Primary school they say is the level in ones academic life, where the primary foundation of knowledge is laid. Most of the time it’s also been said to dictate intellectual success. I should be ashamed of myself for saying this, but I loathed primary school ‘hoha’! with every breadth in me. Part of the motivation for that being the undue and irrelevant pressure my teachers put on me to ‘know book’. Fine; they were simply doing their jobs as teachers, but what was the point of flogging me when I failed a sum? Though it was a good measure to get pupils to sit up and put in more effort, which might have worked for some, all it did was wane my enthusiasm for school.
My five years in primary school was less than mundane. I had no clue why I was actually in school, and I guess most pupils my age felt exactly the same way. As far as I was concerned, we just went to school because other children went to school, and other children went to school because other children went to school. Or like Terry G would say, “we go school just to go catch our groove”. Even though I was no more than six years old, I knew exactly where I wanted to be. My only compulsion as a child then was to be anywhere but school, and whenever we broke off for holidays, I was like an untamed beast. Perhaps if I had had ‘really good’ teachers who knew how to properly teach children, maybe I would have seen school in a different light. But I had some of the most ‘useless’ teachers (sorry to say) that you could ever imagine.
I may sound disrespectful or irrational, but I’m just being honest. Hell; what did I know?
I was no more than ten years old, but I knew a good teacher from a rubbish one. And I’ll tell you how you know the really good ones, because some fifteen odd years later, as I write this, I can still remember their names. There were only two of them in my five years of primary school. Shame. Uncle Alex in primary three, and Uncle Peter in primary five, and I would recognize them if they walked past me today.
Just before beginnig primary three however, I broke my leg over a Cynthia Rothrock movie (where the hell is that lady sef? She just vanished into thin air). That was one karate kick ass lady. I remember this very very vividly. I had just concluded watching one of her movies, when I decided to ‘do as I saw’. I threw a kick in the air, lost my balance and was on the floor very quickly, and a loud popping sound followed. That was the sound of my left lower leg bone snapping in two, and it was the best thing that ever happened in my life at the time. Yay! I couldn’t believe my luck. Come and see victory. For the whole of the first and second term, I was at home while the others went to school. See groove. I got the best royal treatment ever from my parents. By royal treatment, I mean I got just about anything I wanted. Toy guns, cakes, ‘buns’, ‘kpof kpof’, ‘guguru’, new Cynthia Rothrock movies (believe that), loads of other toys, etcetera.
I became the envy of my siblings very fast. But it wasn’t all smiles when I had to see the bone mender every Saturday. It usually took about six people to restrain me whenever this old woman treated me. I would thrash around and scream the life off my little lungs as she applied whatever on my broken leg and then wound and twisted it like say we quarrel. How a qualified doctor could recommend this form of alternative medicine for a little boy like me was beyond my comprehension. In fact I cursed that doctor tire! And my twin would always tease “next time don’t play karate you hear?” Mcheeww!
Anyway I got the biggest surprise one day when Uncle Alex paid me a visit. My mum had broadcasted the ‘news’ to my class and this man was humane enough to follow her home to see his naughty pupil. It did and still does mean a lot to me and I just can’t thank him enough for simply caring. It was a good experience sha; breaking my leg I mean. Hehehe.
The leg healed anyway, after some six months and I went back to school. Very sad. Mcheeww!