grand entrance gone wrong

As he dragged his suitcase toward the Meru National Polytechnic gate, he noticed how the zip struggled to hold everything together. The poor suitcase had lived a long, honorable life,first belonging to his father, then passed down to his older siblings, and now to him. Over the years, it had been patched up, sewn, and reinforced so many times that it barely resembled a suitcase anymore. It was more like a traveling museum artifact, held together by sheer willpower.

He took a deep breath, hoping it would last just a little longer.

Then, disaster struck.

With a loud RIIIIP, the overworked zip finally gave up. The suitcase burst open like a cracked watermelon, sending its contents flying in every direction.

First, out rolled two enormous yams, tumbling onto the pavement like lost puppies. They bounced and skidded to a stop near a group of well-dressed students, who shrieked in horror.

Then came boiled maize, still wrapped in dry banana leaves, rolling like missiles toward unsuspecting pedestrians. A couple of ripe bananas followed, splitting open on impact and painting the pavement yellow.

But the grand finale was the jerrycan of fermented porridge.

The impact was too much. The brittle plastic container cracked open, and in an instant, a flood of thick, white uji exploded across the pavement, drenching shoes, splattering onto trousers, and baptizing a few unlucky souls.

The reaction was immediate.

"NKT! Mungu wangu!" an outraged voice shrieked.

"Nani anaturoga asubuhi?!" (Who is bewitching us in the morning?!)

Kelvin turned just in time to see a furious elderly woman shaking her hands dramatically, as if casting out demons. She wore a bright red leso and carried a massive woven basket, probably dropping off a relative for admission.

She sniffed the air, her face twisting in disgust. "Ghai! Hii ni nini?!" (Oh my God! What is this?!)

"It's just porridge," Kelvin muttered, scrambling to gather his maize and yams.

The old lady glared at him. "Unafikiri tuko shamba? Unatuletea ugali ya watoto wa shosho?" (Do you think we are in the village? You're bringing us baby food?)

Before Kelvin could explain, a group of new students burst into laughter.

They were all polished, well-fed, and fresh from Nairobi. One wore designer sneakers, another had expensive cologne you could smell from a mile away, and their T-shirts screamed wealth;Nike, Adidas, Puma.

"Aje sasa!" one of them cackled. "Uko na duka ya mazao?" (Do you have a grocery store?)

"Weh! Unakuja shule ama market?" (Are you joining school or setting up a vegetable stall?) another student added, nearly crying from laughter.

Kelvin's face burned. He wanted to sink into the ground.

"Na hiyo ni uji kweli? Ama alikuja na mtama yote?" (Is that even porridge? Or did he carry the entire sorghum harvest?)

More laughter exploded around him.

Then, just when he thought it couldn't get worse, a stunningly beautiful girl stepped forward.

She was gorgeous,the kind of beauty that could make a man forget his own name. She wore a sleek, figure-hugging dress, heels that clicked powerfully against the pavement, and an annoyed expression that could kill. Her hair was tied in a perfect ponytail, and her well-manicured nails glistened in the sun.

Unfortunately, her perfect attire was now splattered with fermented porridge.

She looked down at her stained dress, her eyes flashing with rage.

"What the hell is this?!" she screamed, turning toward Kelvin. "Do you know how expensive this dress is?!"

Kelvin opened his mouth to apologize, but she cut him off.

"This is why I hate admitting day! Villagers everywhere!" she spat, throwing her hands up. "I swear if I see you anywhere near me again, it's on sight!"

With that, she spun on her heels and stormed off, still cursing under her breath.

Kelvin stood there, surrounded by his disaster zone of spilled food, humiliation burning through him.

"Kill me now," he muttered.

Then, a voice from behind him chuckled.

"Bro, that was the worst first impression I've ever seen."

Kelvin turned to see a tall, confident-looking guy watching the entire disaster unfold with an amused grin. He wore casual jeans and a hoodie and looked relaxed, like someone who had seen it all before.

He extended a hand. "I'm Dennis. And man, that was brutal."

Kelvin shook his hand, sighing. "Tell me about it."

Dennis smirked. "You really pissed off Viola. You know who she is?"

Kelvin frowned. "Viola?"

Dennis nodded. "Yeah. Student leader. Most popular girl on campus. Untouchable."

Kelvin groaned. "Just my luck."

Dennis helped him pick up what little could be salvaged from his belongings. As he lifted an old notebook that had fallen out, he paused, flipping through the pages.

Kelvin's heart stopped.

Inside the notebook were his rap lyrics.

Dennis grinned, reading out loud. "'Life is a hustle, the street is a jungle… The rich got it easy, the poor gotta struggle…'"

Kelvin snatched the notebook and shoved it into his suitcase. "Mind your own business!"

Dennis raised his hands in surrender. "Chill, bro! It's actually not bad."

Kelvin rolled his eyes. "Thanks for the embarrassment."

Dennis chuckled. "Anyway, where's your guardian?"

Kelvin hesitated. "I… I came alone."

Dennis raised an eyebrow. "Oh. That explains a lot." He looked around at the hundreds of new students, most accompanied by family members. Kelvin, in his torn suitcase and food disaster, was the odd one out.

For a moment, shame filled him. But Dennis clapped him on the back.

"Cheer up, man. You're in the big leagues now. Forget the past—just focus on surviving this jungle."

Kelvin forced a weak smile.

They stepped through the massive campus gates.

Inside, Kelvin's eyes widened. The campus was bigger than he had imagined—tall glass buildings, clean pavements, students walking in groups, laughter filling the air. The hostels towered in the distance, and near the entrance was a modern cafeteria, its glass walls revealing people enjoying meals.

A huge field stretched out to the right, with students jogging, playing football, and chatting under trees. A few sleek cars were parked near the administration block, and Kelvin couldn't help but notice how different this world was from Giaki.

Dennis chuckled at Kelvin's awestruck face.

"Welcome to Meru National Polytechnic," he said. "You ready?"

Kelvin followed Dennis through the vast campus, still shaken from his disastrous first impression. His suitcase,now barely able to hold itself together,wobbled behind him, and the faint smell of fermented porridge still clung to his clothes.

Dennis led him to a large administration block, a modern structure with tinted glass windows and sleek metallic doors. The entrance was crowded with students and their guardians, forming long queues as they waited to register.

"Here we are," Dennis said. "The registrar's office. Brace yourself, though,these people don't joke."

Inside, fluorescent lights flickered, casting a dull glow over the beige walls and rows of metal filing cabinets. The place smelled like a mix of old paperwork and cheap air freshener. Kelvin noticed a few exhausted-looking staff members, all of whom seemed to be operating at two speeds,slow and stop.

At the far end, behind a large wooden desk stacked with documents, sat a woman in her late 40s, typing on a battered desktop computer. Her thin-rimmed glasses perched dangerously at the tip of her nose, and she had a permanent disapproving frown, as if the mere presence of students offended her.

Her braided wig sat slightly off-center, and she wore a blouse that had seen better days. The nameplate on her desk read "Mrs. Nkirote – Registrar", though Kelvin doubted she needed a nameplate,her reputation probably did the introduction.

Kelvin stepped forward nervously.

Mrs. Nkirote glanced up, adjusting her glasses. "Yes?" she said impatiently.

"I—I'm here to register," Kelvin stammered.

She gave him a once-over, her gaze lingering on his patched-up trousers and dusty shoes. Her expression screamed "Another one of these ones."

"Documents," she snapped, stretching out her hand.

Kelvin reached into his suitcase, rummaging around until he fished out an old polythene bag,the same one his mother had carefully wrapped his admission letter, ID copy, and bank slips in. The blue plastic bag rustled loudly as he unfolded it, drawing a few side-eyes from nearby students clutching sleek folders.

Mrs. Nkirote sighed dramatically as she took the documents. She scanned them, pausing at his course—Civil Engineering.

"Well, at least you're doing a good course," she muttered. Then, without looking up, she added, "Too bad you haven't engineered your own life yet."

Kelvin blinked. "What?"

She finally looked up, smirking. "How do you expect to survive in this school? You're already relying on HELB funds you haven't even applied for." She shook her head. "That money doesn't come fast, and even when it does, it vanishes like a pastor's prayer."

Kelvin's face burned with embarrassment.

"I'll manage," he mumbled.

Mrs. Nkirote chuckled, clearly enjoying herself. "Sure. They all say that." She stamped his documents and shoved them back at him. "Go sit there while we process your admission."

Kelvin dragged himself to a bench, slumping down with a heavy sigh.

Dennis sat next to him, stretching lazily. "Man, that lady roasted you."

Kelvin groaned. "I noticed."

Dennis pulled out a sleek, brand-new iPhone 14 Pro Max, its glossy surface reflecting the office's flickering lights. He tapped the screen a few times before handing it to Kelvin.

"Here, put your number."

Kelvin hesitated. He reached into his pocket, fingers brushing against the rough edges of his battered Kabambe Nokia 1280—a phone that had survived falls, floods, and possibly nuclear war.

There was no way he was letting Dennis see it.

He quickly typed his number into the iPhone and handed it back.

Dennis hit the dial, but the moment Kelvin's phone lit up in his pocket, he snatched it out and canceled the call without pulling it out.

Dennis raised an eyebrow. "Bro, why'd you cancel?"

Kelvin forced a laugh. "Ah, network issues."

Dennis smirked but didn't push. He stood up. "Anyway, I gotta go. I'll call you later."

Kelvin nodded, watching Dennis stroll out confidently. The moment he was gone, Kelvin pulled out his Kabambe, sighing at its cracked screen.

Now alone, he felt frustrated. Was this really how his campus journey was starting? Humiliation after humiliation?

He was so lost in thought that he didn't hear Mrs. Nkirote shouting his name.

"Kelvin Muriuki!"

He snapped out of his thoughts.

"Over here," he said, rushing back to the desk.

Mrs. Nkirote stamped his final documents. "You're the last one for the day." She looked at the clock. "It's late. I'll have someone take you to your hostel."

She picked up her office phone and dialed.

"Viola, come escort the last student to his hostel."

Kelvin froze.

Viola?!

A minute later, heels clacked against the tile floor, and the door swung open.

Viola walked in, looking as regal and untouchable as ever. She was still annoyed from earlier, and when her eyes landed on Kelvin, pure outrage filled her face.

"Are you kidding me?!" she snapped at Mrs. Nkirote. "You're making me escort HIM?!"

Mrs. Nkirote looked up, confused. "What's the problem?"

Viola pointed at Kelvin like he was a cockroach in her soup.

"This—this—this thing poured porridge all over me today!" she shrieked. "He embarrassed me at the gate, and now I have to escort him? No way!"

Kelvin sighed deeply. This woman was hell-bent on making his life miserable.

Mrs. Nkirote pinched the bridge of her nose. "Viola, I don't have time for your drama. Escort him, or I'll write you up for refusing student duties."

Viola's jaw clenched. She glared at Kelvin.

"Fine," she spat. "But if he so much as breathes wrong, I'm leaving him in the middle of the road."

Kelvin muttered, "Like I'd care."

Viola spun around. "What was that?!"

Kelvin forced a tight smile. "Nothing, Madam Student Leader."

Mrs. Nkirote snorted. "Good. Now go."

Kelvin picked up his half-broken suitcase, sighing heavily as he followed Viola out.