Wahala first came to life as a fully-scripted work twenty years ago in my student days at the University of Ibadan. It was a bearded and bespectacled young man’s revolt against conformity, a search for meaning, a toast to love, a damnation of increased fees and draconian policies, a celebration of comradeship over literary banter and beers, a frown at the regimes that treated Nigerians like common denominators in the 90s, an ode to silence, anger and shock at the dramas that just never seemed to end.