My roommate Joel is still laughing at me because of my traveling mishaps. It was only that morning when the bus left me at the border. I couldn’t go back home because I’m a man, and men from my tribe don’t give up easily. I had to risk getting lost.

“Is there a seat left?” I asked a conductor of one of the two buses left. They all had passengers, but I was just trying, anyway. He looked at me and looked away. I got the point. I moved on to the next bus and repeated the question.

“Iko”, came the reply.
“How much to Iganga town?”
“Ten sousand shillings.”

My heart skipped a beat. Then I realized that the amount was not in Kenyan currency and foolishly tried to remove the incredulous look from my face. The conductor laughed at my efforts and gave me a back seat. I later found out that it costs half of that to travel to the town from the border.

Sleep was courting my eyes when I reached the town. I couldn’t risk napping for fear of passing my destination. I alighted and was immediately surrounded by boda bodas. I picked the most innocent-looking one, who talked all the way to the university, and charged me more than twice the usual fare. Total loss for the day- six ‘sousand’ shillings.

The run-away bus had not yet reached, which was okay with me because I wanted to look green with the rest, but not alone. So I sat there in the morning chill, and had time enough to notice the earth’s rich colour, and the fauna’s deep green. ‘At least I won’t die hungry here,’ I thought.

The buses started streaming in half an hour later, and we registered in the stifling heat. We were tired and hungry. One lady, Shiro (I’m that fast), let her mother queue for her, and sat pulling a face at the university authorities. The eatery was far, so we had to hang around till we had registered. The resulting combination of the heat, hunger and fatigue was minimal socialization.

When we became finally free, we hunted for eating places. I’m saying we because males get along quite quickly in difficult situations. The females went to town individually. We settled down at a place that sold everything from bread to chicken. The chicken was so tough we were all the more tired after eating it. And one needed space to eat it since it required a lot of pulling, and it is not good to hit a new friend.

The hostel has no tap water. The only source is a borehole that has to be pumped over fifty times to start pulling trickles of brown water. And it smells of rust. You wash your hands, they smell of rust. You wash your clothes, they smell of rust. You take a bath, you smell of rust. So on the first day, we agreed as a hostel not to bathe. Welcome to Vocational Hostel.

About The Author: Meshack Yobby knows first hand what it’s like for the average Kenyan in college. In his new column, College Life, he shares with us with his real-life and sometimes unbelievably comical experiences.

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