My day starts with the matron knocking at the door at 4.30am. In spite of hearing her, we pretend not to. This drives her to a flying rage. This quickly gets us scampering out of bed. Every morning, without fail, I question my life's choices when I'm under that cold shower. But cleanliness is next to godliness, or so they say.

 By the time I'm dressed, my bed looks like it has been through a storm, and the matron is already yelling at us to move faster. Breakfast isn't much to look forward to either, but after being in boarding for two years, I've gotten used to it. Anything to keep away the hunger.

Not our breakfast, just what i dream of

Classes kick off soon after, and let me tell you, no amount of tea is enough to keep my eyelids from staging a protest during double math. But soon I get into step, and the lesson rolls by. Deep down, I enjoy math, just not at 6am in the morning.

By English time, though, I am fully awake. Discussing poetry gives me a satisfaction that's hard to explain. Maybe one day I'll become a novelist, but I heard that they don't earn well. Should I become a mathematician then?

By the time I wake up from my daydream, it is break time. Did I remember to bring my 10 bob, or did I forget it in the dorm again? I forgot it. If only the matron had allowed me a few more minutes to prepare myself. I go to the canteen and beg for two mandazis, promising I will pay tomorrow. I think the shopkeeper doesn't believe me, but he complies.

With my body supercharged, the rest of the morning lessons whizz by. We go out for lunch. Lunch is rushed, and soon we are back to class. And then the war with sleep begins again.

Between the heat, the full belly, and the teacher's droning voice, it is like being hypnotized. The only thing that saves me is the agricultural class. Who knew that digging, planting, and uprooting could be so satisfying.

I have to admit that sports in the evening are the most enjoyable part of my day. People keep on telling me that I am a bright girl and my time will be better spent on books. What they don't know is that I study well after a vigorous session of volleyball or football. Maybe I'm just like Jack. All work and no play will definitely make me dull.

Supper isn't super glamorous, ugali and skumawiki again- but it feels like a feast after the sports. Prep follows. The official” sit here and stare at your book until something enters your head” session. My typical preps involve solving one math problem, then spending the rest of the time celebrating my victory by drawing flowers in my book.

Dorm life is where the real magic happens. Gossip, hair braiding, and whispered secrets till the matrons scare us to sleep. Even then, the chatter continues under the blankets, until one by one we fade into sleep.

And tomorrow, the matrons' knock will come again at 4am, and I will still pretend not to hear.