How I wrote my Will, dug my grave

 Schools have just closed and August holidays are here with us. My cousin Soriala, who is in Class Six in a boarding school, came back complaining about her school and insisting that she wanted to be transferred to another school. Her reason? They were being pinched in school. Really? She should have gone to the school I went to. We received beatings that forced us to write Wills... as if we owned a thing! I can remember at some point, our Mathematics teacher told those of us who were poor in the subject to dig our graves behind the classrooms. Guess what, we neither died nor became mathematicians.

That was not the part that scared the hell out of me though. There were other things that made me shed tears every time I was reporting to school. If there is anything that can make my heart skip a beat, then it should be darkness. I hated walking out of the dormitory to the latrines in the wee hours of the night to answer the call of nature. I was not alone, we were a number of pupils who dreaded that. So we would hold our bladders tight and listen out to whoever would be brave enough to go out first. Once someone reached the door, you would see several people jumping from their beds in darkness to head out in a group.