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Stories from Africa: Hilarious Primary One.

Life in standard one was hilarious considering the fact that we were freshmen. We had just transformed from being toddlers in education to being superheroes and heroines as far as my mind used to tell me. Kindergarten was hell for me especially the school I went to, life was never a gift in that grassy wooden castle referred to as St. Joseph’s Nursery School. I had a fume of hate building up inside me in the whole of St. Joseph’s hell of a life and stepping out of it was a relief. It felt like you just walked out of an ocean alive after struggling to free yourself from the ocean tides. In standard one, I could sit next to a girl, I could see her creamy pants whenever she turned around and bend but this was not deliberate, in fact, it was fun – we were naive and never knew the ways of life in companionship and pleasure but the most super hilarious moment was carrying a glossy and round plastic box tin stuffed with an oversize avocado that has been pondered into succotash for it to fit. Super delicious just after having an anonymous class three boy hitting aimlessly on motorcycle tire ream to confirm lunch break. Standard one meant you are free from the pangs of nursery life, you are free from hot and boiled arrowroot in St. Joseph that tasted like eating a common African green known as “Miro” Yak!, it meant that you are finally free from being treated like a child who had just been born about a week ago by a desperate mother who has searched ages and ages for foetal growth and the last thing that Iced it all was having a lady friend who stood by me even before my old school nursery boys whenever they pinched me. My close friend who juggled between writing alphabets on board and making her blouse wet with tears, Laura.

I can vividly recall almost all the games we used to play immediately we came out of Madam Dorothy’s daily preaching but one game called Kung Fu Panda had taken the dear part of me. I was a die-hard fun of looking at young boys who thought they had grown greenhorns spirited enough to take each other’s face down with kicks. I probably can say we were taking after our standard five brothers. They were demons who fought each other during break time just to create fun. Very strange you would think some of them were not even human beings. A kick sends you sprawling on the ground then you stand up and take on your opponent as if nothing has happened. Most of the time the opponent was always your close friend. In standard one, we had a daring soul but a weak body. So daring that we picked up any trending game even when it meant one of us must bleed in the long process and Kung Fu Panda, believe me, was the best fit. Time after time a young merciless boy would walk home with a torn shirt, smacked face and twisted hand. The next day the school became hell because of that boy’s mother or father who equalised the school with her wealth but after crazy shouting here and there, in the afternoon duty calls, smacking another face in a bid to create great fun with Kung Fu Panda making it even more humorous but deadly. Not until when I was in standard five was when we confirmed that the Kung Fu crap game was actually deadly.

Primary 1 Information | St Peter's Primary School

My experience in primary one was always great. I never had enemies although some friends forced silly enmity born out of eating a pencil tip, losing a rubber or breaking a ruler that most of us struggled to use until when we were in primary four. Madam Dorothy, huge as she was but soft as her voice could preach A for Apple and B for Boy or Bananas which never stuck in my thick head was the best and will forever remain my best teacher. She was the only teacher that never faked how I am fairing on with school life whenever they conversed with mother. She was much even better because of treating me like her own son who is still trying to read through the colours of rainbow without success. She actually transformed mathematics that involved carrying a bunch of straws cut into two to be used for counting from tasting like lemon to tasting like unripe pineapple. There is away my madam could teach until you feel like you are part of the numbers being described only to realize it when a printed copy of Jesma test exam meets up with your road. I for once would shake my pencil, look at her smiling from the far end of the classroom, try adding saliva at the tip of HB pencil just to make her feel satisfied that I am burning just about to set the paper ablaze with correct addition and at last simple arithmetic like 7 + 7 would get 15 as an answer then proudly submit that paper that smells like boiled arrowroots served at St. Joseph Hell Nursery school. One thing that continuously connected me with my teacher was the fact that even after writing fifteen as an answer, she would still congratulate me for missing with a slight addition of 1 which until today I never understand where it used to come from yet I had a lot of Fanta straws before me any time I am sitting in for arithmetic but all that painted primary one super hilarious…TO BE CONTINUED

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