang through my mind.
He's dead. He's gone. My grade! I'm stuck. My God, is he in hell now?

As my mind spun in panic, I heard the main office door creak open.

"Professor, we would..." a feminine voice started.

A deeper voice said, "Woah, woah! Gee, did a wounded bear visit this office? I don't think anyone-"

"Somebody, help!" I finally found my voice.

Two students I recognized from class, male and female, hurried to the bathroom door and saw the scene.

The blonde lady screamed and looked like she would faint, while the guy immediately backed away and pulled out his phone-to dial 911, no doubt.

"He's dead!" she said, and then pointed an accusatory finger at me, "You, you- you killed him? You killed the professor!"

"What? No! How could-"

The guy returned. Behind him were two armed policemen.

"Take him, officers. He's the one we met at the scene and I tell you, he has a very strong motivation to be the culprit. They have a sour relationship."

I tried to protest, to explain that I had just come in and met him dead just like them, but no one allowed me to speak.
I guess being black didn't help my position either.

As the officer forcefully cuffed my wrists behind my back, I noticed a note that was taped on the wall they had slammed me to. The familiar large angular handwriting of Mr Gregory caught my eyes.

"Wait! Look," I said, but they didn't listen.

As they carted me out, I noticed the paramedics that rushed in. Tears burned my eyes.

I had hope that I would be proven innocent. This wasn't Nigeria. This was the US, where human rights were valued, to an extent.

The investigation would be thorough and fair.
There was CCTV; they would do an autopsy; they would find that note. I would be proven innocent and eventually released.

But I couldn't stop the image of his dead face from coming up.
It was suicide I was sure. He had killed himself.

If only I had not just been selfish, thinking about my grades instead of reaching out to him in love.

Now, another soul was eternally damned.
I shut my eyes, but the pain didn't go away.

~~~

Author's note: I wrote this piece a while ago for a contest. I wanted to explore the issue of racism for blacks in European countries. Though this is in no way stereotypical to any race or religion, I hope you were able to extract the main message that people behave the way they do because of underlying challenges they are facing. It is our responsibility to respond to the Holy Spirit's instructions and to also reach out in love to the hurt around us.

Drop those votes, comments and shares. I appreciate those.

God bless. ♥️💖😁