Accra - Mbabane - Mthatha....now first year UCT - Part 2

UCT first year - part 2 

It was such a blessing that Garth was at UCT too, he was in res called Leo Marquard. He had formed friendships with guys and girls from all over the country and because we were studying the same thing I would see him in lectures, and through him I was introduced to people, some of who became my friends too.

Orientation week was a gas. I had come from a little town where the most happening place was a club called TransParadise… I can still hear "I'm giving you love for love" and "Dreams Can Come True" ringing out, so this was big city lights. When not in res, I'd be strolling to Naughty's to listen to Francois perform downstairs, or over to Lloyds for Brown Eyed Girl. I never drank back then, but drinks were cheap and people would get properly liquored and have a whale of a time, as would I through observation. Walking home some nights, someone would just spontaneously start running for no reason, no dogs chasing, nothing behind us, and veer off a perfectly walkable pavement to tackle a giant hedge. Bush diving, they called it. I called it bewildering.

These new friends through Garth, generally came from privileged backgrounds, not that mine wasn't, because looking back, our upbringing in Mthatha was very privileged in its own way, but theirs was on another level. Until then the only "uppity" school I knew was St Andrews because Philip had gone there. Now I was hearing about St Johns, Saints, Hilton, Michaelhouse, St Ann's, St Mary's. Through them I attended my first ever concert, UB40. A few of us had been given jobs collecting tickets at the entrance, so I got paid, got a free t-shirt and watched the show for two nights. #WINNING!

Getting to upper campus without a car was its own adventure. The Jamie shuttle was an option, but the queues were sometimes brutal, so walking was my go-to. Cape Town rain in those days came from the ground, no mercy, no point in an umbrella. But I discovered hitching one day when I saw some of them standing at the roadside. I was always confident hitching with the group because someone would always stop. Even on my own I would get lucky more often than not. It would suck when it started feeling unlikely, cos then it would be me and my XA10s trudging up the darn hill. (Speaking of the Jammie shuttle, I am reminded of how sheltered I was. There was once a moment where I was waiting behind 2 guys to catch the Jamie. Just before one of them entered, they had a deep meaningful snog. I had no idea of what to do with what I saw, it was one of those can’t compute moments. I remember deciding to walk down instead. EEDIOOTT!!Just punishment for my then prejudiced self). 

The contrast between the worlds of my friends, some from not too much, some from everything, fascinated me. Fortunately, both worlds were equally comfortable to me. Shout out UHS. And it still strikes me that to this day I am many of my “privileged friends'” only dark friend. Why aren’t there more?

Through Rachel, Thabang (Banger) and Eddie, 2 guys I met during class, I got introduced to people from Smuts and Fuller, the residences at the foot of upper campus, known as the homes of the smart ones. The gents I met in Smuts were cut from a different cloth. While us plebes thought we were kings of Rondebosch Main Road, these guys were rolling to TOWN in Unicabs, hitting places like Brown's and Rhodes House. On Friday afternoons, when mere mortals trudged up from lunch to attend tutorials or lectures, they would be perched on a block of concrete known fondly as Mem Stone, armed with a case or two of Zamalek (Black Label beer), razor-sharp tongues, and very little mercy. Woe betide anyone walking past on their way up to campus. An avalanche of verbal abuse and unnecessary attention would befall thee. It wasn’t as if that stroll up the hill wasn’t enough, you had to hope that they weren’t there or, had better things to occupy their minds with. But if they didn’t, sheet those torturous stairs ahead couldn’t come fast enough so you could escape with some shred of dignity. But they helped me grow up a lot without even knowing it. But when you got up there oh the beauty of the Jamie stairs. A place where time didn’t matter. One could sit there for hours and for those moments at least, forget that you have to do an accouting tutorial where you knew the balance sheet won’t balance, AGAIN! Views of people walking by, many a random or meaningful chat being held.

So. Back to why I was actually there, yes, a BCom degree, and the coveted letters CA(SA) at the end of my name. As commerce students, our home was the Leslie, PD Hahn and Kramer buildings. Still holding a Ghanaian passport and a Transkei study permit, every six months I had to trek to Bremner, that ever-intimidating building that also doubled as the place where university careers went to die. Fee issues? Bremner. Exclusions? Bremner. Study permit renewal? Bremner. Always stressful. Do I have all the documents? Will they approve it? Being largely sponsored, sometimes confirmation from UNITRA took a while to come through, which was always testing.

The ASP was structured as a four-year BCom rather than three, the logic being that many people ended up taking four years anyway, so why not build it into the plan, with extra support and tutorials baked in from the start. I had been placed in the programme because I missed the mainstream points cut-off by a point or so. Someone saw something in my past performance and gave me a crack. I intended to squeeze myself through that crack with everything I had.

Our Stats lecturer, Brent Burgoyne, cut a Mr. Bean type of character and made the subject genuinely enjoyable. Herman Rhoda, my Accounting 1 lecturer with his very distinctive voice, helped me understand the subject from the ground up. I recall our very first accounting lecture, the head of department, Alex Watson, walked in and said: "Look to your left, look to your right , only one of you is going to make it." Damn, lady. We just got here. Those words became tattooed in my mind. I would be one of the ones who made it.

IS and Accounting as a double major was more work than strictly necessary but computers genuinely fascinated me. I could spend hours in the lab typing away in Clipper, a DOS-based language, troubleshooting by running sections of code to find where things were breaking, and experiencing pure elation when you typed RUN and it did exactly what you hoped. Bliss. I helped enough classmates with their IS projects that I eventually landed a tutoring role, which helped me pay my way through university. Clean and simple.

I had briefly considered coasting in the programme, but being up for a challenge I decided to take on the full first-year curriculum alongside the ASP structure , knowing that if it didn't pan out, I had the four-year safety net anyway. No parents to nag you about upcoming exams. No presence at breakfast to quietly remind you that you had things to be doing. Just me, my target, and the very real motivation of keeping my name off the DP list, the dreaded register of those who hadn't passed and therefore couldn't write main exams.

I also had additional incentive, to attend class if I'm being honest. There were two young ladies in our class, Tamara with her glasses and dimpled smile, and Ruby with her effortless I know I'm hot but I really don't care about that energy (she hardly came to lectures though). Just to steal a gaze or a smile and my awkward self was at peace.

First year turned out to be an ejoyable expereience. A few first-class passes, with my worst being an upper second. Pops had said all they had for me was my first degree, and I had made sure to honour that. I had arrived at UCT with a suitcase, a sapo, and everything to prove. One year down, I was still standing, and starting to feel, like I truly belonged here.

FIRST YEAR: SURVIVED.