Member-only story
I LOVE YOU, WE SAID
Chapter 16: Pig
A serialised novel
As part of my application for admission to uni, it was mandatory to also apply to a residence.
It’s a good system, in theory. It concedes that while the faculty has minimum academic standards covered, it is not equipped to weed out socially unsuitable elements. Thus, another forum, the koshuise (residences), was entrusted with handling a second, finer sifting process, under the guise of culture.
My koshuis, however, was Kiepersol. Kiepersol had no intention of supporting the enforcement of university norms.
Little issued from its menacing façade about what happened behind the white-washed walls and shuttered window frames, rising from tranquil untrodden kikuyu lawns in cheerful dappled sunlight. Prevailing ideas about it were little more than attitudes and judgments, conclusions, overheard impressions. There were no facts. The mystique of it grew and persisted until my time and beyond, despite the death of a junior during initiation a year or two before my time — not to mention unprosecuted instances of organised theft, damage to property and intimidation of a police officer during my stay — all of which I was party to.
