It was also a Monday, several years back maybe 2013 or something close. I had been recently promoted to class four. I had in mind that we would be siting the mid term evaluation tests from that Monday. Day one exam schedules in primary school were very simple, Mathematics, English and Composition later in the afternoon. This is what I was really curious about. It held a special place in my heart. It was the first time I was going to write a composition in my entire schooling life. Simple as it seemed, I found myself so anxious, so nervous. I still remember the title of the composition as if it were yesterday. it was all about MY FAMILY. I can not remember all the details I wrfuluitten but I'm certain I did it pretty well.
The following day was a Tuesday. Our class had a rusty tin roof that had many holes like a wreckage of an amoured personnel carrier that had survived several bullet shots. Owning a plastic wrist watch in primary school alone was an out of this world achievement. We had to make use of the available resources to tell time, and that was the roof. With its several holes, it allowed entry of sun rays which would fall at particular sections of the floor. Different holes had since been dug on the earthen floor. When the rays ifululluminated the first hole, the whole class knew it was break time. When it illuminated the successive hole, we all knew it would take the bell ringer a matter of seconds before mercilessly hitting the car rim we called a bell. It would be lunch.
That Tuesday, it took abnormally long for the lunch bell to sound. I was already standing at the opening that served as the door. I felt tired at the thought that I was about to trek for about one and a half kilometers home for some lunch and back before the afternoon schedule commenced. I had done it few times before, but that afternoon it seemed so daunting.
I can't remember whatever it is that made me leap home.There was nothing interesting, I did not catch any remarkable sight along the way home. Upon arrival, I couldn't understand in the first place why I was alone. Were the others not coming for lunch? In the kitchen, I found a heap of ugali enclosed in a hotpot. With it was some vegetables and a stew of fulu, the small fish. After the sumptuous meal, it was my routine to check the drawers for anything interesting, especially breakfast leftovers that were fed on while we were already gone to school.
That day, I had hit it again. The first drawer I opened contained it. It was a sizeable, round donought in an oily wrapper. I quickly stuffed it in my pocket and left the house hurriedly, suppose someone was to see me. I was all smiles all the way back to school, for I knew my pocket was fat. After covering some meters, I decided to start eating the goodie in my pocket. I dipped my hand into the wrapper, pinched a sizeable amount, stuffed it into my mouth and started chewing noisily, the deliciousness almost driving me crazy. I repeated the process over and over until I feared I would deplete my stock when I saw him!
He was in his usual long sleeved dark blue shirt and a big red tie.His fat trunk reflected good health, a body responding well to modern food. He was speaking animatedly into his phone while making well calculated steps to avoid the roadside growth. He was descending down the village path, while I was ascending the same path. My survival instincts quickly dictated that that I find the nearest escape route but all were closed on me. The path was lined up with bushy thickets and literally nowhere to branch.
This was Mr. Josiah, my teacher of English. I mustered some courage and braced myself to face him. When he was a step away from me, he stopped briefly to scan my face like most teachers do, probably trying to remember an indiscipline case I had been involved in. Upon remembering my face, his big lips parted into a broad satisfied smile, revealing a set of perfect white big teeth.
#TBC...