Evidence is there for all to confirm. It’s abundant.
It’s a beautiful day at Multimedia University. The cold breeze, largely present in this place, slowly stroke our faces and our lungs received it without complains- it’s the fresh air, often essential after inhaling, in continuity, exhaust excretions from mostly diesel-powered jalopies in the city.
Class time. And we are psyched up for learning what we were told it was gonna make us the next big thing in the broadcast media- the Robert Nagilas and Lilian Mulis of the industry.
Such talks attracted my mind towards this showbiz profession I have always considered a worthy loud-talk to a monthly salary. Don’t u think so? Or emptying one’s throat in front of a camera.
Ms Mwania, I’ll use her one name for purposes of secrecy, was the one to whet our appetite in achieving this dream. I had closed this door long time ago but as I was told an intelligent man is always open to new things.
It was not going to be a nice try. I knew this.
Mwania entered and before I could take the next breathe to waft my dry lungs, she asked about five questions in rapid succession-all related to shooting pictures and a camera-rookie like me could only stare at her; dumfounded and lost. She did this after bragging out her otherwise cold CV.
In my mwania-inflicted lost status, my mind decided to take a stroll backwards to some other not-so-friendly encounters with other female tutors I have met since my mum taught me in nursery school. If you don’t mind I never attended any kindergarten, lucky are they who did.
Anyhow. High school. And you don’t have to be told of my poor English. That high- class madam, Ms Nuguti, was a no nonsense woman. She taught me English for the all time I was in high school. The high-octane female being came to class at her own time and those who cared to question her got not less than 100 words of rebuke all downloaded in few seconds. Her tiny skirts exposing her, you know, attracted my colleagues’ eyes. They generously squeezed them on her exposé. In response, she would not hesitate but whack their backs without care or better still implant lots of pure insults on the teenager’s minds.
The madam, who once dared God to strip her of life before her septuagenarian years, used the same lethal tongue to dare us report her laziness to the school’s principal. Nobody ever did, I’m sorry. I though passed fairly in her subject.
In came Ms Munoko at the university. She lectured Communication Skills to me. If you mind my poor communication skills, I would not mind extending the phone call to her. She would be in a better position to respond. The short-woman, you could easily mistake for a school girl, was not fond of jokes.
The 'lecturess' dictated notes at an electric pace. “You don’t call a married woman in the middle of the night and expect her to pick,” she rebuked some hot-blooded first years who tried to test their calling manners on her.
Ms Moseti kind of taught me some Information Technology in second and fourth year of university. This is one tutor, whose emotions would only rival Usain Bolt’s pace in 100m running. I never saw her smile and if you asked me her teeth colour, I’ll request another question. I escaped Sups (short for supplementary exams) but most of my colleagues drank them at will. She didn’t care though and employed the same rude skills throughout.
Lastly, to put records straight, I’m not a male chauvinist but experience has taught me this!
By the way...
•To those Facebookers who are gender insensitive. It’s unacceptable and awkward to respond to one person’s comment (often of opposite sex) and leave other comments. If you choose to respond then do it to all comments.
It’s a beautiful day at Multimedia University. The cold breeze, largely present in this place, slowly stroke our faces and our lungs received it without complains- it’s the fresh air, often essential after inhaling, in continuity, exhaust excretions from mostly diesel-powered jalopies in the city.
Class time. And we are psyched up for learning what we were told it was gonna make us the next big thing in the broadcast media- the Robert Nagilas and Lilian Mulis of the industry.
Such talks attracted my mind towards this showbiz profession I have always considered a worthy loud-talk to a monthly salary. Don’t u think so? Or emptying one’s throat in front of a camera.
Ms Mwania, I’ll use her one name for purposes of secrecy, was the one to whet our appetite in achieving this dream. I had closed this door long time ago but as I was told an intelligent man is always open to new things.
It was not going to be a nice try. I knew this.
Mwania entered and before I could take the next breathe to waft my dry lungs, she asked about five questions in rapid succession-all related to shooting pictures and a camera-rookie like me could only stare at her; dumfounded and lost. She did this after bragging out her otherwise cold CV.
In my mwania-inflicted lost status, my mind decided to take a stroll backwards to some other not-so-friendly encounters with other female tutors I have met since my mum taught me in nursery school. If you don’t mind I never attended any kindergarten, lucky are they who did.
Anyhow. High school. And you don’t have to be told of my poor English. That high- class madam, Ms Nuguti, was a no nonsense woman. She taught me English for the all time I was in high school. The high-octane female being came to class at her own time and those who cared to question her got not less than 100 words of rebuke all downloaded in few seconds. Her tiny skirts exposing her, you know, attracted my colleagues’ eyes. They generously squeezed them on her exposé. In response, she would not hesitate but whack their backs without care or better still implant lots of pure insults on the teenager’s minds.
The madam, who once dared God to strip her of life before her septuagenarian years, used the same lethal tongue to dare us report her laziness to the school’s principal. Nobody ever did, I’m sorry. I though passed fairly in her subject.
In came Ms Munoko at the university. She lectured Communication Skills to me. If you mind my poor communication skills, I would not mind extending the phone call to her. She would be in a better position to respond. The short-woman, you could easily mistake for a school girl, was not fond of jokes.
The 'lecturess' dictated notes at an electric pace. “You don’t call a married woman in the middle of the night and expect her to pick,” she rebuked some hot-blooded first years who tried to test their calling manners on her.
Ms Moseti kind of taught me some Information Technology in second and fourth year of university. This is one tutor, whose emotions would only rival Usain Bolt’s pace in 100m running. I never saw her smile and if you asked me her teeth colour, I’ll request another question. I escaped Sups (short for supplementary exams) but most of my colleagues drank them at will. She didn’t care though and employed the same rude skills throughout.
Lastly, to put records straight, I’m not a male chauvinist but experience has taught me this!
By the way...
•To those Facebookers who are gender insensitive. It’s unacceptable and awkward to respond to one person’s comment (often of opposite sex) and leave other comments. If you choose to respond then do it to all comments.
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