"When Will It Be Our Turn? – The Sign Out Culture Through the Eyes of Medical Students"

If there’s one tradition that unites Nigerian university campuses in a burst of colour, noise, and emotion, it’s the “sign out” culture. That day when final-year students shed the weight of tests, exams, and departmental stress by proudly announcing to the world (and their white vests) that school don end! It's a rite of passage complete with coloured markers, over-scribbled shirts, jersey day, loudspeakers blasting “Who’s your guy?”, and sometimes even a photoshoot so dramatic it could pass for a movie poster.

On that day, you’ll see shirts covered in “Congra bro”, “You made it, babe!”, “Omo I thought you wouldn’t graduate o”, and the very Nigerian “Na God o!” Some people wear coordinated outfits; others go full-blown celebrity mode with hired photographers and makeup artists. Students from departments like Mass Comm, Economics, Microbiology, and the rest turn the school upside down with chants, hugs, and maybe a tear or two. But somewhere in the middle of it all, usually standing quietly in the background, are the medical students not signing out. Just… watching.

You see, while other students are on a four-year or five-year journey, medical students are in it for the long haul six years, and that’s if everything goes smoothly (which it rarely ever does). For medical students, the “sign out” season happens multiple times while they are still on campus. They witness it again and again sometimes even twice in a year. New sets of students jubilate, while they, in their scrubs or ward coats, just keep moving from one posting to another, one exam to the next, one striking lecturer to another.

Sometimes, it hits differently for those medical students who had already done a degree before coming into medicine. You’ll hear things like: “I’ve signed out before o. Back when I was in Biochemistry. I even did jersey day!”

And now? They’re back on campus again, often older, more tired, and very familiar with the pain of starting over. The shirts they once scribbled on now feel like faded memories like an ex you still follow on Instagram but pretend not to see.

Then there are the fresh medical students. The ones in 100 level or preclinical classes. They look around during sign-out week and wonder if their own day will ever come. They ask upperclassmen how many years they’ve been in school, and when they hear “This is my 8th year, actually”, they almost pass out. “Eight what?”

Yes. Eight years. Because the road to becoming a Nigerian doctor is long, winding, and often feels like it was designed by someone with a personal vendetta against joy.

But here’s the thing every sign out these medical students witness stirs up something inside them. For some, it’s hope. For others, it’s impatience. For many, it’s just emotional fatigue. You want to be happy for your friends in other departments, but a tiny voice whispers, “When will it be me?”

Still, not every medical student is pressed. Some don’t care. At all. You’ll find them sipping garri, scrolling through Twitter, watching jersey-clad celebrants pass by, unbothered. “Shey they’ve finished? Congrats to them,” they say, before going back to memorizing cranial nerves or typing case summaries. But even the most stone-hearted among them sometimes pause… reflect… and sigh.

Because deep down, everyone wants that final day. The freedom. The closure. The feeling of being done. And for medical students, that day will come. It may not be loud or filled with face paint and choruses of “No more lectures!”, but when it does, it will come with something deeper: fulfilment. After years of pushing through, watching others go, and staying behind, their own sign-out will carry more than ink on a shirt. It will carry every long night, every resit, every emotional breakdown, and every small win along the way.

So next time you see a group of students dancing in joy with permanent markers in hand, and you spot a quiet medic in the corner… don’t worry.

Their time is coming.

And when it comes? Omo, the celebration go loud.

by DR99