We played in the garden after school everyday. I really enjoyed being outdoors and did everything from climbing trees to riding bikes. I believe it was a sunny Wednesday afternoon, that is when our home teacher Mr. Mensah screeched his noisy motorbike through the driveway.
I always had my exercise books tidily laid out on the table under the thatched, ‘summer’ hut. The dusty blackboard was also positioned against one of the wobbly pillars. My half-chewed pencil was parked tidily beside my book, ready for my lesson.
That gave me the opportunity to play for a few more minutes before the long, drawn lesson. Mr. Mensah was a stout, soft-spoken, conscientious teacher. He never arrived late and was very organized. His plan for the two hours was the same each Wednesday: note taking, memorizing facts and many practice questions.
I was not the only student so it felt just like school all over again. My cousins J and A who were in the same class at our Elementary school always joined me, so did R, my sister, who was a year after us. I must have been almost nine years old.
As soon as the screech came to a stop, I ran towards the slide to get my last round. I tripped really badly, fell on my back and scraped my body against the metal handle.
“Wooo, wooo, wooo,” I bawled! All the little legs ran towards me, causing the dust from the dry ground to surround us in a haze. They grabbed my arms and lifted me gently up the stairs to the main door of the house. I helped them out by dragging myself up. They placed me on the huge sofa and called Auntie.
I lifted my head slowly to see them all rush outside for the lesson. I smiled sneakily! I had escaped the day’s session.