Agony of having politician, trade unionist and activist as students

“Socs, if you think teaching in a high school is so challenging, then try our universities,” dared a lecturer friend of mine, as we demolished a goat’s engine (read head) at JJ’s, our popular local Joint.

A section of JJ’s had been reserved for a graduation party later in the evening. Indeed this has been the month of graduations. Various universities have flooded our counties with freshly minted graduates. I noticed the habit of ferrying kin in matatus sporting banana stems and assorted leaves hasn’t died off.

The spectacle of graduates posing for selfies with their kin took me down memory lane. When I graduated, mobile phones were virtually unknown. The services of a camera man had to be booked weeks in advance.

For that cherished studio photo, many of us went to the then famous Ramogi studio on Luthuli Avenue. A photo in the graduation gown while holding a rolled piece of manila paper, to represent the degree certificate, would be ready a week or two later.

Such a photo would occupy prime space in many sitting room walls – next to the portrait proclaiming Christ as an unseen guest and a silent listener to every conversation. University education those days was not easy to come by.

We were not only paid to learn but were also pampered with five star hotel meals. Things have since changed. With all manner of bridging courses available and university campuses springing up in local shopping centres, lecturers have all types of students to contend with.

Rescue crew

“Imagine having a politician, a trade unionist, a self-proclaimed bishop and an activist in your class,” my lecturer friend posed as he savoured a piece of the harbivore’s tongue.

I could imagine the excuses given for failure to hand in assignments on time: “Mwalimu kuwa mpole (take it easy Mwalimu), I was busy with my rescue crew at the ICC and could not finish my homework. Besides I think the university should just grant me the degree for having rendered such critical service to the nation.”

The senator may claim when the lecturer demands his assignment. A wad of rubber band bound currency notes could be tossed his way. “Hiyo ni ya ngata mtu nguyas (that is for fuel my friend)” the protesting lecturer may further be told.

The other politician, a Baba yao variety will have an equally compelling reason for not having handed in the assignment on time.

“Mwalimu, we were engaging a couple of land grabbers who had grabbed a public health clinic site at Dandora. In a rage, I threw the briefcase that had my assignment together with my laptop at the grabbers as there was no good stone at hand,” he would say.

Chained himself

Enter the unionist. Having been busy with press conferences on the composition of the NSSF board of directors, he has not had time to look at his assignment. Dealing with workers issues generates so much heat that one does not even need a jacket.

“Bwana lecturer, I was busy in a press conference advising these young men we have elected to lead us that they must listen to those of us who have grey hairs. In fact, I have been fighting for your rights as a worker of this nation,” the unionist will most likely say, and try to galvanize support from the class by chanting: Yes! Yes! Yes!

The activist is likely to draw the attention of the lecturer to the fact that he had chained himself to a lamp post next to Harambee house for the entire weekend to protest escalating insecurity.

No one can be expected to do an assignment while chained to a lamp post. Yet, there are expectations for these new breed of students to finish their courses, certify the various university senates and be awarded a degree!

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