Under this once beautiful locust bean tree the foundation of my and other greater minds' education was laid. It was flamboyantly green as it shaded our tender skins from the burning sun. Nailed to it was a blackboard on which our bully-teacher used to write alphabets and arabic numerals while we try to repeat same on the beautiful brown sand. Those Sands have been washed away severally by the running rain water. I can still see me and the other kids sitting unhappily on that ground while we used our tender palms to wipe the historical ground of dirts from dried leaves, dried and broken branches emanating from the mother locust bean tree. We dirtied ourselves all through the school hour until it wanes to Happy hour. Happy hour is when the closing bell rings and we know we shall be heading home to our waiting parents arms, where no one threatens us with koboko.

Pictures of my primary one

More pictures of my death class

RIP my primary one