African Leadership College Campus
Powder Mill Road, Pamplemousses
Mauritius
23 May 2019
Dear Classes of 2016, 2017 and 2018,
I come bearing a letter. It’s not exactly gist, or news, or gossip, although I wish it were these, knowing from experience, that juicy details of campus in one’s absence – during the internship season especially – are literally the best. Take this as a sort of check-in, although it’s one-way unless you – one or some of you – respond, and we continue this warm exchange. Without wasting your time, busy little corporate climber, I would like to tell you what the campus has become, or rather, what has become of it, this home (or not) we shared these past four months, before (a good number of) you packed up and left for our school’s unique third trimester.
First of all – I am guessing this is the ideal start – the cafeteria is so empty I could stand on one of those white tables and twerk away my destiny and no one would see. There are fewer if at all any advertisements on the TV screens; seems “activity” is on a standstill around here, not even the excitement from the forthcoming graduation can brighten the dullness that has become the once-buzzy cafeteria. Meals aren’t any different if you are wondering whether there’s some causality between food quantity and quality. For opt-outs, fortunately – and I guess sadly, as you are in absentia – the kitchens are barely used nowadays. The notorious Songhai first-floor kitchen looks quite saintly at the moment, you wouldn’t believe it; would have been a breath of fresh refrigerator air for all, I reckon. Anyways, an empty kitchen also happens to symbolize an absence of group cuisiner, of those special nights when groups of people bonded over some local dish or plain pancakes and salty popcorns and spicy noodles.
A residential update: you guys are quite lucky; You do not have to move residences like you signed up for an outdoor adventure camp where mobility is the watchword. There is an ongoing residential “layoff” and those of us whose residences did not fit the caliber of the chosen “retainees” have to move to Aksum and Mapungubwe. Aren’t you just as disappointed that Songhai didn’t make the cut? Well, the early birds have moved already, and only a few latecomers or worse, doubly unlucky – unless viewed from a point of attachment, then lucky – fellas are still left in Kongo and Songhai, awaiting a dreaded or anticipated confirmation of their move date. As I write this, I am the last occupant of a full wing on Songhai’s first floor, which means I have 3 cleaner-than-usual bathrooms and toilets to myself. Someone’s future came prematurely, no? When this move is over, all of ALU’s on-campus residents will be swarmed into two residences, talk of a Big Brother Africa revival. Who wouldn’t want to tune into this reality show? Once again, you guys are lucky, or not. I, personally, would rather watch, you know, hear the stories.
We, founders, have lived with each other for a good time, a long time. We know each other well enough, even with the silences, fleeting “hi”s, and avoidance of eye contact. We know each other; actually we kinda sorta love each other – you know that familial love that comes with existing in the same space and time, and having similar cares and woes, yeah that one. On average, a good number of us – with the exception of those who found love outside the classroom, those who made besties outside of the class of 2015, got deeply attached to one or some of you – have always been comfortable to say goodbye at the advent of Summer, when the internship bells ring for you, and we wake up one morning to find that three generations of the most innovative company in Africa are away from campus, spread across the world. This time around, however, it feels different; that comfort in farewell and subsequent settlement into the all-too-familiar founders’ haven is no longer soothing; worse, it seems to be history. There is a glaring emptiness, a void, that pokes out this year because, for the first time, a complete college set, four generations of students shared the ALU campus, and for once, this institution had a semblance of completeness, a varsity’s normalcy, evident in the fill-up of spaces, and the multi-diversity of persons, personalities, interests, groups, voices, attitudes, gaits. So, I guess you probably get what I am hinting at, where I am headed to, do you?
Well, I would like you to know that you are missed. You are missed in spaces you probably never occupied, like those lawns beneath the residences, or that small walkway between the SVP rooms and the laundry doors. You are missed in the cafeteria. You are missed by people you probably shared nothing besides a cramped ride to Grand Baie with. You are missed in the kitchen, the corridors, the laundry rooms, the common spaces, the road to the roundabout. You are missed, even more deeply, because the goodbye from weeks ago was probably a goodbye for life, for some. Don’t stray too far in thought – I speak of the fact that some of us might never meet again, physically or virtually. What remains is a surviving memory or sheer minutiae of the early months of 2019, of shared spaces with people who bore one institutional identity, eating the same food, collectively sleeping through false fire alarms, altogether, breathing out the familiarity of a dorm room “cave” and breathing in the “outside” on Tuesdays and Fridays.
So, this is a letter of solidarity and nostalgia from a member of the founding class, at a time when assembly is probably indefinitely suspended and there aren’t queues for dinner anymore. This is a profession of love and gratitude, and an acknowledgment of a lived experience that was unnoticeably steeped in community and dare I say, family, one that is being appreciated in its separation. What do they say about distance, hearts, and fondness, again?
To the three generations of ALU students after the founding class, I would like to say that you guys are the best, for real, and we, founders, would like you all to take care of yourselves out there in “the real world”. I am trying hard not to sound mushy, but remember that google hangouts is not that far, try looking to the left corner of your mailbox. Sure, you can ping one or two frantically job-hunting, impatiently grad school awaiting, or confidently Netflix-and-chilling founder(s) sometime.
Ace that real world, how bout dah?
Chisom, member of the class christened “Founders”.
ODE TO A TEEN 