CAMPUS HOSTEL LIFE

Now, before I joined campus a couple of years ago, I was a movie junkie. Blame it on being idle. How I stayed off porn is a miracle.

In that “junkie” spirit, I happened to watch Blue Mountain State (BMS) which is basically a movie on campus life.  After ejecting that Blu ray disc from the DVD player tray, I was so psyched up to join campus. If anything on BMS was anything to go by, campus was all about drugs, women and fame. Ignore drugs and fame. I am not a fan of those. But women! You have no idea! None at all.  Education is err … well, a co-curricular activity

Fast forward to 2012, I was admitted to campus. My BMS’d (please allow me to use that word) dreams were finally coming true.

But reality is a bitch! A loose one indeed!

I was admitted to a campus 30+ kilometers from the nearest town. You know what that means? I bet not. It simply means I was in a campus in the middle of nowhere, away from “civilization”! But that, I thought, I could live with till I got into my room. Yes! Room. That would be my “home” for the next 4 years I would be in this place.

And there, ladies and gentlemen, my hatred for movie directors was born.

Now to the main point of this post.

Where I come from (you should have figured that out by now), campus students, who opt to go the university way as far as accommodation is concerned live in hostels.

To y’all BMS’d knuckle heads who have no idea what hostels are, they are more or less halls of residence on campus that are divided into rooms (which only fit a 3×6 bed and  at least some space for one to get into the raw or get  coverd up).

What they never said about such places is that you are going to be sharing facilities e.g. washrooms with people from different schools of thought.

Shock on you if you have neighbors from some parts of the country that the hygiene train never reached. These people are dirty.

It is so bad, even the dirt loathes their dirt.

These are the kind of fellas who clean up their place only when someone (mostly a lady) is coming over. You are never going to notice them till the roaches start “Serengeting” from their place to yours.

In comes the resident DJ. These fools invest so much in music systems you are left pitying their ears.

It only gets worse if the owner of one of these “systems” as we like referring to them hails from the heart of Ukambani or Kajiado.

You will be treated to a forceful dose of “Fundamental” every morning at 7am on the dot. Trust a “DJ “to keep time.

These music systems also come in handy when people are busy being potential kidnappers.

Ok. I know I lost you for a moment there.

Give me a better name for people who have protected sex. They hold a legion of kids hostage in that reservoir tip. Right?

Talking about protected sex! We have the campus Casanovas.

The resident fuck-tory.

These are the noisy neighbors next door.

Only that the noise emanating from their room is the devastated creaking of a very displeasured bed and the fake moans from the class whore.

If you are single and you have such neighbors, a tube of lube would be a worthwhile investment to deal with your sexual frustrations.

And if you have such a roommate, you might as well get another place because you will be “beaten” exile every once too often.

Have I talked about the omena chef?

For the sake of those who have no idea what omena is, read this. These idiots should just get banned from the university halls of residence.

You see, “omena” is characterized by a very pungent smell. Something you’d expect from an Indian whose tummy is complaining for taking too much pepper. Truth be told, those things make you sicker than nourished!