Whoever was given the tender for controlling the heat in this country is working overtime. It is so hot for a minute l believe l am being tortured for my sins. It doesn’t help that lm wearing this XL hoodie and socks. I can’t help it honestly, l was used to wearing that when l was in England. My classmates are always making fun of me that l went there for 2 minutes and came back a whole British girl. In Zimbabwe l would be one of those ‘njivas’ who went to South Africa to buy groceries and came back saying, ‘Mara ne’. I am glad to be back though. This was probably one of the most unhot hot girl summers l have ever had. After losing my favorite aunt from cancer and losing what l thought was the love of my life, lm in shambles. I had one there for an IEEE conference and my HOD was kind enough to let me stay for the rest of the summer break ‘shadowing’ one of the professors from the partnering institution. After two months of intensive work, l used the other month to immerse in the UK culture, where culture is just the famous ‘hot girl summer’.
I lean back to get myself comfortable on this wooden bench near the cafeteria, watching people walk by. It’s the beginning of the term so everybody is still high in the holiday spirit. I’m worried about this dissertation l am yet to submit later next year. To think l told me l would work on it from last year but nix. Honestly, l don’t get the point of this, l should have been allowed to use the research on irradiation of Nickel based alloys, that l had worked on during the summer. My professor had complained that the topic was a bit far-fetched from the course and he had a project on Green energy that he wanted us to work on. Speaking of him, l heard he has been looking for me all over. I have to go see him, last time we talked was on my way back. I will pop by tomorrow, I just needed a few days to get my head back into my academic mode then l can talk to him. I resume eating the plantain chips that Aunty Jackie gave me. They are a bit salty for my liking but l guess these will have to do the job until supper. I look around the ground. The first years who are not so young anymore are walking around in pairs, being lovey-dovey. To be young and in love, must be nice. I will admit, I am not a nice person so these things don’t make me happy, in my head l just whisper ‘tea ingotanga ichipisa’ (even tea is hot at the beginning).
Is that Kwaku walking towards me? ‘Our princess, welcome back. Something small for the boys from the land of the queen?’ I look up at him and pull up a faint smile, this boy sure knows how to bother someone. He is one of my 3 classmates. Our class is very small, three boys and myself. These guys are my little family. Kwaku is the youngest among us, he is always up to something, works very hard, and spends most of his nights in the lab building one thing or the other. He was born here in Accra but moved to the northern region after his father died. His mother remarried and had 3 more children with his stepdad. He rarely talks about his life but when he does, you can tell how much of a tough background he comes from.
Then there is Tobi, who comes from Northwest Nigeria in Sokoto. That guy is smooth on the tongue. I assume all Nigerian men are. He says his dream is to go back to Nigeria and focus on his music career. Here and there he makes us listen to his music, which is not bad honestly. He is also the only one in our class who isn’t sponsored by any organization. If there is anything l have learned here is that West African parents would sell everything in order to take their kids to school. We rarely see him around campus, as he is always somewhere trying to shoot videos for his songs. ‘This one will be a banger, l promise you. Why fine girl do you believe me?’, that’s what he always says with each and every other song. I wonder if any of the guys have told him to put effort into the thing that actually brought him here. I’m not complaining though. l mean the other day he composed a song for my birthday. Besides, l will always be nice to him so that one day when he is trending on Twitter, l will also say he used to be my friend in college and l supported him.
Lastly, there is Mayibongwe Khumalo. He is the life of the group. He was born and raised in South Africa. Apart from cracking jokes, he is well known for being a good dancer. That other day he danced umlando and for a second there he caught my eye. He is actually one of the people here sponsored by their country’s government. Unlike the rest of us who have to get part-time jobs to cover what our scholarship doesn’t, he gets to live largely using his stipend. It’s only us, his classmates who actually know that. Otherwise, the word on campus is that he is from a royal family back in KZN and his parents brought him here to remove him from the distractions back home. Guys, men can lie! His girlfriend even believes that story, she even calls herself Ohema (queen), to match the status of his little lover boy. The day she actually discovers the truth she will kill herself. Apart from that, he is generally a smart guy and he is our go-to person when Matlab simulations are showing us flames. I also get along with him because practically Zimbabwe and South Africa are cousins.
Everyone in my class claims after this degree they are going to pursue something else. Electrical Engineering is very hard guys. I see other people talking about how coding is the hardest thing but Kwaku always says coding is a tool that we Electrical engineers use to solve tiny problems. I hope the Computer guys never catch him saying that, otherwise we are all dead. I don’t buy the whole pursuing something else after college. One thing for sure is if GE was to knock on my door on graduation, l would go there without thinking twice.
These guys are probably the most coolest ( regardless of their little dramas) people l have come across, l may be biased since they are my team but what can l say. We are the smallest group on campus and probably the most forgotten. Although l would have loved to have a girl to work with and rant to when they are pissing me off, l honestly wouldn’t trade these guys for anything. When l read Yvonne Maphosa’s book, l sometimes felt she came and snuck into my class, these guys are my Bunkes and Ndivhus. I guess it’s true when they say Nothing is new under the sun.
My name is Trymore Zharikiya. Zimbabweans are well known for giving their children ‘unique’ names. I comfort myself because l know someone called Pfungwa( loosely translated to brain), Everest, Disobedience, Obey, etc. I know in the family of ‘more’, we have Caremore, Knowmore, and Lastmore. Back in high school people used to call me by my surname. If you studied in boarding school, you know it was only the elite that was called using their surnames. For you to be a respected member of the high school community, you needed to have a surname that was heavy to pronounce. The other guys who had generic surnames had to work twice as hard as us. I wonder why people make fun of my name, considering that Ghanaians also lack in the department of naming. When you go around Makola, you will see shops named; God loves me supermarket, His perfect grace bakery, and Trust me perfect food. Kahle kahle we are all in the same WhatsApp group. I need us to sit down and decide once and for all who takes the cup in coming up with names.
The guys and l are doing our final year in Electrical and Electronics Engineering. I come from Zimbabwe, where l did my O and A level. I studied at an all-girls school from primary right until ‘A’ level. These are the closest to what l have had as male friends. I think l turned out alright. In between learning in a boarding school with 400 other girls which naturally made every day ‘ that time of the month’ and growing up with 3 other girls. I used to be one of the loud girls and l still am, my open personality has made it easier to hang out around with these guys. I always bother them with everything. Mayibongwe normally brings me fruits whenever he goes outside the campus and any chance l get l always ask for 25 cedis from them just to buy some KFC. Sometimes it’s not even like l don’t have it. I guess it has just become a routine that l ask for money. They also never say no. Besides, who would say no to my beautiful face?
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When l finished A level, my mother thought it best l apply for a scholarship and leave Zimbabwe. Luckily, in one of her church WhatsApp groups, someone sent a link to this school here in Ghana where l applied and found a place. Things back home are not getting better since the 2017 coup. I remember the day our dictator was finally removed from power, we all jumped in the streets, we danced for our lives, phela we thought it was freedom at last. My poor grandmother even walked all the way from Entumbane to go eNjobe to celebrate with her church friends. My grandfather who rarely talks was also hyper during that day. Bless him, he even used some of his savings to throw a party for the neighborhood. If only we had known what was to come, we would have stayed at home and eaten our sadza. Remember what l told you about men? Men can lie my friend. We were promised electricity, better wages, and better standards of living, and the youth were promised jobs. None of that ever happened, life went downhill from then. Things got really hard back home, the Zimbabwean dream since then has been to leave Zimbabwe. You know things are hard when you start missing your oppressor. Though l never admit this in public, only a Zimbabwean is allowed to say this. Otherwise, all hell breaks loose if someone else speaks ill of my country.
It did not help that my father left us to go eGoli for a better life. He used to send money during the first few months and as time went on it started getting less. He would send a message at the end of the month saying ‘situation critical’ and that’s the last we would hear from him. Those who had gone eGoli would come and tell my mother stories of how they had seen her husband and he was now staying with a Zulu woman. Apparently, he was living quite comfortably there. After months of being in denial, one morning we woke up and never spoke of him again. My poor mother who worked as a teacher did everything to take care of her four girls. Two of my siblings Tryphina and Sarafina, twins, are still in primary 6 and Nomatter is in her final year of O level. Though we did not have much, my mother surely made ends meet. Being here meant l was the chosen one to help my family. It was our one shot at escaping poverty.
Shoot, l have to leave, it’s already 5:10, lm late for my Leo club meeting. Great, l have started the first day as club president late for a meeting that l called for. I hurriedly pick up my bag and half-eaten plantain chips.’Sorry, Kwaku, let’s talk tomorrow, l have to go, l say as l quickly walk away. ‘Eii is this how you are’, l hear him shout from a distance. Hayibo, this guy can’t be serious, he went on his trip to Germany and never brought me anything and now he wants to stand here and act surprised. Yeah ne, men!
Enjoy a video explaining the famous Something small for the boys statement
Tafadzwa 