Semester eight, as
finalists like myself affectionately call it has finally come. It has come like
that bowl of tom brown and milk one orders at Conti Fee-paying canteen. From
the days of senior colleagues instilling
the fear of university exams-life into us which contrasts the usual ‘university
life is full of chilling’ stories we were told , to the days of waking up as
early as 5 am to join registration queues infront of the main library, to the
days of eating half-boiled yam, to the days of sitting aimlessly infront of
Indece hall looking at busty girls (fearing to talk to them because of the
tendency of getting an embarrassment of a lifetime), and then finally to the
times when second and third academic years just breezed by us till semester
eight, one can’t deny the uniqueness of the much awaited semester eight. The desire
to achieve in one semester what we weren’t able to achieve in the other seven
intensifies. For instance, boys use this last chance to get future wives; a
mission that has for one reason or the other failed to bring an iota of
success. This perhaps explains why final year guys are extremely caring,
gentle, and sometimes flirty.
Asides the final year
vibe, second semester on its own comes with some unequaled breeze. Unlike the
first semesters which because of its shorter nature, and relatively tougher
examinations, the climax of activities are deferred to the next’s.
As the wind of national
and parliamentary elections is blowing, so are the bells of SRC and other
campus elections tolling. It’s barely two weeks since school resumed and I hear
about twenty five students have shown interest in contesting for the SRC
presidency. The whole school is littered with campaign papers and posters and
the only word I can use to describe this act of desperate politicking is dirty
politics; the word dirty, more in its literal than metaphorical sense. People
who have played no role in student advocacy whatsoever have just emerged out of
nowhere, and before the whistle for campaigning is blown, the whole place
is littered.
What an eye-sore. Is that what politics has become? No intellectual engagement whatsoever, only driven by the desire to accumulate power (and wealth, as alleged).
 |
| Some of the posters and inscriptions that have littered campus. |
What an eye-sore. Is that what politics has become? No intellectual engagement whatsoever, only driven by the desire to accumulate power (and wealth, as alleged).
In the entire time I’ve
been in Kwame Nkrumah’s dearest school, I’ve never witnessed second semester
commencing on this tensed political note before, making me wonder if the
elections are starting tomorrow. Normally, acts of this sort of (desperate)
campaigns are suppressed until nominations and filing for political positions
are officially opened. When this is done, a couple of debates and public
vetting systems are put in place and then when the time is right, we go to the
polls and vote for the most good-looking dude, or the guy whose name has a
catchy acronym (ranging from BNI,TAG, FIFA, DNA, SAK, FBI to STDs and the
likes). We have disregarded the assessment of people’s qualifications, skills and competence, and have given power to folks who buy our votes with material stuff or the promise of
making us a part of the executive committee, or the promise of putting our
names on the KBN list, or easing our accommodation burden by promising us rooms
at SRC hostel and the likes (the allegations are so many).
Why don’t we actually
change the way we do things instead of reducing campus politics to this
extremely ‘donkomi’ level? The incumbents, why don’t we have some public accountability
scheme that would make them give account for how far their campaign promises
have seen manifestation? If there was some proper accountability scheme in all
universities, VALCO hall in UCC would’ve been painted and wouldn’t have been
the most untidy building I’ve seen my whole life. And to really appreciate the
effort of SRC, why don’t we know the difference between the school’s
administration projects, and that of the SRC, and the ones that are joined so
that praise would be given accordingly? Soon, these desperados would start-off
making unfulfillable promises, and cooked stories like, “I just lost my Aunty”
would suffice in a bid to gain sympathy votes. Female aspirants would be giving
out free smooches, hugs and the likes to convince floating male voters etc.
Some girls however have done their politics in decency. But because of our degenerated
politics, nobody gives decent politics a chance. Many girls’ chances of winning
the elections (by doing decent politics) are as slim as Chelsea’s chances of
finishing in the top ten.
Interesting political
times ahead people… don’t give out your vote cheaply…
