By ORDIA Akelo
Let me begin by saying ‘maskini akipata, matako hulia mbwata’. I cannot tell why our fore fathers chose to call that sound produced when a poor person gets something mbwata but one thing is for sure, I have heard this sound more times than I can count in the last few months. As you can guess, it is not pleasant to the ear and before mine cease to function prematurely, I would like to put an end to this madness.
Change is good. In fact we should always seek to better ourselves whenever the opportunity presents itself. One notable thing that has changed in Moi so far is the process of booking our halls of residence. It is one of the biggest steps our institution has taken towards development. So big is it that they still have not fully recovered from the effects of the immense energy they used, they have gone for a sabbatical so do not bother asking why Hostel M is yet to be completed. But let me not digress from my topic of discussion.
I am talking about the chance to choose your preferred hostel and room. This initiative has exposed the nature of Africans when presented with a chance for change, and I bear the burden of its effects.
I am a proud resident of Hostel J, the best hostel in Moi. J is so wonderful that it should be considered as the 8th wonder. It is surrounded by all the security a girl needs, within and without (Just look at the number of male hostels around J and the population of men that always come to our rescue in the event of theft or a fire breakout). I like many others was given the opportunity to move to the leafy suburbs, but NO! I stay put. I have been here since I was a fresher and even if I go to Boston twenty times and come back, I will still choose J.
I know J so well, I can tell you that it does not have room 98; I can tell you the number of cats, their different colours, when they come out at night and where they hide during the day. I know the best washroom available and when to visit them. Have I mentioned thee lovers’ corridor on the second floor where people involuntarily turn to for a phone conversation with their better halves. I know my neighbors by name and what they cook on which day (Nyumba kumi nayo).
I can go on and on, but the bottom line is I love my hostel. I fail to understand why anyone would choose to live elsewhere; anyway, it is a free world. Yes, it is a free world so please respect my choice to stay in J. I am disgusted every time I say I stay in J and you twist your mouth and lift your nose then say, “Bado unastay J, hio place chafu, si ungehamia K ama L!” Now, tell me, who came to your rescue when a fire broke out recently? I hear your lights have not returned since then, ours on the other hand returned that very day. By the way J has no ghosts and I have no fear when in the corridors.
My dear, I want to talk for the residents of Lower Karen (hostels J, H, and others), your misplaced excitement is as a result of culture shock. The sooner you snap out of it, the better. Meanwhile, those who moved to M should not even talk; you live in Muthiaga that is still under construction.