Scoundrel
Childhood holds memories. I doubt we will ever be able to let go. When we were innocent, we never felt we had anything to lose. Some of us were lucky to grow up with parents who rendered unconditional love, and I am one of them. Most of our families around here don’t really experience that, but ours was different. We played together every night, my mom told us stories from the past, and my grandma was particularly fun about the war and how things were so tough for them during and after the war, but at the end of her story, each time she praises God for grace.
When it came to education, going to school was sad during the early days. Fast forward to when we knew ourselves a bit, we looked forward to our bus coming to pick us up. Sometimes we struggled for a seat beside the window; other times our friend would save a seat for us. Another interesting period we looked forward to was morning sport and devotion; they had a custom of teaching us new songs daily. After that, during break, my mom was so fond of packing our bags with our favorite snack, but we were particular about getting the swing first, not the food. If you didn’t succeed, you hand around with your friends, either playing one game or the other or telling stories. Life then was easy, and I will forever be grateful for those memories.
Moving to high school, I presumed it will be more fun than our previous level; since it was a boarding school, we will bond more and live happily. Aside from my thoughts, my sister was there before me; they gave her a lot of provisions before she leaves. I couldn’t wait for my turn to experience such luxury.
I arrived at the school that day mostly happily and slightly nervous, old students had returned before the new so I was searching for my sister and praying she comes out to help, I never knew how small I was till I got there, most of my mates was far taller than me, then the seniors that supervised during the checking in were much scarier, I checked for play tools for break I saw none and then it done on me this may be a dungeon in disguise, Esther my mum called out which made me leave my thought zone and come back to reality, yes ma as I fondly called her you needed in the area where your to change your receipt, they said it won’t be done in your absence, my dad was helping out in that area so I rushed in and joined the queue , after successfully doing that we headed for checking in.
I was still patiently waiting for my sister’s arrival, and it seemed futile. We checked according to the list given to purchase the goods, ‘How old are you?' The woman in charge asked, Nine Ma. I replied, She’s really younger than the rest; you sure she will cope. She said that referring to my mom, but my mom replied as always, This one grew faster than her age; she picks up everything she teaches, and she performs greatly. The woman nodded with disbelief written boldly on her face.
The check-in session was over. We were allocated to my hostel. On arrival, I found out my bunkmate was already there. A few seconds into trying to arrange my things, a senior tapped me from behind. A few seconds later, she began ranting about her life, how she’s not my mate, and every other thing a senior can say to make the younger one feel intimidated. I was a bit confused but silent throughout. After her introduction, she requested to be my school. I turned her down.
We embarked on a three day orientation where we were taught to the rules and regulations the anthems and whatsoever the found deem fit, we were being allocated to our different arms , nobody prepared me for the suffering I was about to embark on, we had this girl in my class rumor had it that she did the class before us but repeated, she swore to make our lives miserable and trust me she did in every means possible, she would asked us to clean her shoes, arrange her books, buy something for her during break if she could not afford it you use your own money, dare to disrespect her and she will give you the beatings the worst beatings you have ever received, all this transpires when a teacher fails to come to class, I had no idea someone could be so bitter that was my first experience. The one that really got my was one I failed to be a victim of challenging her. We had planned it with my friends, but they were too sacred to say anything to her. I pushed into the senerio. I nearly peed myself but struggled to find my voice somewhere. I did my best at insulting, but during the physical combat I was beaten to stupor.
No one dared to report her. We were all too scared. She tormented us for three years. I cried each time I was taken to school. My parents felt it was the sadness of leaving home, not knowing what I really passed through each time.
As I pen this down I relived those moments, I don't wish my worst enemy to experience a bully.
