Hamisi did not show Juma the supplier receipt that night.
He kept it in his backpack beside the admission letter, the provisional registration form, and the hostel paper stamped in red. He told himself he needed time to think before opening an argument that might break everything at once.
The next day, instead of confronting his father, he went looking for night work.
The Kizinga wholesale yard stood behind the terminal, a row of tall warehouses, aging forklifts, and trucks that often arrived after sunset. A friend of a friend told him they needed temporary workers to unload cartons of spare parts and shop supplies for a few nights.
“Cash at the end of the shift,” the supervisor said.
“What time does the shift finish?” Hamisi asked.
“When the truck is empty. Usually around three in the morning. Sometimes four.”
College orientation started at eight.
Hamisi calculated. If he finished at three, caught an early minibus, and slept for an hour or two, it would be ugly but possible. It was temporary.
“I can start tonight.”
The supervisor handed him a yellow vest.
The first night was hard but survivable. The cartons were heavy. Cardboard dust and pallet grease coated his hands. But when the shift ended, the supervisor counted out cash into his palm. Real money. Not *processing*. Not a promise. Hamisi put it in a small envelope and wrote **HOSTEL** across the front.
When he reached home, Amina was already awake preparing food for her stall.
“Where have you been?”
“The yard.”
“What yard?”
“I found temporary work.”
“At night?”
“Just for a few days.”
“Does Juma know?”
“No.”
Amina looked at him for a long moment. “So secrets are moving into the next generation now?”
Hamisi tightened his jaw. “I’m trying to help.”
“By sleeping one hour?”
“The hostel deadline won’t wait.”
“And your body?”
“I’ll control it.”
The sentence sounded like something Juma would say. Hamisi knew it, but did not take it back.
He washed, changed clothes, and went to campus.
That day’s orientation covered the library, student portal, and lab conduct. Hamisi sat in the back with his eyes burning. When his head began to drop, he pressed the tip of a pen into his finger under the desk.
Kelvin Ruga, the student beside him, noticed.
“You were studying all night?”
“Working.”
“Already?”
“Temporary.”
Kelvin shook his head. “That is the word people use before a permanent problem.”
Hamisi did not like his tone. “And you have a better plan?”
“My family made one rule clear. No debt. If aid does not come before my provisional window closes, I go home and try another intake.”
Hamisi stared at him as though he had said something impossible.
“You’d give up the place?”
“I don’t want to. But I don’t have a workshop to set on fire.”
Hamisi felt the receipt inside his backpack as if it had gained weight.
“Not everyone can wait another year.”
“I know.”
Kelvin left it there.
The second night at the yard was worse.
The truck was delayed. It arrived after one in the morning. They worked until nearly five. When Hamisi left, the first minibuses had not yet started their routes.
He sat on a terminal bench for twenty minutes and closed his eyes without meaning to.
When he woke, dawn was already beginning to show.
He climbed onto a minibus, took the seat by the window, and promised himself he would not sleep.
He slept.
The driver’s horn near the end of the route woke him. He had passed the campus stop by two stages.
Hamisi jumped off and ran back.
Lab safety orientation had already started.
The teaching assistant, Mr. Rehani, had closed the practical-room door after the first briefing.
Hamisi knocked.
Rehani opened it a fraction. “Yes?”
“Sorry. I’m late.”
“Name?”
“Hamisi Mbarouk.”
Rehani checked the list.
“Provisional registration?”
“Yes.”
“Today we assign lab groups and safety stations.”
“Can I come in?”
Rehani hesitated. “The PPE briefing has begun. You cannot enter halfway through without the introduction. Wait for the catch-up session.”
Hamisi felt his stomach drop.
“When?”
“Tomorrow after the orientation block.”
“And the group?”
“We’ll place you if there is space.”
“What if there isn’t?”
“We’ll see what can be done. But do not be late again. Practical slots have capacity.”
“I was—”
Hamisi stopped. He did not want to say he had been working for hostel money. He did not want a real reason to become an excuse.
Rehani said, “I don’t have a problem with your reason. I have a problem with the safety sequence. Catch up tomorrow.”
The door closed.
Hamisi sat on the bench outside the lab. Through the wall he heard stools scraping and the lecturer calling out group numbers.
Kelvin came out during the break.
“You were late.”
“I noticed.”
“Night shift?”
Hamisi said nothing.
Kelvin sat beside him. “I warned you.”
“Don’t act like you’re happy.”
“I’m not. That’s why I warned you.”
Hamisi slapped the side of his backpack. “If I lose hostel, the commute makes me late. If I work for hostel money, the job makes me late. What exactly am I supposed to do?”
Kelvin looked at him. “Maybe the problem isn’t that you haven’t sacrificed enough.”
Hamisi turned sharply.
“Then what is it?”
“Maybe all these deadlines were designed as if every student has cash before they arrive.”
Hamisi did not want analysis. He wanted a solution.
At midday he went to student support to see whether the aid status had changed.
Mariam Kileo checked the portal.
“Still processing.”
“Hostel deadline is the day after tomorrow.”
“I know.”
“My provisional registration?”
“Still active.”
“I missed lab grouping today.”
Mariam looked up. “Why?”
“I was late.”
“Transport?”
“Work.”
“Night work?”
Hamisi nodded.
“Don’t try to solve uncertainty in the system by destroying your attendance,” she said.
“And where am I supposed to find the deposit?”
“That is a fair question. But I cannot manufacture money for you. I can show you process options.”
Hamisi asked to see them the next day. He was too tired even to read a checklist properly.
When he reached home, Juma was still at the workshop. Amina looked at his red eyes.
“You are not going back to the yard tonight.”
“I need one more shift.”
“Hamisi.”
“One.”
Amina studied him. “You missed orientation, didn’t you?”
Hamisi did not answer.
She knew.
“The money you are chasing is eating the thing you are trying to pay for.”
Hamisi held the HOSTEL envelope. It contained two nights of wages. Not enough, but close enough to make one more night feel reasonable.
“I’m going tonight only.”
Amina closed her eyes. “Is that your decision?”
“Yes.”
“Then don’t say later that you did it because nobody gave you an option.”
The sentence hit him, but he went anyway.
The third shift ended earlier. He came home before three. He thought he had won.
In the morning, before even showering, he opened the student portal to look for the catch-up schedule and lab allocation.
Aid status: processing.
Provisional registration: active.
Then he opened the laboratory tab.
Group A — full.
Group B — full.
Group C — full.
Hamisi searched for his name.
Nothing.
He refreshed.
Nothing.
He used the search box.
**No allocation found.**
He sat on the edge of his bed still wearing the yellow yard vest.
For the first time, the cash he had earned at night did not feel like victory. It felt like another receipt for something he had paid for without knowing the price.
On the student portal, beneath every laboratory group, Hamisi’s name appeared nowhere at all.
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