Although my sister and her family live in CT, I decided that I wanted to go into UCT Residence (Res). We had been told throughout high school that if you had an “A” aggregate and held a leadership position within the school, you would get into one of the top Residences – either Fuller or Baxter. As this is what I had aimed for and achieved, those were the ones I applied to. Low and behold, I was placed in Tugwell Hall because 2007 was the first year that placements were completely random and no academics were taken into consideration. Great!
After doing some research, my mother and I had a bit of a panic attack especially as we heard a rumour that a girl had recently been raped and murdered in Tugwell. Ominous clouds hovered over my future in CT. I began visualising scenes of my imminent death which centred on me getting into the shower, as a katana-blade yielding psychopath tiptoed into the Tugwell bathroom after me. (I was however, tanned, toned and thin in these nightmares, my only reprieve).
Somehow I was convinced to get over my fears and off I trotted with Mother Dear to CT so she could get me all settled in. My sister parked her burgundy baby-carrier of a vehicle (The Burgundy Tank) in the furthest possible parking away from the Res. The three of us schlepped my luggage towards can only be described as an 11-storey dusty pink tampon.
As we walked through the turnstile-like door we were met by a locked security gate, pigeon grey laminate tiled flooring, a too short “full length” mirror, two dark brown squashed couches and what looked like a prison reception area.
We left my luggage in reception and walked down a flight of stairs to the dining area where they were organising the first-years’ room placements. Tugwell is shaped like a clover, each “leaf” is a corridor and on each corridor you have 10 rooms (5 singles and 5 doubles), 2 toilets, 1 shower and 2 baths. I was told that a girl had already looked through my application and had “chosen” to be my roommate -creepy - and that I was on the fourth floor, corridor ‘0, room 9, commonly known as room 409.
The rule in Tugwell regarding the lifts: occupants and visitors of the first 4 floors are not allowed, under any circumstance other than excessive injury, pregnancy or death to take the lift. Up the stairs you must go, carrying you luggage with you. Had they seen my luggage? Seriously? Really? Up the stairs? Yes? Shit. It was quite painful and I immediately realised that my death was not going to be via katana-yielding psycho, but rather a heart attack or brain aneurism dealing with these steps for a year.
I arrived on my new corridor sweaty, tired and hellova nervous to meet both the girl who “chose” me, as well as the girls I would be sharing the corridor with. Their expressions matched mine. Stressed, excited, terrified, emotional. We were all leaving home for the first time, we were leaving behind boyfriends, we were leaving behind everything that we knew. But now we had each other, a new group of friends, a new beginning, a new family. The world was not only on our doorstep, the world was ours to do as we pleased. It was the beginning of a year of indescribable experiences. Many of them I have forgotten in a drunken first-year haze, many are timeless memories which I cherish to this day. We will get to those another day.
This is the beginning of the Cape Town Chronicle.
Tugwell Hall, 7th February 2007. Phase one. The Foundation.
I'm moving into Tugwell in a few days and I'm pretty nervous but so so excited
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