A Valentine’s Eve of Shadows: Students Protest for Light and Justice

The morning arrived with a quiet but simmering rage—the kind that brews in silence and erupts without warning. For over a hundred days, darkness had suffocated life within the University College Hospital (UCH), a relentless void mocking those who depended on its light. But when power was finally restored, it deliberately bypassed the halls of residence—Alexander Brown Hall (ABH) and Ayodele Falase Postgraduate Hall (AFPH). That exclusion sparked an unyielding fury among the student body, a protest fueled by bitterness and the refusal of the residents to be ignored. With every step they took, their demand for justice and equality thundered through the streets.

On Monday, February 10, 2025, the Minister of Power, Chief Adebayo Adelabu, met with the UCH management and the Managing Director of the Ibadan Electricity Distribution Company (IBEDC) during an official visit. The meeting aimed to resolve the financial dispute that had led to the prolonged blackout. Meanwhile, students of the University of Ibadan staged a peaceful demonstration, voicing their frustration over the lack of power. After a closed-door meeting, the Minister assured the students that electricity would be restored to UCH, ABH, and AFPH within 24 to 48 hours. That promise led to a temporary suspension of the protest.

True to his word, light returned to UCH that evening, surging through its corridors and wards in a triumphant blaze. Yet, when it reached the gates of ABH and AFPH, it stopped short, leaving the halls in the shadows—as if justice itself had been denied. ABH, the heart of the struggle with the loudest voices and the strongest will, was abandoned in darkness. Disbelief and anger swelled among the students, a tidal wave of resentment crashing against the injustice. Conversations erupted, each one echoing the same bitter questions: “Why were we left behind? What was our crime?” It felt like a slap in the face, as if their relentless efforts had been in vain.

In response to this betrayal, students of the University of Ibadan, including the residents of ABH and AFPH, took to the streets once again. The protest was scheduled for Thursday, February 13, 2025, at 7:00 AM, with the UCH main gate as the gathering point. By 5:00 AM, Brownites noticed two police vans stationed near the hall, their occupants watching closely, waiting for the first sign of defiance. Yet, their presence did little to deter the determined protesters.

By 7:00 AM, students began to gather at the ABH gate. Buses soon arrived, carrying Student Union (SU) executives, including the president himself, along with other University of Ibadan students from the main campus. With chants of solidarity rising in unison, the SU president stepped forward, addressing the crowd of Brownites, Falasites, and other concerned Uites. His words carried the weight of their collective struggle, and with a resolute tone, he declared the protest officially open.

The crowd surged forward, a force of unwavering determination. Their voices reverberated through the streets as they marched towards the East Gate, their chants crashing like relentless waves against an unyielding shore. More students joined along the way, their fury stoked by the rhythm of drums and the cries of “Aluta.” The East Gate was temporarily blocked, disrupting traffic. Placards rose high, refusing to bow under the weight of oppression. They bore words like “UCH, wetin we do?” “We are still in darkness!” and “Give us light, jorr!”

The demonstration pressed onward to the main city streets, where microphones amplified their frustration, carrying their voices far and wide. At Total Garden Roundabout, their presence halted the flow of vehicles, their resistance defiant against the indifference of onlookers. Eventually, they pushed forward to the UCH main gate, the final convergence point.

Police officers stood rigid before them, their silence heavy, their stance unyielding. But the students did not falter. Slowly but surely, they approached the gates, their voices rising as if to pierce the very air itself. Roads were completely blocked, paralysing traffic. Emergency cases were granted passage, a testament to the protesters’ unwavering humanity despite their frustration. The security personnel remained statuesque, their indifference as cold as the steel they carried.

As the hours passed, exhaustion crept into the voices of the protesters, but their will remained unshaken. Some engaged in sports to sustain their energy—football rolled across the street as a symbol of resistance, every kick carrying the weight of their grievance. Volleyballs soared high, mirroring the rise of their demands. Chess players sat on the asphalt, strategizing both for their game and their struggle. Others simply sat on the streets, daring cars to pass over them. And through it all, the University of Ibadan students conducted themselves with the discipline and intellect befitting their reputation.

As the sun climbed higher, the SU president declared a shift in strategy. “Let us take our grievances to where they must be heard—the office of the Chief Medical Director (CMD),” he announced. The students pressed forward, marching through the gates of UCH, their anger slicing through the institution’s cold corridors. Bystanders watched in silence, indifferent—after all, they were part of the “clinical areas” already basking in electricity.

But their demands met another roadblock—the CMD, Prof. Jesse Otegbayo, was absent, reportedly summoned to Eleyele Police Headquarters. The students refused to accept this and continued their chants outside the UCH building, their outrage shaking its very foundations.

Finally, a response came. The Provost of the College of Medicine, University of Ibadan, appeared to address the students. He urged patience, but his words were drowned in the protestors’ collective disapproval. “When we have a long standing problem, you need to think outside the box to provide a long standing solution,” he declared. “IBEDC had mentioned that until the last kobo is repayed, power will not be restored. The solution is that the power will be restored in phases, starting with the clinical areas. School of nursing is powered now because it is part of the clinical areas. ”

After a brief meeting with the Provost, the SU president, Aweda Bolaji, addressed the crowd, relaying the developments. The College of Medicine had acquired a transformer and planned to reconnect ABH soon. He urged patience, acknowledging that efforts were being made. A meeting was scheduled for Monday, February 17, 2025, to further discuss the matter. With a final vote of thanks, he officially brought the protest to a close around 2:00 PM, dispersing the crowd.

The students had stood tall, their voices raised against injustice. Yet, the answers they sought never truly came. “Did they even hear us? Or were our cries swallowed by the indifference of the air itself?” The silence that followed felt mocking, a cruel echo of their unanswered demands. “What now? Do we wait, or do we fight again?” The future remained uncertain, leaving only one lingering question: Would justice and light ever find their way to Alexander Brown Hall?