GOING TO SCHOOL

MUMMY I DON’T WANT TO GO TO SCHOOL

 

It is amazing how a 3 year old boy can say that to his mum. During my childhood, no child was this bold. The mother would have slapped sense into the child’s head. Here’s my neighbour’s son, insisting he does not want to go to school.
This same boy is fascinated about phones, he likes to collect phones from people to play with. His twin Peter is more concerned about playing games on it, while Paul wants to press every button, listen to a song, watch videos and so on. Want them to be calm? Change the television station to Nickelodeon. You become their best friend, they will keep their eyes glued to the screen and watch non-stop.
Imagine the passion they have for these innovations brought by technology, yet they don’t like school. They begin to throw tantrums when you want to bathe them. They give silly excuses when their lesson teacher shows up.
I wonder what is happening in our nursery and primary schools today. Back then, it was fun going to school, trekking back, sometimes in the rain. The rain leaves you drenched, even your books but you are more concerned about playing and enjoying yourself in the rain.
School was my place of freedom. The only friends I had at home were my family, hardly played with neighbours. As a girl, I was always indoors. It made me a shy person, my literature teacher in JSS2 had to break the jinx. She felt I had potentials but a lone ranger, which limits my association with classmates or participation in class. School made me a friendly person and a talker.
Thanks to school, I was free to do a lot, without fearing my parents’ disapproval. While in the university, I was free to stay in church for hours, free to sit outside my hostel and gist for hours, free to wake up and sleep whenever I chose to, free to eat whatever my taste buds yearned for.
Children then had a lot of games to play. Now they only know the games on our phones, tablets, laptops and video games. No more folktales, no more cultural songs, no more ‘who is in the garden’. This is the 21st century, where children are extremely rude to elders.
My dad is an academic guru, my mum is a math teacher. You cannot avoid school for any reason, you can’t form sick to stay back home or say you don’t feel like going. You are not the one paying school fees, your only option is going to school and passing excellently.
School sweet, na exam spoil am. You enjoy school more at break time, free periods and other exciting moments; until a math teacher walks in. Every student has a unique set of favourite and non-favourite subjects. Then our best enemy shows up: THE EXAMINATION TIMETABLE. You begin to recall if you have read enough or if you have opened those books at all. Revision becomes studying. Everyone wants to be friends with the smartest kid in the class.
I wrote an exam recently and a not-as-smart-as-she-thinks-she-is chic boldly told me at the end of the papers that I was covering my book (i.e. my answer sheet). She foolishly repeated that twice. First of all, that’s my legal property, produced out of my painstaking hours of head-down studying. Also, she was seated in front of me, so how can she possibly see what I was doing to my answer sheet or what I was writing?
Before the paper commenced, she had approached me for my note. After collecting it, she referred to it as “jottings”, simply because I wrote in a jotter. It was after she had digested all of it, she understood I was smarter.
Now, she came up with a beautiful lie and called me, saying I should snap my notes and send to her. According to her story, she wants to send to a ‘friend’ who can’t see her handwriting. Wow!!!!!! Girl, how dumb do you think I am? I have had friends use me like that in the past, so I know better. We have handouts, you attended classes more than I did, so who send you?
On a lighter note, schooling is what we decide to make it be for us. If you consider school as a learning ground, you will ask a lot of questions and learn new things every day. If school is always fun to you, you will play away your future and serve as a driver, housekeeper or other minor jobs tomorrow. A word is enough.

 

NIKITA’S FLAME
(c) PENVOICES

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