THE CIRCUS THAT IS MUSO POLITICS

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By Samuel Musungu

Noticed how these aspirants for MUSO positions are a fascinating bunch? Hell-bent, they can convincingly pass for comedians.

They undergo natural transformations during their quest for various capacities in the infamous Students’ body. No hypothesis presently can necessarily endeavor to put in plain words why these vindictive revolutions have to befall our adored contenders.

A few weeks to elections; they are all striven to come out pertinent by all means. To be known by comrades is most sought after. This is the period when campaigns gradually show up. ‘Door to door’ campaigns highlight the corridors of halls of residences. Doors that have always remained opened to aspirants close and business sinks to ‘bed to bed’.

Woe onto you if you harbor the thoughts of nibbling cookies around this period. Stories are told that is the preserve of the SEC members and political brokers. With the agility of a savannah lion settling on the frailest of prey, they pounce on the ‘economically humbled’ feminine candidates. Backs surely have to be scratched.

Fast forward to when elections are incredibly near; a week or a few days shy of the D-day. Contestants become conscious, the smell of victory wafts in the air. They need to be elected to taste it. Modes of persuasion are perfected to the extreme. You must appear as a comrades’ darling at all costs.

Forms of greetings to unfamiliar persons adjust from the universal handshakes to entirely hugs. Mafisi subscribers get the prospect to enjoy free numerous hugs in a single calendar day. Virtually all womanly aspirants make an effort to induce the gentlemen using this tactic. We are aware. Nonetheless, it’s a do or die situation. Nothing is left to chance.

I still remember the excitement my friend Wekesa wore two years ago when he walked himself into my room. He had just received a warm tight hug from a certain then aspirant.

“I wouldn’t even think twice! Her vote rests with me in my breast pocket” he proclaimed to all who cared to listen.

‘Mix masters’ and self proclaimed elders don’t need to worry about what they’ll take for supper, what they will dine for the affluent at least for a few days. Frequent meetings are prearranged particularly at various intake hotspots situated in stage. These meetings are undeniably succeeded by delicacies of choice for everyone within the vicinity, all bills on the contestant. What a sweet life!

Just like every other comedy show; curtains will fall on them. It will be ululation and contempt in equal measure.  The situation is worse for victors and worst for losers.

Common for winners is a tighter friends circle. They only remain with the very close ones. I have never understood why. Truly man forgets effortlessly where he came from. Nevertheless, some salutation to comrades is at least still there.

For our colleagues who failed to garner adequate votes, you get an opportunity to see who they really are; their exact depiction. Costumes off, they will wash off the masks they had for their not-so-class acts. You will never even notice them pass. Distraught, their hugs will have disappeared with their lost hopes.

Pensively, we are sitting in the auditorium and letting us be treated to the circus. We will walk out; sure nature took its course. Dissimilar circumstances act in accordance with dissimilar dealings.

The writer is a final year journalism student

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