Last Sunday, I went to Kenyatta University to attend the much politicized Ajira Digital Programme training. With me were a hundreds of other youths who had come to drink from the government udder. Over the week I stayed in KU, I was able to observe one thing or another as I interacted with other trainees.
To this effect, I would like to write something from the days I was there, some sort of a diary. Day 1- day 6, in this milking zone.
Day one- Sunday
KISSING THE ASS
I hit the road at around 3.30pm from home. I dropped by Myers lounge and sipped some fresh juice to calm my nerves. I am always nervous when going to new places, especially those that require me to stay there.
By 4.30pm, I arrived in town and started the search for the mats to drop me at K.U. I board a mat at Odeon in the front seat near the driver.
(Change of tense)
Okay, I find him with a bobo (if that means a woman). The woman leaves when I get in.
“Uyo msichana ako na roho safi. Ni mgenerous.” He tells me. Of which I laugh because, really, I didn’t understand what she was generous about- money, or sex. My mind tells me, the latter.
“Kama unamdai mfuate.” I suggest to him. This is because the mat had a few empty spaces to be filled.
He shrugs like he doesn’t want her anymore. Deep in her eyes I can see the desire. He is into her. He leaves the mat- whether to follow her or not, I don’t know.
We arrive at KU at around 5.30 in the evening. Good time because in their email they had specified arrival period between 12noon-1800hrs, making me a good time managing student.
There are many others going in. Others with huge bags, and few others like me, back pack and in pair of shorts. Simple folks. I wonder what they might be carrying in those huge travelling bags that make them stagger from the weight.
I join the beeline and go past the gate. KU is quite vast. It is modern and I like its design. Spacious. At the registration venue, I find some of my college mates. It is long since we saw each other, some palaver here, some banter, and then I go in to get registered. The process takes barely 10 minutes and I am out.
I join the wait, with my new green batch stuck on the neck like a leash and hanging on my chest like a dog’s tongue stuck out on summer.
Twenty minutes later, we’re dropped at Kilimambogo hostel. This is where real shit is- we line again. Smaller line but moving slower than a tortoise. In that line others sweat. I sweat too, because why not when everyone else is?
After much wait, and reeking sweat, I get assigned to room 342B. This is where shit was to go down for the rest of the week. Room 342 is where the mood for my day was decided, where decisions about my life in KU were made, where decisions on who to associate with were largely made, decisions on how to walk or sit or talk or eat were made in this small room. Room342B in Kilimambogo Hostel was my small thinking cap…it is where I escaped when I needed to, where I napped when I needed to get my head around, where I changed my clothes when I needed to look fresh and a place where I walked naked or in boxers when clothes were heavy for me.
The room is portioned into two with a wall that doesn’t touch the roof. I didn’t give a damn to know if it was wooden or brick walled. But it was a wall. I unpacked, threw my stuff in the wardrobe, hung my trousers and lay on the small bed (2 and half by 6) just to feel my inner peace for a moment.
After 5 minutes of disturbed meditation, I go to the washroom to relieve my bladder. As I finish my business and get back to the room, some guy asks me if I know where the mess is.
“Unajua mess iko wapi.” He inquires.
“Unataka kwenda uko saa hii?” I ask. To which he says yes. I ask him to wait for me so that we can go together. I put on my sweater and we leave.
“I am Mzangila.”
“Allan.” He introduces himself. He becomes my first ever bloke in KU. We chit chat our way to the mess. He is a cool, reserved gentleman who you can get along with. My type of friends.
At the mess, we serve rice, beef, soup and veggies. Plus one banana. We keep talking about our expectations. I tell him I was expecting us to be hooked up in five star hotels for accommodation and meals. He laughs it off and comments, “Vitu za gava hazina starehe.” I concur.
Back to the hostel, I didn’t tell you that there was a roomie already there before I got there.
We watch TV till around 9 before I decide to go up to my room which is at third floor. The TV room is at second floor. I am heavy with sleep, all I need is a soothing sleep to give me a sound relaxation from the long day.
The door is locked from the inside. I knock incessantly. The guy inside doesn’t hear my repeated knocks. I finally tire and decide to seek a higher call to help me in getting the door unbolted. I go down to ground floor to the care taker and explain the situation. He comes handy and we go up.
We knock at the door severally before the guy opens up. The first feeling is that I really want to punch him hard on the face for locking me out and giving me a hard time chasing him down to open the door when in fact I should be nursing my heavy eyelids with a massaging sleep.
“Uko vizuri kweli?” The caretaker asks him. “Unaezajefunga mlango na ndani na ulale na mwenzako hajaingia.”
The dude just stares back. “We uko na shida.” He continues.
His name is Vincent.
Day 2: Meeting Her…
Mzangila Empire 2017