Diary of a Wanderer

I used to attend one of the top senior high schools in the country. Everything there was unlike its reputation. Many teachers were mostly absent from their post, and whenever they showed up in class, half of their teaching hours were dedicated to sharing jokes that had nothing to do with the lesson at hand.

But these teachers gave extra lessons to students who paid for private one-on-one tuition with them.

I used to worry a lot back then about how I was ever going to complete my final exams in high school, that exam that decided which tertiary institution one got admission into.

One subject that was a major headache for me was Elective Maths, and I remember carrying the giant textbook with me wherever I went. I studied all the time, all though I had no hope I could pass.

And God being so good, I did pass. All my papers. A miracle I am forever grateful to God for.

Today, while using a shortcut to a food vendor that turned long, I chanced upon a bookshop. And guess what I saw. The same Elective Maths textbook I used to tuck gingerly under my armpit like a sensitive boil that wouldn’t go away. Even from a distance there was something familiar about the book’s colour. Upon drawing closer, old memories were roused from their sleep. The old cage I never thought of escaping. About fourteen years ago. After four years of high school with its ups and downs, with its tears and joys, fears and dispair and mistakes, it all came to an end one day.

As I continue my journey to the food vendor’s, I am refreshed by the thought that my current predicament will be behind me some day.