World-class?

I am in a world-class university. I have always been proud of that. I have always enjoyed the attention that comes with being associated with The University of Nairobi. I have smiled every time I have heard students chant “Comrades’ Power!” I may have even joined in once or twice; UoN loyalty. I have watched with amusement as politicians, the media and especially students from other universities-the rest of them- have criticized us for being bold and for expressing ourselves in ways no other students in the universe could match up to. For using big words like ‘cantankerous’, ‘obnoxious’ and the like. For being intelligent. I say amusement because I know that even as they express their little negative concerns, deep down, they wish they were students of The UoN. They wish they were alumni of this great institution. They wish they were lecturers here or members of staff; cooks at Arziki, custodians at the halls of residence-may no one ever wish to be a custodian- even cleaners! I know that. Your secret is not safe.

I hate Facebook. I do not know what people go to look for on Facebook but I can tell you to visit “The New Comrades’ Forum” and you will see what I am talking about. Comrades oozing with wisdom and onlookers green with envy. I agree we can be a little-no, a whole lot- reckless and unruly, totally out of control in our words and our actions. “#No mercy,” goes the hashtag. Comrades can really fry you and have you for dinner-with just words. Comrades can also stone the Harrier you bought yesterday and not give a hoot about it. I am not saying that I am proud of these things. No, I am not. Dear comrades, do not stone people’s Harriers again. Even Proboxes do not deserve persecution.

I just love the spirit of togetherness, of loyalty and of a quest for justice that drives these dear comrades. I love the chants of “Tibim” and “Riah” that I do not fathom yet I find myself nodding in approval. Even the trending “Mbithi must go” slogan. I approve. I seriously think Mbithi should go. No, that man must go. He must go home to his wife and kids. I am sure he has enough money now to buy water dispensers to last him and his loved ones a lifetime. Mbithi, go. Ukambani welcomes you.

During graduation ceremonies, I have almost burst with pride every time I have seen scholars shaped by UoN. Every time I have heard of graduates with huge credentials; some I have tried to pronounce, failed and finally given up and continued smiling and being proud of my school, the professors and the management. “Every one of the rest of the universities should learn from this great institution, the great University of Nairobi,” I have thought. But now, I officially change my stand. To the rest of the universities; do not emulate UoN. Do not let your management be like ours. Well, your students can aspire to be like us, we are awesome! We also have badass lecturers like Dr. Jonyo and Dr. Nyarwath and Dr. Ken Ouko. But our management; no. No. No. It is rotten. And stinking. I once idolised it. I was wrong but that’s just fine because a comrade is never wrong, whether right or wrong.

My love for UoN started to show symptoms of weakness when we were sent home on a long holiday after just one semester of school. Double intake blunders, I thought. And forgave. And forgot. Not until they did the exact same thing semester after semester for three years now. Personally, I have nothing against long holidays. If anything, I appreciate them a great deal. I hate school, you know. And the holidays are like summers to me. They give me time and a chance to do things I want to do; to try out new things, to start a stupid business and fail, to do all the silly things in the world. Real life exams. What I do not appreciate is their idea that they can turn our lives upside down, inside out, delay our future after school, waste our time, tell us this then that then this again, play with us like a tennis ball…and the worst part; expect us to sit there and watch then later give them a standing ovation. Silly.

The condition of my dislike for my school deteriorated when during the strike this April, they couldn’t protect innocent students doing great things in the library and those cramming Romberg at ADD building. They could not protect our fair ladies in Hall 5. They watched them harassed and robbed. They watched us beaten up with and rolling in muddy water along Lower State House Road all the way to those devastatingly high, devastatingly crammed lorries and into the Central Police dungeon. They watched our beautiful bums being massacred. I forgave them-UoN, not GSU. Never GSU- A wee bit of the great love I once felt towards my university still existed, hidden somewhere in my heart. It was too much, too great to be lost in just a day. Men in greenish uniform (which I like, by the way. Not so much but I think when worn by someone with the right figure/physique,  look really sexy) and ridiculous clubs, helmets, shields and with guns would not come between us. Nothing would do us part.

Then one day, suddenly, like a flash of lightning or like a Nigerian ghost when he sees another ghost, the little love, the little respect, the little admiration I had left for this institution vanished. Will I ever regain it? I do not know. This is the day they wouldn’t let us have one school bus to attend my friend’s burial. Even as I write this, I am still in disbelief. How could they, these UoN management people-student affairs, maybe? I mean, what does a world-class university do?

      Answer: It ensures the well being of its students in a special way, in a world-class way. In a way that will constantly reassure them that they are worthy.

UoN did not do this last week. So dear reader, I am not in a world-class university. Forget my previous statement. First of all, they suspend my friend from school. For what? For being hospitalised all semester long? You could ask yourself how he managed to fight for his life at KNH and participate in a strike or hide bhang, metal rods, and bloodstained knives simultaneously. Did he magically put all the doctors and gatemen to sleep and escaped, did all those crazy things and made it back just in time not to raise any suspicion? Or did he stop time like in the movies?

It is painful even to think about it. Even more painful to remember how much trouble they put him through. How he had had to travel all the way from Meru to Nairobi to prove his already crystal-clear innocence, to collect his suspension letter and to attend a goddamned hearing. It hurts and I don’t think you will ever understand this, UoN management and that Senate I hear about. You should have proved to be a world-class university last week. My friend is not of the world anymore. The least you should have done for him even as a simple apology was to give his friends and classmates a bus-just one of the fleet you own- to go and be with him in his transition from this world. To mourn with his family, to support them. But you failed, yet again. But terribly this time around. I am disappointed. I am angry.

So even as you give your speeches on how the institution is heaven on a piece of land and as you boast to the universe about the great UoN Towers coming up, I will be thinking of my friend and what you denied him.

For Lewis.

Rest in peace, Sugar.
You live on.

April the Second

The other day, I was taking a stroll along Arboretum Drive, thinking about all my problems. I was recollecting, especially, about all the stupid things I had done the previous year. And boy, don’t I mean very many silly things! Was 2016 a stupid year or was it just me? Probably just me. I kept thinking, laughing out loud at some of them and frowning, almost crying (just almost) at some. It was in the midst of this ambivalence that I ran into an old friend, and I was so happy that I lost track of my thoughts for a moment. Matilda* (real name disclosed) was one of those people people call beautiful souls; one of those people that should always be happy in life because they make everyone smile, even me.

Whenever I was with Matilda, I always felt that there was never anything in the world to worry about. Man, I had missed her! So we started catching up. We talked about her boyfriends; how Tibitius was a douchebag that could carry lots of loads of bullshit. Twenty minutes later, we were still talking. But now about the upcoming national elections, the lecturers’ strike which is going very well (keep it up, champs!) down to the security of the nation. And somehow we remembered the last major students’ strike that had had us thrown into Central Police. 

April 2016. I couldn’t forget it for any reason because my descendants must hear about it. A day after April Fools’ Day, but this was no joke; it was happening. And it was fun! I remember calling my little brother from the cell but he thought I was extending the fooling game. He just laughed and I laughed too. It was one of the most thrilling experiences of my life. I was laughing and mimicking some of those retarded GSU officers whipping the magnificence out of our asses while accusing us bitterly of thinking that we were better than them because we were in college. But suddenly, Matilda’s smile disappeared and her face became a shade darker. Ladies and gentlemen, when that happens, it means trouble.

My friend was not okay. She had never been since the day of the unfortunate ordeal. The experience had affected her pretty badly, and I was embarrassed that I had assumed that everyone had found it fun and exciting like I had. I had never really taken a minute to ask Matilda and our other friend, Cindi* (again not a real name), how they were holding up. What a bad friend I am. What a bad friend. You are wondering what happened to Matilda? This is her story.

***                                     

So you asked me about my GSU saga last year, and I think I was like I don’t want to talk about it. I told you that you are stuck with me for life…hehe I hope so…life happens at times…I can at least tell you some of my truths. Plus I don’t want to start another year having the same fears from last year…mum says I should let go and I agree with her. I know writing about it isn’t the same as talking to someone about it…it hides emotions behind the laptop plus I don’t get to see your reaction but you know me.  If I get an idea, I itch to do it then. Confession...I have actually never told anyone the whole truth about that day…I lied to dad …I told him I was in my hostel but I was at ADD…he was already sooo mad at me…I think he still is…will never trust me again but is all good. Didn’t want to add salt to an injury. I also never talked to mum about it…kept telling her I was okay… I still wouldn’t want her to know her daughter’s pain...would hurt her. I told my sister scanty stuff too…classmates and friends, I avoided talking to them about it…scanty info. I think my greatest fear has been to be blamed for being at ADD during a strike…it would be like being told that  it is my fault the GSU beat me…even though I deny it, I shouldn’t have been there that day. I also didn’t want to be pitied…was already pitying myself, plus humiliated.

Here goes…

I think it was on Saturday, exams next week …was in a short grey dress, blue sweater and blue boots….worst choice of clothes. We thought of discussing at ADD…another horrible idea. So we go…the discussions are all good…there was quite a number of people in there…strike still on along that karoad. I think it never occurred to me that it could all go wrong, so we never left. Plus it wasn’t chaotic in there. You know how they say ghafla bin vuu, there is teargas everywhere and so much screaming. I am trying to hide somewhere but there is nowhere to hide. For some reason, I imagine this is how people feel when they are attacked by the Al Shabaab. I think this is where my fears started…that commotion and helplessness. The people screaming at the GSU…armed with rungus and the shield. They are screaming like the weed just kicked in and jumping higher than Maasais…the whole floor shakes when they jump. I am holding to my bag so tightly…I had already put everything in there. A friend was shaking so much. We are asked to lie on the ground. Some guys are beaten…you just close your eyes and can hear the air move as they swing their rungus…I can’t believe that it is landing on someone…so much force. We are escorted out of the building, holding shoulders in a single file. I am helping some girl carry her engineering project papers. She looks fragile and scared…am telling her it will be okay. We are escorted to the tarmac…outside YMCA. It is raining. We are asked to lie on the ground facing the tarmac. His exact words are “kiss the tarmac”. Basically, I am being washed by the runoff water, my dress is stuck to my body…the rain…I’ve heard of rape cases...am so scared holding my bag tightly and her project…I am literally crying out to God “ please keep us safe.” It feels as if God is not listening…like my pleas are not leaving the ground. The guy keeps on going on about how we think we are special because we are in UON and how smart we feel for studying when others are striking…how we will never get jobs…he too went to school…blablabla…inferiority complex, I think to myself. They take turns beating us as they chant while saying demeaning things. I am picked on for wearing indecent clothes plus my dress is stuck to my body thanks to the rain. We are asked to roll over to the lorry…remember that WhatsApp video? All true. I try rolling but can’t move much… I am in so much pain clothes not moving…am beaten for being defiant…slapped a couple of times…first time to be slapped…I can remember their exact words and faces…I am so angry and full of hate…I even became numb, I no longer feel the pain…tears can’t stop rolling down my face…not because of the pain…hatred, I guess…or the fact that I couldn’t believe I was in that situation. We are asked to walk to the lorry…more beating, of course. I am crying and venting so uncontrollably. I call dad…he calls back…I text him…another horrible idea. We are taken to Central Police…swollen eyes from the slaps and cries. I notice my right thigh is so much swollen from behind …had a slight limb…more tears. Someone takes me upstairs 5 minutes later…I am released, no case. Thank God…dad got me out…I am not to say I am hurt or vent on social media or I will be accused of something and jailed….more tears, of course. Dad and my aunt are angry. I cool down then make calls to get my friends out.

That evening, I cried so much…I still do not believe I survived that…It hurt especially coz I had a brown mark on my left eye…lied for some time that I always had those marks…hehe some people bought that story…I think I still have some selfies I took trying to cheer myself up. My super swollen leg didn’t hurt much but was painful when walking…had to limb slightly. I even discovered I have other marks on my shoulders…can’t remember being beaten …and my back…I will check if they faded away. I am a tough girl most of the times so physical wounds I could deal with but the emotional ones…I have no idea. I got over it quickly…the crying and destructing myself with my friends…forgetting it happened. I remember the incident once in a while, and still shed a tear.

At that moment, I was so mad at God because I cried and pleaded with Him to protect and keep us safe but he didn’t answer. Right now, I am grateful that I wasn’t a hospital case… it could have been worse. Plus, I know I was beaten but I do not have that mental picture of being beaten … I think I was full of hatred I became numb to the pain or God kept me from it. I also moved on fast…I wasn’t broken after that…I remember hoping that they marked my face because I will be great they won’t believe it is the same girl they mercilessly beat. Up to now, I hate them so, so much that I pray they are somewhere trying to shake off the image of that innocent girl they beat, especially the guy who slapped me and the dark one who kept screaming. I sometimes pray and curse that they remain miserable and they will remember my face when I hit the headlines for my achievements. I know it is wrong to hate but I know I will eventually let go…commotions still scare the hell out of me…even loud noises…hate that feeling. Sudden braking of the car still scares me and the screeching too. I remember struggling for breath as I was coming home for 12^th … that rough driver hit the brakes suddenly when I was asleep. I was so scared, I desperately struggled to hold on to something, anything.

This is the whole point of talking about this…telling it as it is this time…regardless of people’s thoughts and comments. I think to forgive myself too…for being there in the first place…tell myself I was there, and it happened…it is okay to admit that.  My prayer is to let go of the fear and live dangerously …I’m learning to swim and still scared to let go of the pole by the pool…hehe …so what if I let go…I might drown…I pray not…or actually, learn to freely move in water.  

***

When I parted ways with Matilda, do you think I was still thinking about stupid things I did in fucking 2016? You got that right; I wasn’t. That was nothing. I was just a silly girl. And a bad friend.