Nairobi Campus life will have you reeling! The thrills and hurdles are served in equal measure.
There are two types of Nairobians: those who wake up early and still arrive late, and those who wake up late but somehow still beat traffic. On January 30, 2025, we were all late.
That day was supposed to be a victorious one for me—my final 4.1 paper, the last boss battle before freedom. We had survived years of group work betrayals, surprise C.A.Ts, and budgeting life as a comrade, I had to learn Game of town😂 and I was ready to walk into that exam room like a scholar. Yes a scholar, I had gone through 1000 pages of notes overnight.
Ni Mimi nakushow 😂
But Nairobi had other plans.I woke up feeling optimistic, did my usual morning rituals, and had a good breakfast (this should have been my first red flag). Then, as I reached for my bag, I checked my phone.
“MATATU STRIKE! CBD LOCKED! NO MOVEMENT!”
For a moment, I just stood there. Was this a joke? Surely, the entire transport system wouldn’t just vanish on my most important day? I refreshed my feed, hoping it was just a bad rumor. But no, the roads were blocked, matatus had barricaded entrances, and the entire CBD was in transport ICU.
At that moment, I realized that Nairobi had decided to test not just my academic knowledge but also my survival instincts.
I heard my inner self telling me,”ukipanic umebant”😂
I got a nissan to commercial, yes we didn’t get there. Matatu operators had closed all roads to town…
With no other options, we alighted and started walking.
I wasn’t alone. Nairobi had turned into a mass migration scene from a wildlife documentary. Office workers, students, market vendors, bankers in three-piece suits—we were all walking together, united by struggle.
At first, we walked in silence, each person processing their misfortunes internally. But then, the chaos began:
Boda boda riders, smelling desperation in the air, started charging absurd fares. “Town ni 1K tu bro!” 1K? Charging KSH 1,000 for a usually KSH 50 distance! Were we going on a pilgrimage?
Hawkers, the very reason for the matatu strike, were still selling their socks, boiled eggs, and phone chargers like nothing was happening. True entrepreneurs.
One guy started a small “Bora uhai!”chant, and honestly, we all felt it.
I passed Moi Avenue, where matatus had staged their protest like some kind of public transport revolution. The air was filled with shouting, whistling, and the occasional guy yelling “Hatutoki! Hadi Sakaja atokee!”
The funniest part? Some stranded passengers had given up and were just taking selfies with the chaos in the background.#NairobiThings.B
y the time I got to school, I had burned more calories than I would in a cardio session. My legs were shaking, my breath was short, and I was one motivational speech away from collapsing.
But I had made it.
As I arrived, panting like a marathoner, I expected to be greeted with calm. I was wrong.
The exam venue was full, they had to find another venue at the last minute. Some people were sitting outside, confused, while others had started without half the class. A good number of students walked in 30 minutes late, looking like they had just come from war.
The exam itself? Honestly, it wasn’t even that bad,yes it was not bad I started it 30 minutes late😂. But at that point, just writing my name felt like an achievement.
When I handed in my paper, I felt like I had submitted my soul along with it. But we had done it.
After the exam, you’d think we would all just go home and recover. But this is campus life.
“Kenya @50 SLT!” It was decided. And just like that, we all forgot our suffering.
Teams were formed.
Shoes were kicked off, because real skill requires bare feet.
The clash of legends began. Hints were thrown left, right, and center. Some were easy, others were pure witchcraft.
Then came the highlight of the sherehe:
“Salman Kan anotoka wapi?😂!”
Everything stopped.
Laughter erupted like a burst pipe.
The room shook with uncontrollable Giggles.It was a full-blown laughter riot—no survivors
At that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the exam stress, education anxiety gone, personal life crisis on hold😂,not the matatu strike, not the pain in our legs from The Great Trek. We were just students, enjoying one last ridiculous game before the semester ended.
Now, here’s where the story gets blurry. I don’t even remember how I got back home. Maybe I walked. Maybe I teleported. Maybe an angel carried me.
All I know is that when I got home, I was so tired that I cooked omena (silver cyprinids) without even thinking.
I ate. I slept.
The next morning, I woke up thirsty. My tongue felt like it had been through a Sahara desert expedition.
I took one bite of my leftover omena. Salty. Extremely salty. Disrespectfully salty.
And that’s when I realized—I had been so exhausted that I probably poured an entire ocean’s worth of salt into that meal. Like lots wife had dipped her finger in it!
January 30, 2025, was a day that tested our patience, our endurance, and our ability to laugh at our own suffering.
We survived a matatu strike.
We sat an exam, despite the confusion.
We played Kenya @50 and made campus memory.
some of us (me) almost died from salty omena.
Academic anxiety gone😂
But in the end, we made memories.And that’s what really matters.
Because in Nairobi, you don’t just live—you survive, struggle, and then turn it into a funny story.
Author: alvinsstephen
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