Tuesday, August 07, 2007

The way to the Bar

Perserverence is not a word many of us associate with lawyers, is it? You all think that all we do is sit around and cook up these nefarious schemes to part you from your hard-earned paycheques. Well, the truth is rather more complicated than that. While we will part you from your pay-cheque, we don't sit around cooking up schemes to do it. Instead, we all go to university, sometimes for as long as eight years, get our degrees, then suffer the vagaries of the over-crowded, under-equipped, ego-central that is the Kenya School of Law, where if you piss off the wrong person, you may spend more time cooling your heels before you can legally part anyone from their wallets.

It has taken me a long time to get here and I must say that apart from the eye-candy floating around, the place leaves me very underwhelmed. You'd expect that for the 90k I parted with for the privilege of being here, this place would be kicking it like no one's business. But, the truth is, I am about as excited as a monastic monk at a rock concert. We got this old guy for one of the more challenging units whose been there since the late seventies and the guy goes out of his way to demonstrate what an utter moron I am; indeed, we are all morons in his eyes who do not deserve to practice law in this fair nation of ours. If he has anything to do with it, 65% of my classmates will be detained by that fellow till he deems them ready. Which may take a very very long time indeed!

Now, if it was just the matter of passing exams, I would have no problem with some my instructors. But the fact that their egos are in charge, having them as our examiners is just plain unfair-it's akin to deciding the venue of the match and the referees and then deciding what a win may be by the other side. The deck is stacked against us. We will never be able to beat 'em with their superiority.

But, I am not despairing yet. Things have a habit of changing in Kenya, and I can see a tidal wave washing away some of the detritus at the School, including old foggies past their teaching prime. I mean, the moment you start getting confused by cellular telephones, it is time for you to call it a day.

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