Vital lessons from life in Kenya’s public universities

Thwack! That was the sound of the GSU officer’s mud filled boots on the back of my suitcase that I held tightly against my chest to protect myself from his misplaced rage against any university student that dared to sully his path.

As I half dragged and half pulled my suitcase that had been hurriedly filled with what few belongings I could gather from my University of Nairobi hostel room, the only thoughts that filled my mind were how quickly could I get myself out of the clear and present danger all around me, students running pell mell in fear and panic as the infamous GSU came to empty the hostels of their viral occupants.

That’s enough of the fictional drama. The truth of the matter is that anytime there was word that my fellow university colleagues were going out to the streets, the cowards amongst us were the first in our rooms, packing a quick overnight bag and headed for the safe confines of our homes as I was - and still am - the number one subscriber to the school of thought that states “cowards never die.”

Successfully completing an undergraduate degree in any of our public universities is an utterly rewarding experience replete with lessons in both life and, believe it or not, management skills. I will demonstrate through a few examples.

Example One: your colleagues express dissatisfaction with some perceived grouse with the campus authorities.

They decide to articulate said frustration by taking to the streets thereby incurring the wrath of the unforgiving and highly idle GSU officers.

Right people

Life skill number one: in the face of adversity, always ensure you have a backup route in case your primary escape route is blocked.

Management skill number one: When the authority above you is ready to go to the trenches to defend a position, be prepared to either fight from the opposite trench or submit in defeat.

Example Two: In my first year of campus, the law student association organised a trip to visit our counterparts at the University of Dar-es-Salaam.

Being the bright eyed and bushy tailed “fresher” that I was, I signed up to go for what became the road trip from hell.

We left the main campus car park at the ridiculous hour of 4 p.m. having stood around twiddling our thumbs since 8 a.m. as our colleagues “stocked up” on vital provisions for the trip.

By the time we were about an hour from Namanga, many of the bus occupants were thoroughly inebriated from the stock which, I hasten to add, did not flow out of a bottle but from a jerrican whose contents would make nuclear effluent seem like mother’s milk.

As soon as we arrived in Namanga, the Kenyan immigration officials merrily waved us through.

Their Tanzanian counterparts were, however, not impressed by a bus half full of intoxicated and obnoxious hurling abuses at them about what a poor country Tanzania was.