by Jackson Nyika,for the GM’10 editorial group

MOI UNIVERSITY: A CONGLOMERATE OF HUGGERS

When I was a kid, my father took a dim view of everyone he deemed to be inappropriately dressed. He sneered at poorly dressed people....who were just about everyone he saw. If you think that he stopped there, then you got another think coming. He went ahead to inform them, and not in so subtle a way, that they looked terrible. This characteristic bluntness always landed him in trouble, but then, he was the kind of a bloke that went around daring trouble to show up....but that is a story for another place. In another day

I, Jackson Nyika, am a small fish in a huge muddy pond named Moi University. Bearing in mind that this is a fish eat fish society, am entitled to my insecure ranting and misplaced jealousies...which is why am awake right now plotting a conspiracy against MUSO, or some kind of a mutiny.

Let us go deep inside the solitary mind of a madman-myself, because i have never considered myself sane, but then this article is not about me. To avoid getting my metaphors mixed or mixing my metaphors, as the case maybe, let me put this argument into perspective...I have been thinking that I should gather a bunch of alcoholics around campus, feed them some cheap bhang and the attendant cheaper spirits, mould them into an army, overthrow MUSO, and declare myself MUSO president for life.

You see, I have a very personal vendetta against MUSO in general, and it’s male clan in particular. When these young men are nothing but college layabouts, the girls avoid them like the plague, but when they get elected, they get elevated to the realm of gods..and, horror of horrors, the gurls around campus be gettin’ huggy.The huggers’ syndrome is officially here with us, in MUSO.A MUSO official-and that is just a title, not a merit-never lets a  gurl pass him up. He makes sure he gets a hug. These young fellas would rather have a vasectomy rather let a good girl pass them up...

The most disturbing thing about huggy men is that they never quite get the wiggles right. You find a shoulder here, a shoulder there, a nipple at the wrong side of the bosom of the hugee.Get the drift? Or, horror of horrors, a neck getting driven in to the wrong shoulder blade.

I am whining, am complaining, am livid and angry,’cos for me hugs are not exactly pulling up at my (imaginary) driveway.hey you MUSO hugees,meaning those girls that want to see me unhugged and lonely, you’d rather start queuing up for hugs from me, because when i ride into MUSO in my chariot, you will have to book appointments   for days on end just to get huggy with yours truly. I might pass you up. Just for kicks, me and my ego are erotic bedfellows, you know.

God, hurry up and take this disgraceful breed away. Am referring to the huggers’ clan in Moi University. Lord, rush this academic year along lest we all get asphyxiated by tight, slimy bear hugs.

Iam gone...oh, and by the way, if you meet a hugger, call me and between the two of us, we shall do some justifiable limb breaking

And to the huggers of Moi university,male,female,and anything in between, stay away from me....matter of fact, I would strongly advise you to look  the other way when you see me...and don’t just look, run  as you look.

The young men of Moi university love visiting the library, but what they love more is gawking at ladies passing by at MTL.That being said, I need to go to the library more often.......’cos I just met a girl called Khadija in there, which could mean that my immediate future is taking  a glorious shapely twist.

nyika@2011gm23/09/2011

nyika@2011gm23/09/2011

nyika@2011*class

05/09/2011

THE SCREAMERS OF  HOSTEL J

T

here seems to be a general agreement that Kenyans are whiners. In every situation, we make so many collective noises about what is wrong, but in the end, just like the wimps we are, we curl our tails and end up doing nothing about anything. Don’t get it twisted adore this country, and its hordes of stone throwing university students, fervent tribalists, child molesting priests and politicians with shifty eyes. I adore even the idiotic policemen of this country who shoot first and don’t even have the guts to ask questions later.

We are an odd collection of individuals in Kenya, I tell you. Allow me to put this argument in to perspective. Every time we have a power hitch around campus, which, by the way, is the order of the day and night, collective swooning emerges from, the second and third floors of hostel J and attempts to squeeze your auditory nerves out of circulation. I’m not saying that the perpetrators of misdemeanors are hopeless juveniles (which, of course they are).I’m trying to say that nowhere in the world has current flowed because tenants screamed when power was temporarily gone.

I know am likely to be lambasted by angry boyfriends, who may accuse me of trying to ruin further the reputations of their unfaithful girlfriends-most who are freshmen, green and newly acquired-but it’s all worth the risk. It might also be fun to see the faces of these defensive boyfriends when they realize that theirs are not partners, but members of a wide, comic lust circus. But I digress.

The second and third floors of hostel J, by tradition, are occupied by freshmen. Follow this logic, and it leads you to the conclusion that these screamers are first year students, it raises questions: what secondary schools did they attend? Did their minders at that level use mass swooning as a way of solving crises?

Whichever the case, I strongly feel that those noises from hostel J should end, otherwise am going to write a more inflammatory piece, full with room numbers, occupants, their associates, relatives, phone numbers, the works.

nyika@2011

MUISSA: THE PRODUCT OF DISEASED MINDS.

And so it came to pass that the school of Insane Students, which is a  not- very -wild guess for the acronym IS, was considered the best in the whole wide’ compass’. Nobody could tell whether the ‘compass’’ magnet operated normally or deviated wildly from the norm. Everywhere you asked, they told you that the school was the crème de la crème of Moi University. Moi itself, as a university was considered the best among the (aging) Moi institutions countrywide.

In case you do not get the drift, the right honorable president moi was a teacher back in the days when primary school pupils wore multicolored attire at school due to the presence of a big wealth of rags in the country. Back in ‘dem days’,maziwa ya nyayo na watoto wa maziwa was a pipedream so thin a trickle of dirty water couldn’t make it through. This Moi man was a godsend,im telling you. When he chucked up chalk in rural Kenya free maziwa was a thing of the distant future. He was a Daniel, and me thinks that the biblical namesake was just his nemesis, an herald of things(read maendeleo)to come.

Back to our IS. it so happened that the chancellor of Harvard and all other universities in the world and also in the universe at large flew in to personally hand the  IS leaders,MUISSA,the’ mental ‘of leadership. And thus the school became the largest,most developed  in the uncardinal points of the compass at Kesses.Of course, mathematics had proved that engineering was the best course, but who cares about engineering when we could do jeering, auctioneering and leering in  our beloved IS?

MUISSA,that insane product of a diseased mind was voted the biggest single corruption entity in the world of Kisses, or Kesses,whatever  that is.

Miussa is a godsend,im telling you.i know, many comrades complain that voting is done in buckets and cartons. But surely you can see the effort they put in going all over themselves and over the ‘compass’, collecting waste buckets and a carton to facilitate voting.Comrades,how can you be so heartless?didnt you see how our leaders   put themselves at the mercy of mashoka and his assumed accomplices, by  trekking around at night begging for votes,and even paying miserly coins for votes they never get.

MUISSA,this writer is with you .All those students complaining about your styles of leadership(whatever those are, of whi ch you have legion)are just insecure freakshows sent by your enemies,who have poured money to finish you off.And even though the comrades keep chiding you,just know that even the good book(which I doubt you even  read) agrees thet  even prophets are not accepted in their own homes.I can swear now and here that nobody is going to push you off your chair,or whatever it is you have been sitting on since you were ‘ legally’ elected.

The comrades keep accusing you of embezzling funds,but you are saints,and you are innocent.For have the accusers provided evidence that any  funds were even collected?And weren’t fundraisers disallowed by his excelleny the former president?youpoor things!Dont the comrades realize that  you never embezzle,that you only safely keep money in your personal accounts because the legal channels can no longer be trusted?They just don’t get it.

                                                                   

Jackson nyika

nyika@2011

COMRADE POWERLESSNESS

The ‘comrade’ did not remember what his name meant .He could not remember whether the name deserved him or whether he deserved it. More tragically, he could not even remember what the name meant, and whether it had originated from Russia, Serbia, or Montenegro. Moreover, when he asked around, nobody else knew, of course. The rest of the ‘comrades’ were just as ignorant and as rain beaten as he was. The comrade in this context was Jackson nyika, and wherever you asked, nobody knew him. But of course, they knew he was a comrade. Allow me now to put this argument into perspective, before I start rattling of like some government or party spokesperson.

Ideally, we university students think we are the best thing to happen to Kenya since mzee ‘rose’ to power. Whenever you walk along the bylanes, cafeterias, lecture halls, frustration squares, or even churches, we are in the order of the day’s chaos, and we never pause to apologise.come to think of it, in our comrade pursuit of hell, we do not even pause to breath or hiccup. That is why we are always dying of over drinking, irresponsible sex, constipation, and information overload. We people are good at dying, im telling you. We race police officers along the streets, daring them to shoot us, which they gleefully do. Since the Kenyan police are just as responsible,unschooled and spineless as we are, they are trigger happy, and they shoot first, and never ask questions later, and when they do, the question always ends with kitu kidogo.It’s a wonder that the Kenyan police can hit the side of a barn when aiming at it. Do the police hold celebrations when (which is rare, anyway) they shoot right? About the police, I lay my case to rest lest I end up at Integrity House answering all sorts of questions, ranging from why I was born and why I allowed it to happen, to why  did I go to school. In addition, what a comrade is, of which I had known, this article would not be here in the first place.

Back to the comrade thing. Why do I have a feeling that universities in this country are raising criminals and hooligans to take over when the operational hooligans in this country drop off the face of the earth? Speaking of the face of the earth. It is hard to know when a Kenyan politician (which is a wise way of describing an underworked and over paid despicable member of the August house, whatever that is)is going to retire, or just drop dead, since a century old geezer occasionally raises up, walks up to a dirty podium and yells at us ,”It is now time for us, the youth”. A bright future, and we comrades should be happy because our political idols(more like devils) have over the years taught us how to loot, throw stones,chairs,and ‘take care’ of wayward friends. Now we are warming up to the prospect of going for each other’s potbellies (as soon as we develop them) whenever we differ on the price of candy. Looking at our prospects, and with a prophetic comrade eye, and peering over the peephole in the lecture room, i find our future so bright that we are in the danger of losing our sight, unless someone dims it a little.

What do I say next? Do I talk about comrade habits, which are all bad, or about the most recent ‘comrade’ hobby, which is drunk staggering along the lanes? May be I had best get out of here.

Jackson nyika, GM ‘10