By Emmanuel Adepoju
She rode in on a motorcycle. In her mid-thirties, I must admit she was a beautiful young woman. She was dressed in a gray skirt reaching just below her knees and a matching black top with see-through sleeves. Her braids, reaching way down her back were a perfect complement to her perfectly adorned face. She bore two bags; and that was how we knew she was the person we had been waiting for. One of the bags was a thick, dark green bag with WAEC boldly written on it.
About fifteen minutes later, we were ready to begin. It was my first time to be present at a WAEC examination not as a student. And it wasn’t long before I got my first shock.
She brought a pack of Identity cards WAEC had produced to identify the students. They were small, compact, plastic cards much like the…
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