Campus tales: From broke to flush on Helb-funded budget

Tales of woe abound on campus regarding Higher Education Loans Board (Helb) cash. Government-sponsored students have had to contend with delayed disbursements as others go for semesters, even years, without funding. 

Here is a relatable experience.

You have a sprawling view of all your worldly possessions — a malevolent wick stove that nearly suffocated you just the other day, a multi-task sufuria, a gamut of dishevelled utensils.

The bed you’re lounging on and that you bought on loan won’t allow you to successfully woo the covetous mistress — sleep — at night. A few books complete your net worth. The bedsitter is as dull as when you first moved in a few weeks ago. You are utterly broke.

All your upkeep cash was wolfed down by a gambling crave after a friend enticed you to place a bet. It drowned senselessly. Ever since that blunder, you have been “staying Taliban” and living a stoically frugal existence. None of your friends know where you live as you wouldn’t want them to behold your destitution.

The landlady has been a pain in your neck. You had slyly convinced her that you would pay the full semester amount, and she had understood as a mother. But, of late, she has been breathing fire like a dragon. 

The other day she added another padlock to your toilet door and you thought of thanking her since you’ve not been using it for many days. Push finally came to shove. After checking your Helb status for the umpteenth time, you make up your mind to ask for a loan, but Fuliza can’t satisfy your needs while Branch, Tala and Okash have blacklisted you.

On a Friday sporting a chequered shirt, you meet with Mr Moneybags. You give him your prized phone and ID in exchange for Sh12,000. As you are waiting for him to count the old notes, your phone pings. Upon checking, it is a message that would heal the proverbial 40 ailments. Helb has done that “thing”!

You immediately remember the long drafted preference list. Topping it is a low budget Bluetooth device to give neighbours sleepless nights. The landlady gets off your case as you immediately settle your dues.

Mwangi wa Butchery is all smiles after you buy a kilo of meat for the first time. You pass by Mama KipToo wa Mboga to clear you name from her old loan book. Your semester is now ending in style and, as a “soft life” ambassador, you wish all comrades happy spending times!

Thomas, 20, studies media science and journalism at Moi University.

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