Harmattan is here.

From my window, the field is completely obscured by transparent opaqueness. I hurriedly throw on  a top and shorts, tiptoe around my sleeping roommates and dash out of my hostel into the full embrace of the mist. I take in deep breaths, letting the sharp air pierce my nostrils and impale my lungs before exhaling. There's a buzz all over me right now and I break into an exultant dance. Harmattan is finally here, this year is almost over at last. And it could not have gone much worse than it already had.

It's not quite dawn yet, the streetlights are still on and almost no one is outside now. Exactly how I like it. My legs are fidgeting, aching to soak in the experience too.

It couldn't hurt to go for a walk, could it?

The campus gate isn't too far away, is it?

Before I can make up my mind, my legs get moving, trudging through the mist until they hit open road. Then the buzz gets the best of me and I break into a run, my arms flying by my side like Kate Winslet in Titanic. My burning lungs prevent me from running any further. Another excuse to soak up the air.

I realize I must sound like a citizen of Yaba-Left to the average Nigerian. What is so special about harmattan? Is it not the time when we remember we have Vaseline in the house? The time when our skin cracks and everywhere is cold? I'm not disputing the relevance of Vaseline in these times, neither am I denying all these things. But there's something ethereal about harmattan mornings, waking up and seeing the world coated in transparent opaqueness. There's something special in stepping into the light of day and letting the mist wash over your form. Then again, I must sound mad to your ears.

The thing is, the whole harmattan thing, breathing in the air, walking through the mist, it's a spiritual experience. With the new year approaching, it's vital that you go through this process. Let the mist wash away your pain and sorrow, cleanse your heart, soul and mind in preparation for the new year. That niggling cough you may develop during this period, the chapped lips and the dry, cracked, white skin, that's your body reacting to the cleansing. Let it happen, the new year is approaching, you need to be clean.

There's no security around, the non academic staff are on strike. No one to ask me where I'm going this early in the morning.  (Hey, come here. Why are you out this early when your mates are sleeping? You must be a cultist. Come with me, we are going to the station.)

Yep, not a single guard around to jump on my conclusions.

I can see a few human beings strewn around the place. Fellow students like me communing with their God and the harmattan. In about ten minutes or so, dawn will crack and human life will litter the campus again. Not that I've ever seen dawn on crack before, I'm just repeating what I've heard before. If dawn did get on crack, it must explain why people say the sun is at its highest by 12. I apologize if you don't understand, this harmattan must be doing something to me.

2017 has been one hell of a year. From Donald Trump to PMB to Nigeria's education system to Davido/Wizkid to Star Wars to SARS to  Nigerians/Nigeria in general, it's been the best of times and the worst of times. I started stuff this year and stopped halfway, I continued stuff from last year and wrapped them up this year. I formed new relationships, shattered some and rebuilt others. My heart's been broken on many occasions and I've broken a heart as well. My favorite artiste released her breakout song this year and a favorite artiste died this year. Lives have been wasted and others have been created.

The only constant in this whirlpool of change is the L my country takes every single day. There are no two ways about it, this was one bloody year. And next year will be worse, with elections in two years' time, the FIFA World Cup, another year of Donald Trump and my propensity for bad relationships, I need all the cleansing I can get.

Drat. Two human beings interrupted my train of thought with their presence. I never noticed them until I heard them. They're speaking in tongues. Scratch that, they're blasting in tongues. I've never understood why prayer sessions sound like a competition for who sabi pray pass. I'm as Christian as the next guy but this is ridiculous. They're taking praying to a whole new level. One sounds like a stalling car engine, the other sounds like a generator low on engine oil. I redouble my pace, trying to escape their supplications but it sounds like they're coming closer. I walk as fast as I can without running, my destination is near(the school gate) but for every step I take, they take two more. I feel like screaming at them for interrupting my cleansing ritual!

Just about 100 metres to go and they're coming ever closer to me. I can hear their breathing now. 50...40...30...

"Look out!"

"K'iyesara!"

Get out of the way! Incoming headlights from behind!

I leap out of the way at the last second as a car careens past me, churning up the asphalt I was standing on a few seconds ago, zooms past the empty gate and tears off into the sunrise. Madman/madwoman. He or she should be in Yaba-left.

Dawn is here. I can hear the chickens doing their thing and in the distance, humans are fetching water. To my utter disappointment, the sky didn't break into two jagged pieces to reveal the Sun snorting cocaine. That would have been a sight worth seeing. Even if I got hit by a stray car in the process.

My walk is over. I've reached the gate. But something isn't right. I don't feel clean anymore. It's those two guys behind me. I'd spent the last few minutes plotting on how to get away with a double homicide and they just saved my life. That's right, they saved my life. I feel like dirt. I turn back to face them, they're still rooted to the spot. I can't find the proper words to say thank you so I settle for a nod. They nod back and all is right with the world again. I didn't walk this distance in vain. Yay me! I could kiss these guys. I don't even think about it when they restart their tongue-speak, that's not important anymore. After all, there'll be another harmattan tomorrow.