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Stories from Africa: Memories of My Past.

In the pages of your life, there exist boys and girls like yourself who, on growing up, remembered their families, friends and themselves well enough to write affectionately of their memories. In this piece of writing, I walk down my memories years ago when I was still in primary school level. I want to share my beautiful portion of primary school life and I hope I  will have created a stable light in everything hard that you are struggling with. A light that restores happiness in your life, a light that gives you warmth in your memories. Times when you had fun in it all and times when you struggled with it all. I am not a motivational writer but I believe that walking down memories of your past life can change your future. This is my quarantine edition series for readers all over the world. Stories of young naive girls and boys who wanted to become pilots, engineers and doctors, you can name it all at primary level but failed to make their dreams come true. Stories of bold hearts that walked through different trees of life, from playing games of fatherhood and motherhood to dancing skits well drawn by a famous native sketcher. My primary school memory is not just a series of writing that tears the heart away but a series of writing that restores the part of our life we lost a long way ago. Restoring a hidden fire that kept us burning to achieve but we killed it and reduced it to just glowing to survive.

I went to school at the far end part of Kenya, a school just next to the Kenyan Uganda border but that’s not important. Of course, every school has a name and mine was Busia Township Primary School, most people used to call us the sheep of town and that sounded pretty cool to me, as far as my mind could tell me I am just a human being, not a sheep making noise all over town while eating from every grocery stall. I was naive just like every primary school kid except the standard eight guys who usually held each other tight in corners every evening when we walked home. That was pretty cool to me too, I can’t lie. It was cool probably because the next day we were full of stories of how Tony held Mary and Mary held Moses. My mother never believed in transferring from one school to another in the middle of a class and so when I walked into a standard one in that school that was the end of it all. It was a deal closed. Madam Dorothy, My teacher in class one south, how I miss her! But that is just life in this part of Africa. After finishing a class and you move to the next one you forget about everything in the previous class. Even how the walls looked ugly with cracks all over. The only thing we always carried forward to the next class was a light that usually penetrated through the rusty iron sheet up to the black chalkboard. That light was special, believe you me, very much special.

It was a light that acted like our stopwatch. When it was in the middle of the board then it meant that lunch was just around the corner and upon reaching the end then that meant the class was over for the day. How fascinating was it to walk out of endless alphabetical orders and a howl of vowels that makes you feel like crying? That was super sweet trust me. I had a close friend who always kept on crying whenever she was told to write the alphabets on board and everybody laughed at her. Sadly, even me but the zeal she had could not bring her down. That girl was determined like wildfire that is feeding on a dry bush forest and that is one thing that kept me close to her. The determination alone made everyone in class tensed. She was winning slowly even when everyone thought she was drowning and as I write now she is still burning with a determined soul….TO BE CONTINUED


4 thoughts on “Stories from Africa: Memories of My Past.

  1. brokensilence034 May 12, 2020 — 10:44 am

    I want some more

    Liked by 1 person

  2. Am dying for the end of it

    Liked by 1 person

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