When I got that admission letter to cooperative, I had mixed feelings. One is that I was joining a little known university. Frankly, I hadn’t heard of it until…well, Google became my friend. That’s after high school. You know, when your grades do not match the entry points to the famous universities, you are really left with no choice. So, to put it crudely, I didn’t know what to expect. And two, I was about to join a university located in the leafy suburb, Karen. Karen, folks. That presented an opportunity to dream, at the very least.
My friends and I were joining college around the same time, so it was normal for them to ask where I would spend my next four years. It was a pretty easy question for me. “Man, where are you headed?” they’d ask. “Karen bro,” I’d respond. “Karen where?” they’d ask again having not been satisfied with my answer. “Which public university do you know that’s located in Karen bro?” I’d ask. “Oh, jkuat.” And then I’d snap and say,” Don’t be dumb next time.” It was that easy, and that hard. I used to lie no doubt, but sometimes you have to do a bad thing for a good reason.
I didn’t want people to ask me so many questions about cooperative. I’m not the best when it comes to explaining things to people. Humans can be so quizzical you know. The one time I mentioned that I was in cooperative, it didn’t go down too well. I bumped into a former school mate who asked where I was schooling. I answered,” Cooperative.” “Bank?” He asked back, and I said…yes! A few weeks later, he called me to request for a soft loan. And you are there seated thinking that valentines is the worst that can happen to a man.
I was with my eldest brother during that admissions day. Parents only show up for such occasions when you are the first-born, or perhaps when they think that you’re not…old enough! If you happened to have come alone then I’m afraid that I have to say this; no one but Jesus, loves you. My brother carried my suitcases and everything as I walked next to him empty handed, like a boss. I felt a bit pitiful for him but come to think of it, am I the one who asked him to be born first?
When we finally got inside the college and my bro finally dropped the suitcase, he sighed with relief then told me that a time was coming when I’d finally pay him up for his services. There were many suitcases of students who were about to get admitted, most of whom were wandering around the pavement on your way to the Nordic Hall. Then out of the blues, my bro drew me closer to him using his left arm, and then pointed to about four beautiful girls who were standing somewhere in the car park then said, “Welcome to campus bro. Don’t worry about your stay here, you’ll be fine.” I looked at him then responded, “You can bet my life I will.” Savagery is in the blood folks. So don’t blame me. Blame where I come from.
We proceeded fast enough because we were few. Four hundred students is not a big number compared to the thousands that get admitted to other universities. I hear the admission days of such universities is always hectic. Imagine waiting for about a hundred people to get served. Sigh! I’d give up to be frank. Patience folks, is a virtue!
My admission process came to an end when the house keeper handed over the key to my room. Room no. 209. The room where we’d hold frequent parties. After all, I had promised my brother that I’d enjoy my stay. I cannot in any way say that I’m proud of that. Far from it. It’s just that we came at a time where there wasn’t so much activity in the school. No bands, no music club, no writers club, no art club. No school magazine or journals. Nothing. Not even a cultural week for goodness sake.
The future looks better now. Just a bit better. We at zogoa, will continue giving you coopa and other tales, because we can! Stay put.
Have a fruitful rest of the week.
Written/Edited by Okumu Kenneth
Photography by IncSix
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