“J’ai envie de t’adorer ! ” A piercing voice echoed through the chilly harmattan.

“Ready, sing!” The prefect on duty conducted. Soon, a million croaking voices chanted madly.

“Stop! Stop!…” One teacher interrupted, a couple of whips landing simultaneously on the backs of Tunde and Tijani who were disrupting proceedings at the morning assembly. We restarted the hymn. Though my eyes were shut with both palms, through an opening between my fingers, I spotted our French teacher under the mango tree, feeling pleased that we were showcasing his impact. Every now and then, he turned in the direction of the headmistress. Hadn’t she noticed his efforts? Our teachers couldn’t even sneeze in French, let alone utter a word in the language. They had no idea that most of us were making up words to fill the dents in the lyrics and lysincing where words failed.

Our morning rituals were so predictable : a hymn, the Lord’s prayer, national anthem, the pledge, announcement and a marching song back to our classrooms. But there was a part we all dreaded : Inspection!

Bushy hair, dirty nails, dirty uniforms among others. The fun part was when mouths were opened for inspection. There were varieties of teeth- yellow, brown, black, green, toothless gums, broken teeth, teeth larger than the lips that shielded them from mockery.

The stench from some of them were impressive…