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As
I was saying, my caution money has been approved and boy, Barclays Bank wired
it to me via Mpesa. Just when I needed it because those guys at M-shwari were ongeazing me money yet I am hell broke
and I need to repay their debt I had before procuring another loan because I
survive on loans for upkeep. And since I have been job hunting (free agent) and
the stint has been so unsuccessful so far, I am slowly resigning to fate. Here
is why.
I can’t blame myself for having failed with drab and bland colours in my quest to making a scholar while in campus. Maybe if I hadn’t experimented a lot, I would have done well in school, got a paying job by now and entrenched my tentacles in my career of choice. However, what I did in campus does not even afford me a job because it requires one to have done it at master’s level to become just a rookie in the field (If one of our lecturer’s words are anything to go by). I am tempted to change profession but I cannot because every one of my former comrades has done so. I am still sitting on the fence waiting like a first time father in medieval times. Waiting to hear from the midwives on the sex of his child. Likewise, I am waiting. Maybe I will change my career. I don’t care when.
Enough of myself, I am having a year of experience after campus as a broke lad, highly dependent job seeker cum blogger cum son and brother. Since I have this desire in me to continuously tell stories that I cannot get an audience, I have decided to let words flow in this blog because my family is one that never has time to listen to me. I hate speaking to people who are busy with their phones. I hate that so much that I find it has made me reclusive because the digital world has made us think life is only found in our phones and to be precise whatsapp.
University of Nairobi. My immediate Alma mater (sic). I am still indebted to this school. Whereas I was a brilliant chap fresh from high school when I joined, I cannot attest to whether it helped in making me a genuine daft or a brazen academic dwarf. I remember an prospective employer asking me why my high school grades were better off than my campus grades. Things happen. Four years is not a joke. And during those four years, this is what I can conclude about this school and my long stay. The best so far in East and Central Africa.
Exams
When my sister joined the UON master’s program, she thought it would be a walk in the park like she was used to in her former campus. Alas, she witnessed what I can attest to as real drill in education. You have to read, reread, and at last peruse. She aint graduated four years down the line. I had given my all to education in Secondary and Primary. University was not a place I would falter. Nilianguka mitihani na miguu zote juu. I could not believe it. But the problem with studies is that once you fail, even if you try to better you best, you keep on failing because there should be failures in a system. Even society has programmed itself that there should be failures.
Anyway, I am sometimes tempted to surmise that as long as I went through the process, I have the knowledge (At least I never went to the exam room like an empty debe). In fact, this demand by employers that guys should have second class upper and above really pisses me off. I can do absolutely nothing about it. Again, the number of those who cheat in exams to pass with the good grades is astonishing. Ok, when you go to Rome, do what the Romans do. I could not cope with that when it came to exams. My drive was, if I copied and passed, what difference would it make. I would be content with the success but deep down inside, I knew those were not my results. But in a world where you have to use all ways of making it, using mwakenya and sitting next to a chopi to copy is something very conventional. I am still looking for the best way to make it. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I passed. Would my fate have changed? Would I have known that blog-writing exists? I doubt, not really.
The most interesting part is that there were exams meant for Module One students which were quite different from those meant for module two students. So, if you find module two doing than a module one student, it’s never that serious. The chap pays 5 or 6 times what you pay for the course and they subsequently need to be serious, not forgetting they are set exams to their standard. But still, majority were just that, never serious with exams.
I can’t blame myself for having failed with drab and bland colours in my quest to making a scholar while in campus. Maybe if I hadn’t experimented a lot, I would have done well in school, got a paying job by now and entrenched my tentacles in my career of choice. However, what I did in campus does not even afford me a job because it requires one to have done it at master’s level to become just a rookie in the field (If one of our lecturer’s words are anything to go by). I am tempted to change profession but I cannot because every one of my former comrades has done so. I am still sitting on the fence waiting like a first time father in medieval times. Waiting to hear from the midwives on the sex of his child. Likewise, I am waiting. Maybe I will change my career. I don’t care when.
Enough of myself, I am having a year of experience after campus as a broke lad, highly dependent job seeker cum blogger cum son and brother. Since I have this desire in me to continuously tell stories that I cannot get an audience, I have decided to let words flow in this blog because my family is one that never has time to listen to me. I hate speaking to people who are busy with their phones. I hate that so much that I find it has made me reclusive because the digital world has made us think life is only found in our phones and to be precise whatsapp.
University of Nairobi. My immediate Alma mater (sic). I am still indebted to this school. Whereas I was a brilliant chap fresh from high school when I joined, I cannot attest to whether it helped in making me a genuine daft or a brazen academic dwarf. I remember an prospective employer asking me why my high school grades were better off than my campus grades. Things happen. Four years is not a joke. And during those four years, this is what I can conclude about this school and my long stay. The best so far in East and Central Africa.
Exams
When my sister joined the UON master’s program, she thought it would be a walk in the park like she was used to in her former campus. Alas, she witnessed what I can attest to as real drill in education. You have to read, reread, and at last peruse. She aint graduated four years down the line. I had given my all to education in Secondary and Primary. University was not a place I would falter. Nilianguka mitihani na miguu zote juu. I could not believe it. But the problem with studies is that once you fail, even if you try to better you best, you keep on failing because there should be failures in a system. Even society has programmed itself that there should be failures.
Anyway, I am sometimes tempted to surmise that as long as I went through the process, I have the knowledge (At least I never went to the exam room like an empty debe). In fact, this demand by employers that guys should have second class upper and above really pisses me off. I can do absolutely nothing about it. Again, the number of those who cheat in exams to pass with the good grades is astonishing. Ok, when you go to Rome, do what the Romans do. I could not cope with that when it came to exams. My drive was, if I copied and passed, what difference would it make. I would be content with the success but deep down inside, I knew those were not my results. But in a world where you have to use all ways of making it, using mwakenya and sitting next to a chopi to copy is something very conventional. I am still looking for the best way to make it. Sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I passed. Would my fate have changed? Would I have known that blog-writing exists? I doubt, not really.
The most interesting part is that there were exams meant for Module One students which were quite different from those meant for module two students. So, if you find module two doing than a module one student, it’s never that serious. The chap pays 5 or 6 times what you pay for the course and they subsequently need to be serious, not forgetting they are set exams to their standard. But still, majority were just that, never serious with exams.
Verdict on exams: Passing them is good for society and for the ego. If you can pass them, as a matter of priority do it. If you cannot like me, look for other avenues. How many are still hustling to make ends meet with good papers. It is what you make out of yourself and life that counts. Papers are just a leverage.
Lecturers
My former campus and high school mate who lectures in a university in US once posted on Facebook that the students wanted to be explained stuff like they were nursery school kids. I wish some of the lecturers could do that, especially some maths classes. Some only came to class to tell stories of their lives. You laughed and got carried away. Then at the end of the semester, they scheduled CATS which were done in quick succession with the Main Exams. Before you knew it, you had not read anything, the handouts they gave were totally different from what was in the exams. Most times you either spent watching movies, lolling, slumbering and engaging in chitchats. Yet the lecturers never could agree to the idea of giving out the lecture notes at the beginning of the semester so that you could prepare in advance.
Again, some came for lectures out rightly late spending only an hour because they said we were geniuses having passed exams in high school (the world outside here never knows whether you passed exams or not). We were a module one class. And we liked it when they made us believe we were smart and for some comrades, it got into their heads, like yours truly. Most times they chastised Module two students for not reasoning scholarly and being thick. Hope none will ever read this part.
In campus when a lecturer skives, though you are at a loss, you still merry because you are going to watch your favourite series or go spend time with your other chic (mpango are many), or perhaps head to KBC for cheap liquor or I have no idea what else.
Some lecturers even had the guts to attend only three out of 13 lectures. They expected you to cram what they taught during the brief period not forgetting to issue the incomprehensible handouts they gave directly downloaded from Wikipedia. I must say that even if you are bright and exposed to conditions that never motivate, you succumb to pressure. It is like taking a student who scores highly in primary to a mediocre secondary school, though he or she is bright, the aura of the school may not inspire him to work had if the teachers don’t give what the students need like completing the syllabus a week to exams or never completing the syllabus at all. As a matter of consequence, only those who take initiative to go an extra mile do better because some lecturers were like those in rural village schools, giving a course outline that they never honour on their part by completing the syllabus in time.
In general, some of the lecturers were just inhuman, setting exams they had not taught. They gave less and never shied away from giving you bad grades. Some were good though, they gave you what you had worked for and what they taught. And a problem that a friend told me existed in a campus his aunt taught could have afflicted UON. Where lecturers don’t mark exams due to the large number of students hence they delegate the duty to students or anyone available to mark. One lecturer even confessed that they graded students based on their previous results because exams need to reflect a normal curve. So a bugger like me with poor grades ended up being given the same grades when things went haywire.
My two cents: The quality of education in private universities is appalling. That is if you compare with those in private universities.
Hostels
Honestly speaking, the hostels were kind of standard in terms of the buildings, however, accommodation crises bedeviled the campus from my day one since bed capacity was delinked from admission of students. I was affected during my third and second years in campus. The halls of residence usually looked admirable and marvelous from the façade, that is until you enter the buildings. Some students, especially the male students in their senior years had this mien that you would be like, 'Shuka, Shuka Baba Shuka.'
Hall Nine, my latter hall of residence was the worst hall in terms of sanity. The general ambiance was deplorable, the Ghetto of UON. Alley lights had been vandalized with some being in a very bad and precarious state. I had to exchange my room with a friend who loved the hall because I could not put up with the place. The never ceasing evanescence of ganja and its untidy state was something I could not stand.
I loved hall 11 because it was more of a clean uptown hall. The number of outsiders who were frequenting the hall was also minimal and the rooms were not as highly infested with bedbugs as such. Privacy was sure in this hall in as much as there were few rowdy buggers especially those who did drugs with abandon. Still, cooking was a must. I once slept while cooking rice and on waking up found I it was soot black.
Inside the hall was a shop and there was one incident I really reminisce while quietly laughing to myself. There was this guy who was purchasing condoms and some chics were passing by, instead of feeling embarrassed because the chics were laughing as he had loudly requested for them, he ordered the shopkeeper to give him more to go and act on them. I stood there smiling and SMH.
Politics
Student politics were never ceasing. UON is usually in a political mood. Immediately after elections, there was usually a person who being brandished to be eyeing for a given seat. And being close to the chairman of SONU came with a package. Attending state events in the house on the hill, receiving petty cash and occasioning events if the chairman was a socialite.
Elections after a major plebiscite in the country usually took a tribal notation.
There were even students who deferred school in order to contest in elections. The package that came with being in the office not forgetting the power to decide for fellow students was too enticing.
SONU politics was dirty; the machinations and propaganda. I remember reading a Facebook post of a contestant who was disappointed by the house of ‘Mulembe’ for not supporting him. You had to spend handsomely to get a seat. Other contestants were stabbed with knives as things got hotter. Goons (most were jang’os) were on your neck if you did not tip them, election officials were corrupt as well, and IEBC could not conduct elections due to their machinery which ensured no stuffing of ballot boxes with papers.
Club 36
‘Klabu’ as it was popularly known was the place to eat in having replaced the mess. Albeit it has undergone major changes. From matters sanity, presentation and the overall food joints. The prices of food were minimal when I joined in first year. Currently, it is a no go zone for the average students. It has been infested by the working class, those working in the nearby offices. Prices are not student friendly anymore. I bet students who frequent it are by any chance liquid. Why? The amount you spend on lunch can last you a whole day.
Most go to buy raw food.
Church
There is no doubt that UON Main Campus is surrounded by many churches than any other university in Kenya. Forget about the churches sprouting all over whose aim is to butcher the serene silence of the vicinity you live in off tranquility and quietude. Those churches you are forced to curse because their perennial pollution of the air while engaging in holy noise.
Not so with churches found near UON. There is St. Paul’s Catholic Church, St. Andrews PCEA, Mamlaka Hill Chapel, Mavuno Downtown, ACK Cathedral, and a host of other churches with big names. Here, offertory and tithe is collected by either; Wells Fargo, G4S or the other accomplished money handling and security firms so that it can be banked. Jicho Pevu will never succeed in their expose here. On Sunday, you see sniffer dogs near the churches. The cars parked on the parking lots are not your average Toyotas. Most don’t attract the average bloke on the streets who is struggling to make ends meet. The only people struggling are the students.
Notable personalities
Obviously, there are guys you will notice as a student. One of the most distinguished is a certain jungu who has been ravished the forces of nature so that he is almost weather beaten. I once heard a mate call him Tom. Every other person who frequents Lower State House Road knows Tom, about 6 ”4 in height. He sometimes covers his face with a bandana and has his characteristic Green trousers and yellow shirt is his distinguishing feature because he loiters a lot. He stays in YMCA. Sometimes he used to greet me and my friends used to wonder how he knew me or vice versa. Maybe he is ailing. He never looks strong and healthy. But a guy told me when he enters the pool, he turns into a dolphin. That I never know.
Then there is this guy who sells sweets and other stuff and sometimes plies his trade next to that secretive house (That house adjacent to Uhuru Highway and University Way) or near St. Paul’s Catholic Church. I wonder how he has managed to withstand the storm all these days albeit having no rivals and the ever unfriendly kanjo. Or maybe he is a spy, watching students and what happens then taking stock of whatever is happening. A friend confided that his net profit was more than 3 K in a day.
However, there was this lady who sold groundnuts, mangos, boiled maize and banana, next to the tunnel on your way to or from the hostels. One day while purchasing from her, instead of replying in Swahili, she resorted to jeng. I was cornered. I am not good in spoken jeng. While I know it, speaking sometimes becomes a challenge. So more than six years, she is still going on strong.
Clubbing
I started clubbing on my first Friday in campus. Though I was not very liquid, I had only a G for upkeep because those buggers at helb refused to loan me some cash. That Friday, we went club hopping. One of my friends who got too drunk started banging the tables like a madman. I spent all the cash and even lost a phone while dancing with a certain bootylicious chic.
Generally, UON is tantamount to being mother of everything. If you want to go to church or the mosque, you are free. Those who love clubbing and being sots have their place. Even those who want to pick up cheap hoes in town. FromWestlands (Westie) to Parklands to Town, you are spoilt of choice depending on your cash disposal. As for those who love cheap liquor and kushikisha downtown in some very obscure lanes serves them right. But me, cheap liquor and uncanny habits; it is a no.
On completing my last exam paper, I was again clubbing and frolicking. But certainly, I ensure the places I go are classy.
Student strikes and Demonstrations
The killing of a certain comrade in a club in Westie resulted in one of the most remarkable demonstration I ever attended. It turned ugly. Tear gas, rubber bullets. You name it.
Demonstrations usually started in Hall Nine. Then students were dressed by student leaders. Then all of a sudden somebody would start chanting out of the blues, “We Go, We Go,” and in reply students (the masses) chorused back, “We Go.” Even if you never wanted to go, the zeal in you just made you want to see what was happening.
In fact, most student demonstrations I attended involved the death of a student more commonly those of American Wing- engineering students. Whatever happened in Main Campus spilled over to the rest of the campuses.
During demonstrations, there was usually an altercation with the police. Such times, the roads near UON were rendered impassable. The most affected was usually Uhuru Highway. Most rioters were usually opportunists. Taking advantage of the fact that lawlessness has temporarily replaced order, and they were like, “Cool. I’ll go join the fun and get some cash.”
My instincts however never allowed me to ambush motorists to solicit for alms. My usually friends told me of the much they got. Something queer about the ill-gotten money was that it never helped much. You ended up using it on impulse purchases.
Hall 11 and 10 students were notorious for road blocks. Blackouts at night meant students went to solicit for alms armed with projectiles they pelted to oncoming cars that never stopped to replenish their dwindling financial fortunes.
I loved watching guys engage in brazen acts because the number of those engaged in such acts were few and mostly ended up being wretched goons who failed to graduate from school in time.
I never used to frequent ladies hostels. Why? I was deeply religious. Did I say I was in a Bible Study?
Module Two (Para) Vs Module One (Reg) Students.
A story was told to me by a friend in another campus of how a certain student bought his First Class grades. You only needed to pay some amount and your bad grades would be fixed to good grades.
Getting first class does not mean you are clever sometimes. If you can purchase it, what’s the severity of the academic qualification then? The chap was a para student.
Module two students were the moneyed students. Some had their own cars and lived in the leafy suburbs. Of course they never passed their exams in high school to join through the then JAB. They did roll, owned exquisite gadgets, had outstanding fashion, spoke English and were in a class of their own.
Majority were still academic dwarfs because their transcripts betrayed them. However sum were the opposite, they came from the slums or relative middle class areas, worked very hard in class, wore mundane clothes, had ubiquitous phones and looked like Module One students.
Maybe currently module students are liquid, but I doubt. Majority were from humble backgrounds, they cooked omena and kales, wore nguo za kawaida and spoke in their mother tongue. Forget about the few who were from well off families. Most Module one students were sharp, when in class with their module two counterparts, the latter shied away from answering questions. Some came to Nairobi and their ushamba stuck. Others however changed for the better. Most made unwise financial decisions that they did regret afterwards. Still, they preferred damsels from upcountry due to fear of cozy Nairobi ladies.
Chics
I had an unsuccessful stint wooing this ladies why lie. They had set standards. Money talks. I sometimes am impatient.
All in all, a lady once in campus undergoes a metamorphosis. As opposed to boys who come to campus with the same clothes and leave with same same clothes, chics are different. They change their attire after two weeks save for those who are conservative. Their hostel rooms are clean and they have abundance in terms of food.
They quickly shun the clothes they came with from ocha and quickly blend in Nairobi. This applies to both the para and reg students.
Some pretend they are so religious but get paged before the school years lapse by some unknown guy she met in a strange place. They get picked by those in 4WD contraptions and tell of how they cannot date struggling campus dudes. Likewise campus dudes say they would never date a campus chic.
If a chic never transforms in campus. That is starting to drink, changing fashion sense, being hit on, she changes after campus. If she is never hit on by dudes, she becomes very forlorn. She feels rejected, but life continues.
I was not so much into them because of reasons I even don’t know.
Library
Those who went to read in the library were mostly guys who had no rooms of their own or found it more tranquil to read in the library.
The library was a no go zone during the period of exams. It was mostly full. Some went to ogle or find chics while others seriously went to read. Nobody ever bothered to read the books on the course outline. Library was also meant for reading the newspapers.
Many also went with their computers to Facebook and do ‘research.’ Dr Google has all the answers.
The Mess
I quit going to the mess in first year. The food was not appetizing and I had an option. However, I loved the mandazis and chapattis. Sometimes I went to buy food to recook and that’s it.
Kumalizia
I wanted to write about the supermarkets, those who did photocopy and print our stuff. I am tired. Like for real. I can’t think of how best to do it. I will do that when I think of doing it. For now let me procrastinate. Even the I have not written administration and the fountain. The sentries, the workers, those who I tasked with washing my clothes. And I remain that bachelor who loves my privacy.
SITUONANE.
[Photo source: Google Images]
Module Two (Para) Vs Module One (Reg) Students.
A story was told to me by a friend in another campus of how a certain student bought his First Class grades. You only needed to pay some amount and your bad grades would be fixed to good grades.
Getting first class does not mean you are clever sometimes. If you can purchase it, what’s the severity of the academic qualification then? The chap was a para student.
Module two students were the moneyed students. Some had their own cars and lived in the leafy suburbs. Of course they never passed their exams in high school to join through the then JAB. They did roll, owned exquisite gadgets, had outstanding fashion, spoke English and were in a class of their own.
Majority were still academic dwarfs because their transcripts betrayed them. However sum were the opposite, they came from the slums or relative middle class areas, worked very hard in class, wore mundane clothes, had ubiquitous phones and looked like Module One students.
Maybe currently module students are liquid, but I doubt. Majority were from humble backgrounds, they cooked omena and kales, wore nguo za kawaida and spoke in their mother tongue. Forget about the few who were from well off families. Most Module one students were sharp, when in class with their module two counterparts, the latter shied away from answering questions. Some came to Nairobi and their ushamba stuck. Others however changed for the better. Most made unwise financial decisions that they did regret afterwards. Still, they preferred damsels from upcountry due to fear of cozy Nairobi ladies.
Chics
I had an unsuccessful stint wooing this ladies why lie. They had set standards. Money talks. I sometimes am impatient.
All in all, a lady once in campus undergoes a metamorphosis. As opposed to boys who come to campus with the same clothes and leave with same same clothes, chics are different. They change their attire after two weeks save for those who are conservative. Their hostel rooms are clean and they have abundance in terms of food.
They quickly shun the clothes they came with from ocha and quickly blend in Nairobi. This applies to both the para and reg students.
Some pretend they are so religious but get paged before the school years lapse by some unknown guy she met in a strange place. They get picked by those in 4WD contraptions and tell of how they cannot date struggling campus dudes. Likewise campus dudes say they would never date a campus chic.
If a chic never transforms in campus. That is starting to drink, changing fashion sense, being hit on, she changes after campus. If she is never hit on by dudes, she becomes very forlorn. She feels rejected, but life continues.
I was not so much into them because of reasons I even don’t know.
Library
Those who went to read in the library were mostly guys who had no rooms of their own or found it more tranquil to read in the library.
The library was a no go zone during the period of exams. It was mostly full. Some went to ogle or find chics while others seriously went to read. Nobody ever bothered to read the books on the course outline. Library was also meant for reading the newspapers.
Many also went with their computers to Facebook and do ‘research.’ Dr Google has all the answers.
The Mess
I quit going to the mess in first year. The food was not appetizing and I had an option. However, I loved the mandazis and chapattis. Sometimes I went to buy food to recook and that’s it.
Kumalizia
I wanted to write about the supermarkets, those who did photocopy and print our stuff. I am tired. Like for real. I can’t think of how best to do it. I will do that when I think of doing it. For now let me procrastinate. Even the I have not written administration and the fountain. The sentries, the workers, those who I tasked with washing my clothes. And I remain that bachelor who loves my privacy.
SITUONANE.
[Photo source: Google Images]
