‘Kuinama lunch’ is a phrase that means conning your gut into believing that taking lunch is a luxury. You busy yourself during lunch hours, patiently waiting for hunger pangs to pass. This meal-skipping is fast becoming a norm to many a comrade. Third years, particularly, are in the centre of the frying pan since they are the most broke class of comrades.
Wamalwa, for instance, doesn’t recall the last time his parents sent him something for his upkeep. He has received exactly zero shillings since the parental honeymoon of first year. After that first year, his birthers withdrew the support without notice. He is now stranded in the trap house that is campus. He has debts left, right, and center, as many as those owed by third-world countries. HELB cash doesn’t even cater for half of his needs. He uses it on tuition fees and the little remainder is swallowed whole by his landlord.
On most semesters, he survives on goodwill and glucose. Last time he called home, his parents didn’t mince their words. They expressly told him that it was time he stood on his own two feet. They made embarrassing reference to his two wisps of beard and deep voice, saying that he was well qualified to survive on his own. His younger siblings needed the financial TLC more, they said.
Kamau’s ordeal is a bit different. His old man often borrows money from him! He regrets the day he let his folks know he makes some coins from online academic writing. Since then, his dad always demands a cut from the online hustle and expects him to meet all his college expenses. The same guardians have high hopes of Kamau returning with a First Class distinction, a fantasy to say the least given the fact that he always misses classes to perform the writing tasks.
Malik, a lanky classmate who chews khat like a goat, was interestingly ordered by his parents to be on a go-slow. They said his business acumen was wasting away while he was busy acquiring theoretical knowledge in college. The parents felt that the school fee was better off invested in a business. He deferred and now runs a flourishing retail business. Did it really have to be at third year that his family realised he was cut out for babysitting goods the whole day?
Beryl is another one. She frequently wears mommy jeans and always has on some white Bata ngomas. She never seems to have any financial worries, but that’s just the exterior. Deep inside, Beryl is struggling to provide for herself. She stills wonders how her moniker changed from ‘baby girl’ in first year to ‘fully grown woman.’ Her mum never has ears for her pleas for financial help anymore. She is now thinking of hawking porridge to survive campus.
Seemingly, third year is a trailer to the blockbuster movie that is outside-campus life, which is full of costs and responsibilities. A proper introduction to adulting. BY DAILY NATION