A HOME AWAY FROM HOME

Hello earthlings,

Inspiration for today’s topic came from all my reminiscing earlier in the week. Over the weekend, i had the opportunity to look at my high school and primary school pictures and boy, did i laugh as easy as the hyena does. The pictures brought back a lot of memories, the happy, sad and weird ones. It got me thinking about my days in the boarding school and how i had to learn to live and relate with strangers. Though i may not readily admit it, my boarding school experience has helped me to relate with people in all their forms. The disadvantages of growing up in a boarding house of a unity school cannot be overestimated and that’s why i’ve decided to look at the brighter side of things.

In my first year in secondary school, i wasn’t really keen on living in the boarding house. Along the way, going to school became an unwanted reality because of all the traffic on the way to and fro, leaving me with no option than to sleep once i arrived at home. When my parents raised the issue of boarding house, i saw reason with them and i just accepted my faith. In my second year in school, my parents paid my boarding school fees and that was when i realised that i was actually going to live in the boarding house for real. I decided to play the role of a brave cat and act fearless during the whole process. I didn’t cry and i even looked forward to the day i was going to be dropped off in school. It was on a bright Sunday afternoon that my parents shipped me off to the boarding school. I thought i wouldn’t cry but when they removed my luggage from the car and waved me goodbye, the tears just flowed freely from my eyes. It sounds funny to me right now but believe me, i cried like a baby. I moved my luggage inside and even sobbed gently as i unpacked my bags. And that was it... the beginning of my life in a house (latter a home) away from home.

It was the morning of my first school day in the boarding house. I heard students running to and fro the bathroom. I soon discovered that those that were running towards the bathroom did so because they wanted to get a space in the bathroom while those that were running from the bathroom did so to avoid the splashing of dirty water on their body. Since i was a new entrant, I decided to take my time. Let’s just say i got to class late that day. As the days and weeks rolled by, i learnt to plan my schedule and slowly but steadily I warmed up to the boarding system. I learnt to do things at a particular time. It got so bad (in a positive way) that failing to follow the schedule had grave consequences so i had no choice than to be diligent.

Whenever the dining bell rings, the amount of students that run towards the dining hall is enough to cause a stampede. We would all run to eat a plate of miserly eba and watery egusi soup that looked like a gallon of water was poured into it to provide quantity. I can say all these things about the food now because i have seen better days but trust me, the food was like gold to me at that time. Getting to the dinning hall was not a guarantee that you would get food to eat. You might get there and be told that food had finished. There were times that we wanted to protest but hunger won’t allow us. Then i thought it was normal but now i wonder why i won’t be given food after paying all the necessary fees in school... *sigh*.

Saturday in the hostel was a dreaded day for me. It was environmental day meaning we had to wash the toilets and bathrooms, cut the grass in the hostel, throw the trash away, wash the hostel floors, lay our beds all in view of inspection that would be carried out by the hostel mistress at 10:00 am. We had to wake up as early as 6:00 am to listen to the prefects share the work. Did i mention that many of us in junior school at that time went to bed on Friday night with only one prayer on our lips and it was about not being picked to wash the toilets. The toilet system in school was so bad that i had to eat very little from time to time so that i won’t have to visit the toilet so often. I emaciated so much that people thought i was sick. My mum would bring oranges for me on visiting day and i would beg her to take them back home because i didn’t want to go to the toilet (orange was an effective purgative for me at that time). The prayers worked for some time and i was given grass to cut. Cutting grass was stressful because we were under the bright morning sun (which is naturally supposed to give vitamin D) sweating profusely with our complexion gradually changing to the shade of charcoal. The cutlasses were old and very blunt so that meant double labour. I usually ended up having cuts on my palm but i took solace in the fact that it was the price i had to pay to avoid washing the toilet. My goodluck charm started wearing off and the prefects started recognising me for toilet washing. I washed toilets so much it became a passion for me (laughs). I started looking forward to Saturday so i good make the toilet almost as clean as the one at home. After every inspection, we would all run towards the clean toilets to launch them. Yeah, my toilet regimen became 1/7 (once in a week) except when i had taken the forbidden fruit.

Visiting day in school was like Christmas for us. We always wanted to look good for our parents. There was usually no light in school so we would fold our best housewear in a newspaper a week to the visiting day and put it under our beds hoping they will straighten out before that day. When the parents of a child come to visit, the child’s name would be announced and the child would run happily to meet the family. Parents would bring food, provision et all for their kids. Some would bring food enough to feed a community knowing fully well that it would be shared among their friends. Some students ended up not being happy because their parents didn’t show up. They would cry to sleep and wake up the next day trying really had to forget the events of the past day.

As a junior student in the hostel, having a school mother or father was a priority. A school parent is a student like you but someone in the senior class that could protect you from the claws of other seniors and provide basic necessities like food. I didn’t have a school mother because i was taller than most of the seniors and so anyone that picked me would most likely be ridiculed because i would look like the persons school mother. No one was willing to take that risk with me so i had to make do with having school friends in the senior class. I was a bit quiet and obedient so that was an added advantage for me. The seniors in school could send juniors on errands without conscience. Even simple things they could do on their own, they decided to send the juniors just to prove to their mates that they were not weak. When a junior is disobedient, they would call a conference of their mates over that particular junior and would punish individually or collectively. Most juniors despised the seniors and they did not hide it in anyway. They became rude and disobedient. We always looked forward to their send forth after which we won’t have to contend with their faces. . All i kept wondering was what would happen after school? When we meet outside the four walls of the school, how would we relate? Would i run into your arms or spit on your face because of how we related in school?.

I became a senior student and although it felt good being able to send juniors too, i couldn’t do so knowing i have junior ones at home. Yes i was in SS1 but i was a junior to the SS3 students and was therefore still liable to errands. Although the errands reduced, we (SS1 students) could be picked on at anytime just to show strength to their mates. I kept on piling resentment and hatred towards some of them and i released it all one evening. I was sent to fetch a bucket of water from the tap downstairs and it was not an errand i loved going on. I started having chest pain and i was almost fainting. Thank God for the friends i had who could see i was not being rebellious. They attacked the senior and even though i made enemies that day, i started getting my due respect. I still went on errands but it was better than before. I became the hostel prefect in final year and even though i could send juniors on errands, i didn’t use it to take advantage of them. We were friends and i wasn’t disrespected for one day. A couple of them are in my school today and i am happy i didn’t do the opposite. I have seniors that are still my friends till date and i am happy to have met them.

The boarding school training went with me to the higher institution and i don’t regret getting it. I didn’t have a school mother and i was able to scale through. I suffered as a junior but now i see it all as a price i had to pay. I lived in the boarding school and only went home on mid-term breaks and when school closed for the term/year. I had no choice but to make it my new home. It didn’t have all the luxury things i had at home but i learnt to live within my means. Would i send my kids to boarding school? When we get to that bridge we’ll cross it.

This has been my tiny epistle on life in the boarding house. Do you have any boarding house experience? Please share :).

Gracias.

WHEN THE BETTER HALF GOES

When the better half goes...

(DISCLAIMER: The names in the story below are fictitious and are in no way related to people that bear such names in reality.)

Welcome to the diary of a young black woman. Today it's about Mr and Mrs Clark.

Mr and mrs Clark got married a few years ago and it's been a jolly ride for them. Mr Clark had a good job that was rolling in the money and mrs Clark wasn't doing too bad either. The children came along and the family increased in number. Mr and mrs Clark kept making plans for the future, working hard so that they could rest together in old age. All was going well until mrs Clark was diagnosed with a terminal cancer. Mr Clark went from hospital to hospital looking for help so the mrs could live. They did all sort of tests and therapies all to no avail. Mrs clark had barely completed the first therapy when she died. When the doctor told mr Clark that his wife had passed on, mr Clark fell from his chair and developed a seizure. He was admitted overnight in the hospital. He woke up  at intervals crying himself back to sleep. He woke up the next morning unable to move his right limbs and the doctors suspected that he might have developed a stroke. They asked him to stay a while on the hospital for examination but he insisted on being discharged against the doctors advice. He even stood up with the intravenous fluid that was connected to his hand and walked a little distance just to prove to the doctor that he was fit to go. He kept shouting "if anything happens to me, blame me". Then one of the doctors asked him "who would your children blame? They have just lost their mother and now you want to go that same way?.:.."

When people get married, they hope and pray for long life together. That they would remain together even in their old age carrying their grandchildren but like one of Asa's popular songs "...no one knows tomorrow". Challenges are bound to pop up and most times we don't know how to face them. 

When the better half dies, it takes a while for the surviving half to recover. In some cases, they never recover. You must have heard about people that die one month or one year after they lose their spouse. It becomes painful when you remember all the plans that were made for the future.  Fear sets in and they wonder where to start from. It's more challenging when there are children left behind that have to be catered for but you must take solace in the fact that you still have a part of them living in those kids.

How do you console someone that has lost a spouse? What do you do or say? It is he that wears the shoe that knows where it pinches. Sometimes you have to let them cry out their pain so that they can come back stronger. They feel alone in the world and may tend to hide themselves from the world. Some people resolve to bury their sorrow by focusing on something else e.g work. They may get angry with the children for no reason and even start maltreating them. Others hurry off to marry another person not putting into consideration that the new spouse may not like the children. The children are now at the receiving end. The bereaved spouse sees them as risk factors for the new marriage and decides to do away with them. The poor kids are shipped off to be raised by their grandparents. Fast forward to the future and the kids are now rebellious, hating the surviving parent for something that could have been avoided.

Yes, you are hurting and you want to heal but the children should not be neglected. The children should be a priority to you. Anybody that wants you in their life should want them too. They are part and parcel of you and should not be removed. People heal better when the kids are happy because it's like a sign that the deceased spouse is proud of your efforts. The work is double now but you'll be happy at the end. It is only a function of time.

R.I.P Mrs Clark.