Hi folks, in case you missed the first in this series, this is the second post about the Trials of a UEW Student or “Who asked me to go get a Ghanaian education again?” You can read the first post here.
Where Are The Admission Letters?
Two weeks after I’d formally registered my courses and paid my fees, I finally saw my admission letter. No, it was not mailed to me, neither was I informed about it. In fact, I had confidently assumed that admission letters were not issued to sandwich students. However, as you can now tell, I was wrong. Apparently, our letters had been sitting in the graduate office, postage paid and all. They just wanted us to walk up to the third floor of Faculty Block to get the letter. A bit of exercise never hurt, right? All it would have taken was one taxi ride to the post office to have them sent.
Or let’s even say that a taxi ride is a big deal. How about sending a text message just like they did when they invited qualified applicants to the interview? Or better yet, how about sending an email- that cheap, extremely fast and reliable way that everyone uses now? How about that?
Consequently, if you were not fortunate to learn of your admission through some other means, your admission to the University of Education would be down the gutter. I learned of my admission from an admission list posted online. However, you were lucky if you saw your name on that list as it was not exhaustive. Many people were admitted who did not have their names on the list. My friend, poor him, joined us five weeks into an eight-week programme just because the university could not be bothered to send him a letter which said: Congratulations. You’ve been admitted to the University of Education, Winneba.
A Picnic Shed for a Classroom
It’s June. And in June it not only rains, it pours. And there I was, in a certified and accredited university, taking graduate classes under a shed fit only for sunny day picnics. The truth is, even if one was to have a family picnic under that structure and it started to rain, the picnic would be ruined. So imagine about 130 of us, crammed under a leaky roof, with no windows or doors, just half walls and the gutsy wind slashing in mercilessly and rain pounding hard on the metal roof.
There is a lecturer in front of the class, but there is no public address system so I can see his lips moving but I can’t hear him. Meanwhile, the wind sweeps in the rain. We move desks, trying to make the most of it. It is dark because, of course there are dark clouds all around. I stare down at my book. I can hardly see anything because the lighting is bad.
The lecturer’s lips are still moving. I hear from someone who heard from someone else who is much closer to the front of the class that he said we should be able to hear him. Obviously he does not care. So I decide not to take things too seriously, too. I turn to the guy sitting beside me and we have a pretty good conversation the rest of the time.