"Now that you have beards, it is not upon you to make a good straight line? Well, you will realize that when you were choosing A, B, C,D in your primary school torn attires, My beards were really causing the barbers a hard time." This guy spoke with such confidence. At that juncture, I realized that my life was in shear danger. Those were the days when taking a meal was seen as a blessing from the almighty. I was a form one by then, In a legendary school by the way. I would spent the whole night crafting good tactics so that I could manage to get myself a meal. I knew that failure to that, I would starve to death. You see, in this kind of environment, no one cared whether you starved. Well, even if you died, the school van was available to rush you to the nearest mortuary. You see? That is how tough things were. It was in those days that being thin, skinny, bony, was the "in thing". However, you would still meet bulls here and there. The kind which caused mayhem in the chambers of dining.
In those days, breakfast would be served at six in the morning. The morning preps were compulsory, so we used to wake up at four. The funny part is that, there were usually two options when you woke up at for. You'd either go to class for the morning preps, which attracted roll call by the way or go to the dining hall. Not inside the hall, but outside. The purpose being, to queue. It was pretty normal to see guys queuing at four waiting to be served porridge. I know you will laugh it off and dismiss the boys as people who lack self drive, have mismatched priorities and do not know what brought them to school. Well, that is expected. It is expected because you do not understand what porridge is. When I say "porridge" your mind conceptualizes that brown fluid you take which is made of millet. You see? Now, that is not what am talking about. Am talking about special porridge. In other terms, magical porridge. you see, One plate is enough to push you for a whole week. Yeah, it is served in plates not cups because it is the kind that needs treatment. You cannot take it raw, otherwise, you attract the chances of seeing the insides of an ICU. For that reason, it is during the breakfast time that ambulances were seen roaming about the school looking for casualties, in case a new comer had fallen victim of the two sided porridge. Therefore, one had to be very careful with the porridge. There was a saying among the students, it was something like, "porridge is a good servant, when treated, but a bad master when eaten for granted."
Ting! Ting! Ting! Ting! the sound of the school bell could be heard. I have heard several rumors that Usain BOLT is the best sprinter. Well, am not so sure of that. And why do people go to the Olympics to see record breakers? This is all but a waste of resources that could be channeled in other economic sectors that are badly in need of capital. You ask why? Well, its because I have prove that I have schooled with world record breakers in running. I have seen with my two eyes, potential High-jump heavyweights who could manage to jump through high walls and windows when that bell rang. That bell was the signal that the day had come. As I stated earlier, I spent my entire night crafting plans on how I would get my hands on Ndua. That was the baptismal name for the porridge. So when I had the bell ring, there was no time to fool around. I had slept prepared. Even shoes were worn and properly laced. I literally jerked off the bed, the plate on hand ( I had slept clinging tight to it) and joined fellow marathoners towards the dining hall. I did not care of the preps, I would deal with that one later. My stomach could not afford waiting for another day, the little saliva I had been pouring into it did not work the miracles any more.
I will agree that am a good runner. I did not know how I happened to be among the first ones to arrive. By that virtue, I was accorded the honor to cling on the Hall's door. Clinging to the door was enough evidence that you "might" get lucky if the line was not reversed. It was at four, remember. Four in the morning. Another task was to brave the morning breeze, given that there was a river around that was so merciless. A few hours passed before I started hearing the crackling of the belt. At that juncture, I held tighter to the door. Hugging it tight, like a lost girlfriend so that we became one. The door was me and I was the door. The captain in charge of the meals gave a brief summon before he began his "duty". It was a bad one. On that day only, the school suffered 300 casualties. the maths is as follows; 50 collapsed due to lack of oxygen, another 40 collapsed due to lack of glucose, 60 of them had heart failure, 20 of them suffered from torn skin (the crackling belt remember) 80 of them suffered from massive breathing breakdown, a condition that results from extra-ordinary intake of dust. The remaining 50 were in critical condition due to psychological related diseases and temporary brain damage. I was one of the lucky ones. unfortunately, I took untreated Ndua and had to be admitted.
Those days were tough ones.Everytime I remember, a tear falls from my eyes. The school had to hold an harambee that day to foot the bill of the fallen soldiers. Comrades, wherever you are, I remember you. This article is courtesy of you guys. You had to faint for this article to be written. How can I thank you for this?
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