By Our Reporter
What comes to mind when you think of the social life of a medical student? Boring, stale and embarrassing are some of the conservative stereotypical thoughts that clogged my channel of rational thoughts before they were flushed down the drains as I sunk into unbelievable depth of wild night experience at a top medical school.
Before reading any further, acquaint yourself with the following jargon of the medical school. (I will use them often. Catch a leg — to have sex, badazz — impressive, log out — to exit, login — enter, coma — to be in debt, heights — drunk)
Having offered Physics, Chemistry and Biology at A’level, I have many friends pursuing a career in medicine. Taking advantage of the lectures strike at Kyambogo, I paid a visit out of Kampala to my friend at a top medical school.
I arrived in the town at 7pm and by 8pm, he came and picked me, and shortly 8:30pm, we were greeted to a free entry and exit at the institution. It was Friday evening. Scores of students were in lecture rooms burning the midnight oil, group of Christians under a shelter singing hymns and worship songs as we snaked our way to the dormitories. The room was much like high school; deckers, anatomy charts on the wall, buckets of food on the table and piles of books, I was in the wrong place on a Friday night, so I thought!
After a brief chat my host sensed my discomfort, perhaps he had mastered science of diagnosis, he prescribed we have a walk, much to my relief!
There was unrestricted entry to the girl’s quarters. There rooms were much organised, however, devoid of celebrity posters, teddy bears, shouting colours, music, the students were in a world of their own!
We moved room to room as he introduced me to the girls. In some rooms he found boys cuddling with the girls. Some rooms were locked and you could hear strange moaning sounds.
In one of the rooms, we found two girls watching a soft movie on a laptop. One locked the door suggesting we spend the night with them. We logged out promising to return.
“We have no lectures on weekends. It is the only time to relax. Books are hard and the principal does not compromise on failure. A weekend is a weekend,” he smiled as he narrated how they waited for weekend to have sex.
We headed to an isolated building. It was approaching 11pm, the lights were on. It was home to a certain woman who had all supplies of cigarettes, all tribes of the bitter and soft drinks.
Having a few notes on me, I became a star attraction. It was a full house with other male students. After buying three rounds of empire sachets, they caught heights, and started speaking in medical terminology as their conversation rotated round hospital experiences and 3.9, 4.5 GPA points.
We were soon joined by their tutor who asked for a smoke. At this point I ordered a beer.
“Even if you take beer or waragi you will still become drunk so why take beer?” they rejected my order.
I shot back asking why they were smoking yet of the health implications.
”I was born with a healthy liver and lungs. Of what use is it to die and decompose with healthy lungs,” they responded.
After five rounds, we headed to the Main street, Jinja. The night life was alive as music blurred from different spots and tourists strolled the town in groups.
Along main street, opposite a club was a man sat at a table with items of trade displayed; condoms, waragi sachets, cigarettes and homemade weed.
Order was made by whispering in ears then he delivered from a bag under the table. Next to him were boys all from the school, in laps of ladies of the night smoking and drinking. We joined them with rounds of the bitter and puffed the night away.
”You are badddazz,” they praised. Despite all the liqour, I was sober. Perhaps, curiosity could not allow drunkenness stagger into my brain.
At about 2:30, they were singing reggae songs before a man they identified as their driver came and attacked one of the prostitutes accusing her of ”cheating on him” with mere students!
The brown skinned woman probably in her late 20s with an obscene voluptuous behind accentuated by her mini skirt and spilling cleavage, charged out the boys lap like a Spanish bull, with chest raised forward shouting, ”I am a Sl-t… A Sl-t, I f–k whoever pays.”
At this point, she was surrounded by other students and calmed down. She squat on the concrete slab, sobbing, with legs wide spread, leaving everything between her thighs to the nights imagination for she had no under wear. Suddenly she let a loud gush of urine jetting violently out of her splashing against the concrete as insults flew in.
We headed back to sleep, only to find girls waiting in the room… for us!
It was around 3pm, with bloodshot eyes…..
”OO touch there…clit…a prominent peripheral epithelial with over 800 sensory neuroooo..aaahhh,” she had her theory, the practical was under way.
What happens in Jinja stays in Jinja but being a writer, like Duke Thomas wrote, ”Sh*t Stinks”.
“[katogoaward]”