That feeling you get five seconds after taking a HIV test or when you pee on a stick and wait to see wewe ni mama nani, what is it called? it’s not really anxiety, it’s something more overbearing.
You also got it when you were younger when you broke wageni’s glass or when you were about to get your report card and you know very well you spent too much time playing blada and kati. Hours turn to minutes and minutes to seconds but you still feel like the day is long and your fate is near, or should I say your mum?
This same feeling washes over the outgoing fourth year students at Moi University. We’ve had it when the lecturers went for a strike March this year.
We also lived through it last year wondering if the elections will prolong our stay at school. We had it again before that and the semester was pushed a few months later only for us to be sidelined again for another lot and the semester started in January 2018.
We have always lived in limbo; we are good at it-further notice was the administration’s speech flaw whenever accommodation was threatened.
The room was half full, most students were busy working to fend for themselves, others were negligent but no one blamed them for not attending the meeting, I was quite surprised at my keenness to be present.
The HOD had assured us that the results of fourth years would be released by first week September. He had threatened that those who wouldn’t have submitted the project by 24th August would be penalized by not being included in the 2018 graduation list.
The finality in his words still rings on even though I was chatting away with my desk mate Connie. He also stressed on the need to have the marks from the previous years in the system- he was thorough.
He urged us to follow up on missing marks and elusive lecturers. We were not used to his way of doing things; we always got lax administrators from first year so we also became lax to echo their character.
It had been a couple of weeks after the stipulated date and the results still hadn’t been released. It’s an administrative flaw on the part of Moi University, elude one thing to satisfy another course. The whole campus had befallen the same fate.
This marriage idea no longer seemed repulsive; I would simply find a boy, perhaps of standard wage. Perhaps he would propose. Perhaps I would have my first born before the results came out. I gave up, my friend Dundee also gave up, the class had forgotten as well. We will graduate in 2019 one said.
Weeks turned into a month and the whirlwind carried our voices to those above. Those who determine our fate. Those who control who gets married and when. They are the gods.
One would say marks ndio zilitupeleka huko, but this one would not be from Moi, we had a different calling. Our admission was not dignified by marks; it was our resilience. Marks were just a façade.
They brought us here, they played with our minds and even built imaginary hostels, they appointed morally deficient staff and sent us home time and time again. We were treated like that wife the in laws loathe- no bride price, no respect.
The results were released in the second week of October. They were incomplete. They are always incomplete. It’s like a man’s beard that doesn’t connect, it’s there but its not there. It’s like hair of a woman that is too short to be held in a ponytail or a child’s missing front teeth, the others are there but when he smiles….
It was the same week we expected the graduation list to be released. We are used to deceit, some things don’t come as a surprise to our lot but it’s still unsettling.
The years were too many to count, our age mates from other campuses were working and some with children. If anything goes wrong we would not recover, we would not be sane.
Woi University has taught us malice and inconsistency. It has taught us that life is not fair and the chain of command cannot be questioned. It has taught us that it’s important for student leaders to go to Tanzania as opposed to fight for our rights.
It has also taught us that the alphabets are wrong and after hostel H is hostle J. We go away with the education that white and green are not only colors of Safaricom, the staircase leading to the administration block is far much more important than the security issues at the residential level. That, results will come when they will come and they will come in half.
I send effusive congratulations to the class of ’18 for fighting the good fight and Rudisharing the race. You are truly all mashujaas; some of you still have dreadlocks on top of your heads. Beware of chickens and others are still wearing the same pants from yesterday, go home.
You may not have a statue in Nairobi town showing your dedication but you have your results and that’s what matters. If we meet, a cup of coffee is assured or perhaps a shot of gin, whichever you fancy. Happy post Mashujaa day!
Unangoja results zitoke unapata missing marks unashtuka unakufa