About life and luck

ADVERSITY AT UNIVERSITY © Victor Ochieng' I was fond of this joke. That during my university days. I had a certain close relative. Whom I used to text. I have not eaten for three days. She kept quiet. I am sick. She kept quiet. I have died. She also kept quiet. Mine, was an admission to what Napoleon Hill in his book titled 'Think and Grow Rich' calls — The University of Hard Knocks. When I pen about my sorrows and lamentations at the university. That does not mean that I am a jail bird, a long-serving prisoner of the ugly past. I don't dwell on the past. I just use the past as a reference. For how can we appreciate light without darkness? There is that past life that we should let go. Like I once suffered rejection when I was an egg, before I became a cock. I struggled with that. But at one point in time. I let bygones be bygones. For somewhere I read in the scrolls of the seer called Isaiah: "Forget the former things. Do not dwell on the past. See I am doing a new thing." Sometimes, I love the past because today is the daughter of yesterday. But Margaret Atieno Ogola once said: "Yesterday is not today, and today is not tomorrow; each day rises fresh from Were — the God of the eye of the rising sun." After securing admission at the university in Kikuyu land. I went out to the nearest Shopping Centre. Rented a humble house. This was at Thogoto. It is a small centre in Kiambu County that started to grow and glow when the late Rev. Watson with his sweetheart established a missionary base there. Missionaries sent there by the Church of Scotland just called the place Thogoto. But it turned out to be a mouthful to the natives, the offspring of Gikuyu and Mumbi that were autochthonous to this place. They simply twisted Scotland to Thogoto. This is the lush land that hosts the two great Alliances. It is here that hell paid me a courtesy visit. I was bitten and bruised by life. Like gold I went through the fiery furnace. But like Meshack, Shadrack and Abednego, I was not razed down by the ferocious flames of fire. It happened that way because I was with the Sun, Son of man. Those who have tested the bitter bit of university life are part of this story. Life can squeeze you. Life can smash you. And reduce you into small smithereens. Life can steal beauty from you, and leave you ugly like sin. Though they say, no pain, no gain. But truth be told no one in this world of life and death likes to be pinched by pangs of pain. Pain steals peace from people. Pain can make you grow thin like a toothpick. It is pain that removes the shine and sheen on the skin. Pain makes people look pale like death. At the university, I knew the voice of hunger pangs. We were with a friend called Januarius Pesa. A young man with a thin frame like Mahatma Gandhi. His home was in those sides of Seme in Kisumu; where there is a stone on top of another stone — Kit Mikayi. For us, we did not know this thing they call three square meals per day. For even affording a meal was like asking for a blood donation from a mosquito. There was this pastor that came to our rescue. Personally, I was at the verge of despair. I had deffered several semesters. My house rent had piled up like an active volcano. The old landlord threatened to kick me out of his cubes. But those are the days I prayed like never before. Those are the days that the lyrics of the hymn 'Close To Thee' were common on my lithe lips of clay. It is interesting how suffering make people draw near to God. Then God also edges closer to to the crown of His creation. Pastor Ismael Mbula, of the Free Pentecostal Church, is the one that fed me the way ravens fed Elijah in the wilderness. The pious Taita man with a nut-brown skin tone was 'employed' by the Church. He hardly cooked in his house which was within the church compound. We waited for relief food from the children's home owned by this church. The home was called Nuru Africa. I remember fondly, how the pastor gave us a condition. For us to share the meal in the evening, we had to help him in his pastoral work. So, some of us at that painful point in life, we served God with zeal and zest, mixed with conviction. May God in His great grace forgive us. For all in all, we might have been driven by many motives, but He still had mercy on us. He healed our sin-sick-souls. I gathered courage. I edged to the office of the Deputy Vice Chancellor. I went there incessantly but the cold-blooded Secretary did not allow me to meet Professor Gatara Timothy Henry. But like that widow in the 18th Chapter of the Gospel of Saint Luke. I just kept on going there. When all my efforts bore no fruits. I read Proverbs 18:16 : "A man's gift makes room for him. It brings him before great men." God gave me an idea. A brilliant idea. I weaved a 1,000 words. Used a different door. Used a small chunk under the door to drop the words weaved well by a wordsmith. The professor with a poetic mind, read the piece. Because my contacts were there, he gave me a significant phone call. I met this person with a pleasant personality. He was mighty in knowledge and eloquent like Apollos. He had a deep voice with a baritone tone. We talked at a graphic length. He had mercy on me. He paid part of my fee. And footed my bills before his tenure came to an abrupt end. When he left. I felt bereft. I went back to the black hole. This time round, I went down the trenches. But still could see a yellow ray of light. A flicker of hope. As Wilfred D. Best aptly put it : "Hope is the only good which is common to all men." When the world says 'give up!' 'Die!' Hope whispers back 'Cheer up!' In the tombs of despair. In the muddy swamps of grief. In the brink of giving up. In the dark tunnel. In the vile valley of the shadow of death. There is a flicker of hope. Hope springs eternal in the human bosom. Hope is the last thing that should die in a person. The good book has these wise words : And hope never disappoints. Hope propelled me. One chilly morning. After doing my devotion in the varsity chapel. I waited for the Vice Chancellor. In a jiffy. A silvery Mercedes Benz zoomed into the university premises. The professor of Medicine alighted. Professor Paul Mungai Mbugua, was a towering figure who loved to smile. I gave him a firm handshake. As I looked at him straight on the face. "Professor, I have something brief to share with you." "Yes, my son, you can share. Let's walk to my office." We tip-toed to his office. We ambled at academic angles. Books tucked under our armpits. The lion and the cub sat there. I shared my woes and worries. As the professor nodded his heavy head that housed a big brain. Accurate rumours went that he was looking for the antidote and cure for HIV/AIDS. The hair on his hefty head was well-manicured and close-cropped. His PhD was a real Doctorate in Philosophy. Not Permanent Head Damage. Not Poor Hair Distribution. We became close-knit friends. We met every morning to read the Bible, pray and have some brief academic conversation. Sometimes during weekends, we went out with the professor. He took me to see other places where he lectured like the University of Nairobi. He showed me his businesses. He sowed seeds of academia and scholarship in my mortal mind. Then one good thing he did for me. He loved and cherished my style of writing. He used to read my articles with glad glee. He also gave me writing assignments. One day, he held my hand. We went to the library to meet the senior librarian. A short stout lady who spoke excellent English. The VC asked the lady to assign me one of the rooms meant for master's and PhD students. There was a good computer there. So, I went there everyday, locked myself there even for six hours, to strengthen my writing muscle. It was the time I came up with a manuscript of my first self-help book titled 'From Obstacles To Miracles'.