No offence meant. University slay queens are broke girls in cheap shoes. They are a horde of lost good girls in urgent need of prayers.
They live in a thin film of utopia (world) furnished by social media (Instagram), where everyone is beautiful and handsome; where everyone drinks cognac and dines in posh restaur
Borrowing money from friends to dine at expensive places on the look out for the “papas” call them sponsors. Many believe eating at Cafe in chuo, sleeping in hall at chuo is for the fake girls. Many rely on sponsors to pay their rent and water bills.
Where everyone is well-off. So, they lose themselves in this fake-it-till-you-make-it whirlwind.
To blame them for being held hostage by the irresistible need to appear suave and sophisticated before others who pretend to care less about their upward trajectory towards pointlessness, would be a flaw in critical observation on my part.
Our education system, the Tanzanian culture and capitalism has taught and lied to learners that success is measured by owning an expensive pair of shoes, an iPhone, driving a vehicle or owning a boyfriend who drives.
In his book, The Power of the P*, Kara King tells women to “pretend your vagina is worth something of VALUE. Pretend it’s a $500 bill. Would you give a man you’ve just met a free $500 bill?” These sisters of ours in campus are in a preten
They’ve attached a price tag to their goodies and with the aid of makeup and raunchy dressing, they advertise themselves on Instagram, WhatsApp stories and Facebook peddling their flesh to the highest bidder in a subtle prostitution that the law, with its authority, can neither stop nor regulate.
As a feminist, I’m tempted to support this charade on condition that the fame and attention my sisters now enjoy can be commercialised and the proceeds used to support their families, cancer victims in need of treatment funds, buying books and filling community libraries and other charitable courses.
But lo! Though they study for a degree course, most of these slay queens are bimbos! The money, if any, that they get from sponsors and donors is converted into shoes, drinks and other pointless items intended to make them feel good, expensive, superior and to tell broke boys like me that they, the cash madams, the slay queens, ‘have arrived’.
Under the powerful influence of rum and booze Jen* a Campus bimbo, her speech slurred, her cleavage winking at me, announced, “You get paid well. You can date me coz you can afford me.”
Slay queens in university are broke girls in cheap shoes. They need guidance and prayer.