Actually, the first time I came into this world, I studied Law at the university. You may roll your eyes as much as you please, but that is the truth! My grandfather told me so. He would know because, then, I served as a lecturer who taught Criminal Law, Environmental Law and Intellectual Property at the university he attended. And because I cherished his intelligence, even though he was never my student, I chose to come to him as a grandchild after I had died at a ripe age of 93.
That explains my present obsession with Law as a pastime, autodidactic course of interest. I can’t recollect how many Law journals I’ve read in recent years, but I know I’ve had cause to ‘steal’ — and unabashedly so — the course materials of my friends studying Law a couple of times. But these Law students do not seem to mind, especially when they know I make up for this transgression by helping them prepare for exams. We would sit and discuss interesting cases far into the wee hours of the morning, bandying latin maxims and revising possible areas from which their hardly impressible lecturers might shoot questions. Oh, you should know they treasure this gesture of goodwill, especially when it’s coming from a patient non-major, who finds it exciting to listen to their legal mumbo jumbo, asking questions now and then, all to bolster their morale and imbue them with more confidence to face the monsters tucked away in deceptively harmless question papers.
There is something fascinating about the aura Law students exude. And I’m not talking about the heady feeling that comes with donning white and black uniform alone here. For, at a point, when I saw that their ‘shakara’ was becoming too much, I went to the market and got myself some smart white shirts and fitting black trousers. On one such day that I had complemented the outfit with a painstakingly knotted black tie, a mature black leather belt and a look-at-me-again pair of shoes, the president of their faculty had to call me aside to pass some sweet compliments that were meant for my ears alone. You wanna know what she said, right? I’m sorry, but they were indeed meant for my ears alone. #TongueOut
Of that aura, I refer to the consciousness, even the awe, that you’re around or perhaps interacting with someone who is so perspicacious as to discern the motives and implications of your remotest actions, thoughts and words. And that is what I admire — this needlessness for explicit explanation. I guess this must be one of the yardsticks of intelligence. By hazarding this guess, however, I do not intend to absolutely lend credence to an assertion that an average lawyer is intelligent, for I have had the privilege of meeting a few practising lawyers (and a handful of Law students, I daresay) whose warped conceptions and postures towards life and reality leave me with no doubt as to the near-emptiness and the predominantly aesthetic quality of their heads. But, by Jove, I believe such people are the exceptions.
Wait! Have I mentioned that I have a soft spot for Law ladies, especially the dark elegant ones? Ah, God save man! One shouldn’t say more. Generally, I think I have been getting on well with my Law friends, both male and female. Their subtility hasn’t been too much of a challenge, perhaps because, among other things, I am a certified master of doublespeak in my own right — and humbly so, for I hardly admit it.
 In the picture above, you have the young Omoya Simult in the year 1907, looking dapper in his uniform as a Law student. If you doubt it, come and bite my nose for free. #TongueOutAgain
 One would have loved to still have Dare Amuda around, for he would have found this enough answer, considering that he once accused me of having a thing for/against lawyers.
 As to what parts of this writing are fictional or factual, the reader is encouraged to employ his/her discretion. Your guess is as good as mine.
In sere (‘thank you’ in Ekiti dialect).