How I Became a Sponsor in Campus on HELB Money And Lost Everything- Brian Otieno

By Brian Otieno

I’m Brian Otieno — former campus sponsor turned motivational speaker. Not by choice, but by heartbreak and hard lessons learned. I graduated from Kenyatta University, Parklands Law Campus, a place where dreams get tested by poverty, peer pressure, and terrible relationship decisions.

If you want to save yourself some pain, let me share my story — my survival on a diet of free Wi-Fi, 5-shilling mandazis, “kuinama,” and a whole lot of divine intervention.

My First Week on Campus

I arrived with a box of belongings, a sack of onena, my dreams, and a fresh haircut. On day two, I met her — let’s call her Esther the Enchantress.

She had eyelashes longer than the unit list, and a perfume strong enough to make you forget your timetable. She smiled slow, deliberate, and confident — like she knew the chaos she was about to unleash.

In that moment, my village-boy self crashed. Years of discipline in boys’ high school? Gone. My mother’s warnings about Nairobi women? Muted. All deleted in 0.3 seconds.

I saw a wife, a mother to my children, and a future law firm named after our initials — B&E Partners.

The Campus Sponsor Life Begins

Before I knew it, I was buying lunch for Esther, topping up her Safaricom bundles (while using Telkom myself), and paying for her class photos — photos I wasn’t even in.

I even bought her a ring from a hawker outside Ngara Market — a promise ring.

I promised things I had no business promising: an iPhone after law school, a Dubai honeymoon (me who hadn’t been to Nairobi CBD at night), and a house for her mother — while my own mum was still cooking with firewood and hoping my KCSE results would change our lives.

My HELB loan dropped, but I dropped all logic.

Within 10 days, my upkeep was gone. I started attending classes not to learn, but to borrow notes before photocopying. When I asked Esther just once to buy lunch, she smiled sweetly and said, “Babe, you’re the man. That’s your role.”

I accepted that role with the stupidity of Adam in Eden.

My money funded Githurai weaves, matatu rides to fake “group discussions,” and lip gloss that could reflect headlights.

My HELB loan became our loan.

My parents became our parents.

And my school fees? That was now our “soft life” budget.

But soft life doesn’t last on borrowed money.

The Wake-Up Call

Then came my mother — God bless her — who visited with bananas, boiled eggs, and holy fury.

My bitter ex-girlfriend snitched. She showed my mum that I hadn’t registered for any courses in two semesters.

My mother’s silence hit harder than any lecturer ever could.

I went to Esther, hoping for understanding and a plan to cut down on KFC and wigs, but she looked at me like I was a burden.

She told me I had changed — no longer fun, spontaneous, or useful.

She replaced me with a Diploma hospitality student at Utalii College with a Subaru and a “hot water engineering” job at Equity Center.

Back Home, Broken

I returned to Homabay with no celebration, only questions.

“What happened to the lawyer?” my cousins asked.

I had no answer.

I stayed indoors, broke, heartbroken, and confused. Desperate, I joined Awour’s church for deliverance. They prayed for me, and I cried — but deep down, I still checked if Esther updated her WhatsApp status.

Eventually, I lied my way into a job at Stima Sacco in Nakuru, saying I was waiting for graduation. In truth, I was waiting for my soul to heal.

I worked like a man on a mission — no girlfriends, no outings, just hustle. I saved, prayed, and kept my goals tighter than a Safaricom 15MB bundle.

Then I went back to KU, focused like a missile.

I studied with the bitterness of a man who had seen rock bottom and didn’t like the view.

And yes, I graduated with a Law degree.

The Lesson for Men

I’m not bitter. I’m better.

So, if you’re a man reading this, hear me:

You can survive without a girlfriend, but you won’t survive a girlfriend who thinks you’re her personal ATM.

Choose your woman wisely.

If her financial needs exceed your mother’s income, brother… run.

Avoid girls whose financial goals include you as their main source.

If she calls you “babe” and sends you a shopping list with eight types of Brazilian wigs — block her, report her to your mum or pastor, and consider fasting and prayers.

If you must date in campus, find a girl who understands struggle — who sees mess hall offers as blessings, not insults.

Someone who can say, “Let’s split the bill,” without acting like you offended her ancestors.

Someone whose idea of a romantic evening is downloading movies on the school Wi-Fi and sharing biscuits you both bought.

Remember, your parents are already struggling.

Your mum attends chama meetings hoping to raise your rent.

Your dad pretends the gas hasn’t finished because he’s broke.

Don’t waste their sweat proving you’re “boyfriend material” to someone who thinks love is measured by chicken wings and M-PESA transfers.

Look, I know you won’t listen.

You’ll say, “But she’s different!”

Yeah, I said that too — right before buying pizza on credit.

But when you’re three weeks into the month with an empty wallet, and your girlfriend’s now calling some guy named Brian with a rusty car…

You’ll remember this message.