THE JOURNEY SO FAR By Jeromy Magowa & John Kachere Most of you do not know me. I mean how could you stoop so low as to get to know me? My friends are fewer than the number of fingers I posses on one hand, and even to them I am a burden. Frankly speaking being here at the Polytechnic, as much as this would surprise you, avid reader, has proven to be more of a curse than the blessing you would perceive it to be. You see, my roommate has never uttered a single word in my direction, yet he consistently complains about and ridicules me with his peers. He makes it a point every morning to remind me of how he can’t wait until he is done with his academic year just so he can have a chance to rid of me as a mesho, and every day I wonder why he talks in that way; as if he is the only one going through an academic year. I’ve barely had enough to eat for the entirety of this semester. My physical frame is so repulsive and that indeed I have made it a point to shun the mirrors every time I visit the sinks in my Nyika Hostel. My situation is even worse where I come from. A first born tasked with supporting and providing for a family of eight. Father died a long time ago and the uncles did not hesitate but to strip us of all our belongings. Mother too deserted us, obviously unwilling to put up with the burden of playing father figure to eight children. I, with the help of my younger brother Simukadi repair radios for a living, for our living, and even that is much harder than being tasked to dig a six foot deep hole in the Chipembere high way with your bare hands given the lack of equipment that we have. I am at pains each holiday to raise money to buy clothes for my siblings from the cheapest heap of Kaunjika that can be identified. Feeding them is always one aspect of my days that gives me migraines. As for their fees, i can’t even begin to describe the level of torment that I am subjected to. And if it happens that day that my siblings did not earn a dime from their efforts to do ganyu, we are assured that our parting meal of the day will be had in our dreams. Avid reader, upon selection into the prestigious corridors of the Mighty Polytechnic, also known as Wadiya in some circles, I cried with frightful vehemence, while stomping my foot more repeatedly in a second than a woodpecker deep in the forests of Chikangawa, when I learnt that the cost of my education was a staggering K55, 000.00 a year. Fifty five hard-earned thousands of Malawi Kwachas. It represented a five hundred and fifty percent increase of the amount I was paying as fees for my secondary school education in the hills of Muhuju somewhere in Rumphi. As from where I was going to get it, only God knew. My only consolation came from the fact that the government pays the students K32, 500 as an upkeep allowance every month. In fact, I looked up in mute supplication to the heavens when I was made aware of this fact as I knew deep down that my family had just found its first stable cash flow. I did not hesitate then but to do the math: K13, 500 would go as part payment of my tuition fees, K10, 000 would hopefully see me through the month covering meals and other basic necessities. The remaining K9, 000 would be sent home to run the radio repairs shop which I would leave under the careful tutelage of my younger brother, Simukadi. It made sense. The day finally came. For so long i felt like the holiday was never going to end. Initially, we had been blessed with a year of vacation after a long and exhaustive sojourn through secondary school. We knew at the time that a year was more than what we needed to rest our minds, and when the university council saw it fit to extend our stay by yet another month, visions of the words “died of poverty” inscribed on my tombstone tormented my soul. In truth my first year at college was nothing short of challenging. Blantyre, dear reader, is a very expensive place to live in. In order to stay true to the budget I had drafted for myself, I had to become best friends with roasted sweet potatoes which I was acquiring at a hefty discount on the grounds that I was purchasing the commodity in copious amounts. The students boasted book-like machines they called Laptops; apparently it was a necessity. The phones were out of this world; I didn’t posses any. I remember once upon entering a shop they called ‘Mr Price’, I spat in utter disgust at the prices of their merchandise. Apparently, the price for a pair of trousers was more than what I intended to spend for the entirety of the month! The biggest joke perhaps came when they informed me that a single meal hovered in the regions of K500 from the cafeteria. Fast forward to one fateful august morning this year, I came across the news that the UNIMA council had seen it worthy while to adjust my tuition fees to a whooping K275, 000 a year! A joke? They said no. I briefly wondered as to whether the vast knowledge the so called professors had acquired over the years had finally graduated into outright madness. I mean............why? Avid reader, the gravity of this situation cannot be understated. Already this year, I have been deprived of the opportunity to acquire a student loan on grounds I cannot honestly begin to fathom. This is the third day in a row that I am going without a proper meal; the stolen remnants from the plate of my roommate are what have kept me going thus far. As of three hours ago, my life was worth K165.00. It is worth nothing now as i have spent K80.00 purchasing rat poison and the remaining K85.00 on a Gaba bun plus a sachet of water in Limbe. Don’t get me wrong for there are no rats in my room. As I write, every remaining tablet has been dissolved in this glass of water beside me. The contact details of my younger brother, Simukadi, who shall see to it that my body gets to its final resting place have been safely tucked in the third drawer of my desk. I hope you, avid reader, will understand. Hell, I hope God too will understand my journey so far.
Posted on: Tue, 23 Sep 2014 12:42:37 +0000
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