The Clarence Auditorium stood in the glory of the morning light, all glass and cantilevered steel. So breathtaking was it that Muthomi briefly forgot that his breakfast at the CU Cafeteria was identical to last night’s supper, down to the tasteless tea. He had wondered about many things that day, and the day was still young. He wondered about the discomfort of the crisp, new, ill-fitting uniforms issued by the Matron, almost like they were deliberately made to annoy the wearer. He wondered about the rather ordinary-looking students arriving on campus, who were very unlike those on the flashing billboards of the Capital. Muthomi wondered why nobody else was in uniform apart from himself and the three other new boys, until a CU bus arrived. Out stepped about a dozen uniform-clad students, maybe fewer. Too few, he thought, watching the group headed to the dormitory. He wondered why there was only one dormitory.
He wondered what wrong he had done. Muthomi and his mates had sat at the back of the white hall of the cafeteria, watching people hug each other, smile and laugh at their own jokes, line up for their snacks and beverages, some carrying small bags, others with nothing at all. They picked their way to their tables, trays of food in hand, and as one, they all stopped and stared at the uniformed newcomers.
Their voices floated to the boys’ table.
“You mean the vibarua have reported already?”
“Gosh, this lot is worse than last year’s!”
“Why does CU do this to us? I shouldn’t have to share my campus with them.”
They spat at them in English, but an insult was an insult in any tongue. The boys grew more uncomfortable with every eye that scorned them. Some even stopped and pointed at them from outside the expansive cafeteria windows. After what felt like hours, the announcement came through the speakers in the hall.
“Good morning, and a happy new year. We at CU hope that you enjoyed the holidays, and are eager to get back to your studies. All new students are required at the auditorium to begin their orientation. All new students: please report to the auditorium immediately. Thank you.”
The announcement repeated in Native, and a gangly teenager made his way straight to Muthomi’s table.
“Hi guys,” he said. “Do you know where the auditorium is?”
The four shook their heads slowly.
“Follow me, then,” said the boy, and swiftly turned and headed to the sliding doors. The little group trailed a short distance behind their guide, clutching their tattered bags, shrinking inside their clothes, walking past jeers and laughter.
Muthomi wondered why they couldn’t just walk across the grass.
The route to the auditorium would have been a short stroll, but they followed the young man along the concrete path that wove through the campus grounds. Muthomi saw that nobody else stepped on the lawn either, but it still made no sense to him.
The hostility of the cafeteria had followed them all the way. Someone spat in their direction, and guffaws erupted all around them. The people that mocked him were just like him—some older, some taller, some fatter, but none out of the ordinary. He asked the Creator to forgive him, for he did not know what he had done.
The auditorium was dark, cool, quiet. Rows of seats flowed from top to bottom, encircling the stage. Five empty chairs sat behind the podium; above them, a large screen displayed the Clarence University logo. Muthomi counted four entrances to the building, and two doors on either side of the stage. The boys occupied the seats farthest from the stage, shoulders hunched in vain to ward off the attention that their uniforms brought on themselves. Their guide sat with them, but paid no attention to them; he swiped his fingers up-down-left-right on his Silvertouch Mini. Parents and their freshmen sons and daughters trickled in, and in a few minutes, the auditorium was half-full, with sashed ushers stationed at the entrances.
A murmur rose up as the new Clarentians spoke across the seats, making acquaintances. Nobody spoke with the uniformed ones; a cursory glance here, a pointed finger there, was all the interaction they would get.
Soft music rose up in the auditorium. Two women and a man—Mr. Omondi, Muthomi recognised—strode onto the stage from one of the side doors and took their seats. They whispered amongst each other. Beside Mr. Omondi was a woman with flowing black hair over flawless yellow skin. She wore a revealing white dress and red shoes with an impossible heel, her voluptuous legs crossed at the ankles. Next to her was a petite, dark lady in a sharp dark blue suit, white blouse and matching shoes. She whispered urgently, swiping her fingers over her tablet. An usher handed her a microphone, and the music faded out.
Four elderly, impatient faces replaced the university logo on the massive display: three men and one woman, splitting the screen evenly. They looked around at their audience. The little lady stood up, nodded acknowledgement to the faces, turned back to the audience and raised the microphone to her lips.
“Good morning all, and welcome to Clarence University.”
Muthomi recoiled at her shrill voice.
“I am Catherine Kendi, in charge of Public Relations at CU, and it is my pleasure to introduce you all to our venerable Board of Trustees. From the top left of our screen, the Honourable Member of Parliament for the Capital, Mr. Khuse Ojiambo, Ambassador William Rotich, Reverend Bishop Mrs. Nkatha Mawira and Professor Dr. Sanjay Khan.”
Each of the faces on the screen nodded at the mention of their names.
“And here with us,” Catherine chirped, “we have our Chief of Campus and Peripheral Security, Mr. Jared Omondi, and, of course, our esteemed Chancellor, Madam Amira Bundi!”
Catherine urged applause from the audience as she handed the microphone to the Chancellor.
Muthomi watched Madam Amira Bundi accept the microphone and step gracefully to the centre of the stage, all curves and waves. His mother, Makena, was tall, gaunt, tough as stone. Mama Oti had a head full of silver hair and a ready grin on her face, her body always hidden under heavy sweaters and shawls, despite the Ndoro heat. The small lady with the high-pitched voice was compact and straight-edged, and not as friendly as she would want us to think she is, thought Muthomi.
Most people were one type or the other, with not much variation in between. That was the first lesson the apprentices learned before their first trip to the barter markets. The second lesson was that the difference between a great bargain and a wretched con lay in how a trader stood, walked, sounded. Muthomi had bartered for several years in and around Ndoro Village, and his knack for reading people was yet to fail him. If they were back at the barter, he knew for sure that he would trade...