University was supposed to feel like freedom. A place where you showed up completely as yourself, only armed with books, a little of your opinions and ambition. So imagine my surprise when one random morning, on my way to class like every other day, I was stopped at the gate.
Apparently, the colour of hair students were allowed to wear had suddenly been decided for us. Black or dark brown, nothing else. The braids I had on that day were purple. So I stood there, confused, trying to remember when this new rule had been announced.
The only policy we knew, which was clearly stated and communicated, was about clothing. They said no shorts, no ripped jeans, no tank tops, no sleeveless shirts. Hair colour had never been mentioned.
So I asked the protocol officer who stopped me. Why? And since when? He shrugged and said, “It’s in effect.” He didn’t say it was announced or yall were informed. Just plain annoying in effect.
At that moment, the university felt less like a place of learning and more like a glorified secondary school, obsessed with appearances and allergic to expression. Rules were being enforced not because they made sense but because someone had decided that they should. Annoyingly exercising power without explanation.
My response to the freewriters daily prompt