So a good friend reached out and requested for a sequel, a brief part on our campus life as I didn’t get the chance to feature it in my first story.
University of Nairobi 2011, fresh from doing my CPA, I join The School of Economics. Here I’d still continue writing whenever I got the chance to, especially during my calculus classes or say when the lecturers were boring which most of the time they were. I’d scribble stuff at the back of my book and at the end of each session tear it out, make a small ball and dunk it away. Anytime I saw a blank page I pictured the opportunity to bring the invisible words to life.
You must be wondering how I made my notes. Well apart from printing out other student’s (which was the norm at any given campus back then),there was this girl who used to take them down on my behalf, she wasn’t from our faculty let alone our class but she’d attend most of the lectures with me. Thanks to her my notes were up to date and I never missed a thing.
Studying for the exams my mind would drift to other areas and so I’d pick up something at the library completely different from what were to be examined on, just to clear my mind or as usual, put life in the unseen.
Along the way in my second year after I change classes, I meet up this guy. He’d always show up late every evening and miss most of the lectures just to read something by himself. The first impression you’d get of him was completely different to the character he portrayed. He always had this big hoodie on,but there was something more to him when he spoke and you chose to hear him out.
In class he never took down notes and if he was not glued to reading something,he was away in a world of his own. At the furthest corner he used to sit, never paid much attention to the lectures, but come the end of each session,his questions would leave the lecturer and the whole class surprised 😳.
Here’s His upshot … ( from Sir Alan’s point )👇🏼👇🏼👇🏼👇🏼
Awaiting the inevitable which never came, so I found my way to a window seat. Hardly had I sat Bernard continued, did two texts come in blunder being the ringtone was the opening Riff off Pink by Aerosmith. Profile set to general hence loud as a horny donkey as I frantically tried to silence it, I must have pressed a wrong button for the song soldiered on I pulled out the battery like I was shuffling a deck of cards. That is when the inevitable statement came out his mouth “young man retrace your steps“. I quickly apologised to him and class and he let it slide. Class perplexed I presume its the first time he was ever lenient while I had no option but over compensate and pay attention to the orator who was boring and his findings shallow in no time I was staring at lillian towers drifting in and out.
When Bernard finished true to form I was first to raise my hand to ask a question although it was more of a critique on him not distinguishing between colonialism and imperialism, infact he hadn’t touched on the latter. After the class bernard laughed saying he avoided my question knowing he wouldn’t have the answer. Before the end of the class though the proffessor had open q&a session. How could I resist hadn’t planned for it but after staring at the expanded university way for an hour or so I querried him on whether the chinese will have the same impact as indians who came a century before. It pleased him.
Earlier in the month as he was lecturing a knock on the door occurred and a muslim lady entered made her way to you(Moulid), handed you a typed booklet we were to hand in as an assignment then left. He was impressed and said ” young man, I like that!”. The class laughed along.
Still earlier in the semester I was fashionably late as usual infact I hardly used to show up, I met you outside gandhi wing you intimated I shouldn’t bother going to room203 as proffessor Fred wouldn’t allow you in saying the inevitable “young man retrace your steps”. We ended up sitting on a form.
YOUNG MAN RETRACE YOUR STEPS.
If it wasn’t for Ali shote convincing me the teacher and lesson were worth the hassle I would have missed an experience of a lifetime. When our C.A.T papers were given back, I had scored highest and the whole class wanted to and read my dissertation.
This ofcourse wasn’t the first time my think piece was read to the whole class. Back in high school my english teacher recited my essay on being class monitor a rowdy bunch that had topped the school academic ranking and archived it, when I shifted schools my new teacher also reprimanded the class for I was the only one who wrote a report and in the correct formart during an examination. My clique then used to play truant but one time I convinced them to go to the National library at Upperhill.
In primary school I got kicked out of class for reading a book.
The world needs readers just as much as it needs writers.