All hail the Jacophytes! The brain box that leaks and gets patched up with wild, mountainous flatteries, more voiceferous than the lying lips of Lucifer himself. All hail the lips that tale at the site of any student, headed for a night of book battle. For their exploits will forever live in the thorns of our sarcastic lips.

The 'nomenclature' Jackophyte is the grandest of titles, not those petty titles,  spewed on undeserving folks like saliva from a malicious breath, but specially for students, gallivanting the corridors of academic success with a view for recognition or entry, It is like a special tot amongst feathers that adorns the cap - one that forges and stamps a mark - not those lines that intercepts one another to indicate, fail, but those ones that with a swiped finger movement that shows, pass.

100 level had demons, the ones that had the capacity to stalk an uncalculated grade point before it bursts into fruiting. The ones that tells a student that first class is locked between the pages of not their note or textbooks but fruitless night classes of book battles, the type that tells people, ' e no book sha!' when in truth the demons that talked you into the idea of a night class only called you out for a sleep over. The ones that makes you go the extra mile just to have someone lend you the title of maybe a little genius or a full fledged one. The lies they pass are like confetti, they gleam with rot, they stink yet perfumes our senses with a mindset that feeds on the entreaties lavished on us after any glimpse of brilliance is noticed.

And just after the night of book battle is over, the faces you see will throw gazes that suggests awe, reverence with sarcasm forming a backcloth. Their eyes will almost applaud and revere you at the same time. The weighty words, ' Jacker, Jacophytes, Jack!' mouthed in a manner that reminds you of hero's and how they often get treated to a plethora of mouth-watering chants after a battle. You immediately jolt yourself, banishing thoughts of the previous night, tailoring to their words, your senses so that your reaction matches and is deemed deserving of your ill-gotten title. They continue this time throwing it like a bombshell, causing your head to swell and possibly blow to smithereens. Known to them, is the fact your night of book battle was ended in a 'went, saw, and vanquished' fashion. They realise your book battle was actually a sleep battle , for most of them trudged that path and therefore almost see it written on you. So they wave you on, archly bursting into laughter, overrunning with mocking gestures.

Fresher's most times, make for the best meal for predators of this kind, as they show very little maturity to curb and possibly understand their reading capacities on this count and thereby would rather have their 'Jackometer' soar, other than looking out for their grade point.

Once again, all hail the Jackophytes! For most of them constantly fan the embers of an unlit academic fire that even when alive blazes without fangs.

  Tchuks Uba

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