The stories itself,
The endless stories about campus,
Is enough to make you picture heaven on earth,
It's like a corner of paradise,
And woulden't want paradise?
If youre a ladies man,
There are plenty of them,
Like fish in the water,
In all sizes and shapes,
Too many of them,
You will never get enough of them.
The likes of us who are frenemies,
With the tale-tell education,
The one thing that took us there,
Have the freedom of skipping classes,
In a common comrade language know as _"kuuwa class"_
Can skip classes for weeks even,
As long as you sail,
When CAT's come calling.
Thinking about freedom,
Lights a smile on my face,
That I cannot contain,
Neither do I want to suppress,
Freedom is word that is foreign,
To African kids,
That is only learnt in books,
But never allowed to be practiced.
But when the campus doors open,
Freedom welcomes you,
And curiosity to test everything,
That your eyes can see.
Sometimes you can choose to walk 'naked',
As an African mother would put it
And walk to class,
Feeling comfortable in your skin.
You can walk in and out of a lecture hall,
As you please and nobody would dare ask
Or bothet to stop you
You can browse the web,
Chat on WhatsApp as you please,
Or even become an Instagram model,
With the lecturer busy in class,
Explaining things that you might never hear them again,
Leave alone to use in real life.
Parties are the norm,
A religion of its own nature,
That hit the young men and women,
Like a storm,
Rivers of alcohol,
And clouds of smoke,
Speak in loud voices,
An anthem of utter bliss,
And pure joy.
No sooner had you even realised what you came to do,
Than the final year comes knocking,
You don't even understand half the course you do,
And when you want to be a person for once,
You are out in the streets with a degree,
That you dont even know where you're supposed to work,
An empty stomach in the streets,
And a degree that might never even gift you a job,
And the society is waiting for you to be their change,
Their stepping stone into a brighter future.