At University, Piggy Sex Is Ok

British Prime Minister, David Cameron, is perhaps the second most powerful person in Western Europe after Chancellor Angela Merkel of Germany. Despite his power, when he was at university, he did stuff that was expected of any normal bloodied student with raging hormones.

A couple of weeks ago, he was in the news for the ‘wrong reasons’ over whether he had sex of an oral nature with a dead pig while he was a student at Cambridge University.

Though I have not met him to ask if he did do it or what it felt like, if he did it, I don’t he did it because he has a morbid zungu sexual perversion for dead pigs. He did it because it was expected of him, like countless of others had traditionally done the same thing before him in the 806-year history of the University.

Joining a frat club and doing the initiation assimilated us into university life. We knew all about them before we joined and what was expected of us. It was the way of forward and not to be left out, in my day, I did what was required. 

I played rugby and the initiation was straight forward enough - a beer mug that contained all alcoholic drinks the bar served – right from beers to spirits and for good measure, Tabasco sauce - all to be downed in one.

It looked like a mixture of vomit and stuff from a blocked sewer pipe. I did down it and it did taste like vomit and stuff from a blocked sewer pipe. Five minute later I was outside the pub on a mega spew up.

University is real life. It’s said you learn more in 3-years about life, than in the years under parental advisory. It’s not all about books but about 3-years of ‘insanity, mayhem, going on riot, kavuyo, skating close to the edge of suspension or expulsion, diverting fees to more worthwhile projects in the local kafunda’ before doing the needful and appeasing Parent by graduating, settling down into a job and the blah, blah, blah that follows.

Not all fraternities or clubs were about drinking vomit or the sewer. The hockey club for example, would buy a kilo of entrails, break into Fresher’s room and hide it in the ceiling. Days later and with a very unbearable smell whose source he couldn’t locate, Fresher would seek Maintenance Man who would simply ask – “you a first year” and once confirmed, he would tap on the soft board squares that made up the ceiling till one came crashing down complete with rotting entrails and maggots.

Female Fresher was not exempt either. Many woke up at 3:00am to find sheep stolen from the farm next door wandering the corridors and showers. If not, she would return from class to find her room stripped bare or utterly mortified to walk into the students union bar to find her knickers and bras hung up behind the counter.

That’s the nice stuff. The hardcore initiations were so insanely morbid, that I dare not mention them because Dr. Wendo, Sunday Vision editor, wouldn’t allow it, while my parents would go into cardiac arrest. The rest of you would swing me un-amused looks and whispers of:  “I wonder what TB did with the cow at university...”          

We all did stuff at university that we hope never sees the light of day. We did it for tradition and to leave a legacy for others to carry on and emulate. Just ask Son or Daughter after Sunday lunch and see how uncomfortable and angry they get when you tell them – “TB says you divert money I give you for fees to the kafunda -really my child?”