Tag Archive: school old days

Of Combs and Asses


To you, it’s just a jumbo rake comb. To my  brothers and i, it’s a harbinger of early morning agony, charecterised by scowls and the constant kneading of our tiny asses while performing house  chores. Primary school days. Traumatising times bruh.
She just sneaks in (i’m sure) stealthily and perfunctorily grabs the infamous comb from the dressing mirror and *smack! smack!! smack!!!* while letting out karate yells (in her head actually). She does it with such unparalled dexterity, martial artists are no feat.
Sometimes, she gets all three asses. Other times, two. I’m that last ass that doesnt get to be smacked on those few days i sleep on the right side of  the bed. 🙂 I’m furthest from the door, you see. First two smacks twig me into jumping off the bed; if the ear wax  aint that much. Those two asses though (Makafui and Desire!!! Hahahahaha).
Damn you GTV! Why you always gotta put “Beast Master” and the likes late in the evenings on the programme line-up? Mean adults!
Those smacks helped though. Thanks Ma. They brought me this far. Can’t seem to find the courage to tell her i love her. It’s just way too awkward (in an african house). Not after all those scoldings and beatings… and reporting us to Da.

Inspired by an early, annoying (  😛  ) “good morning” convo with @3mefs


Names of “Talkatives”

That dreaded list; making our puny hearts pound like we were on a death row.
He only has to utter,“…give me the names of “talkatives” when I get back!” and a deafening silence is left in its wake. Well maybe not for long. There are those who have got guts or they just can’t help keeping a vow
of silence. The ‘traitors’ called upon to do the treacherous act of penning the names, literally and figuratively rise to the occasion, grinning from ear to ear. “I will show him/her/them wicked!” They pull out sheets from
exercise books with such loudness that could tear your heart apart and fold them into strips with the tip of their fingers like they were sharpening execution axes ruthlessly. Then they beautifully design the title “Names
of Talkatives” and set to work with one rule in mind: no culprits mean trouble.
He/she scans the classroom looking for victims. Surveillance is sometimes met with threats from daring boys with clenched fists repeatedly kissing their cheeks, invariably referring to the awaiting episode after school
in the (in)famous brawling grounds popularly known as “Atsiame”(woodlot). Adamant culprits have d.p (double punishment) splashed against their names. Stubborn ones would even ask you to write d.p against their
names once they realize their names have been inked in.
Then comes the moment of truth when the teacher walks in. Sometimes he deliberately waits a while. Sometimes he forgets till the next day. Sometimes never. But the times he does remember, it is hell for the
culprits. Pain is dished out by canes from different races that have been well bred to do their master’s bidding. Well bred in the sense that they have been drenched and dipped in all manner of preparations ranging
from water to petrol, even kept in deep freezers(!), all in the bid to increase the size, weight and girth of the canes themselves and the pain they induce. Some are draped in clothing made of different types of Scotch
tapes in assorted colours. The teacher’s pet! He even has names for them. Joe Blackie (that’s the only one I can remember cos that’s the one I feared most, hehehe). “Bring me my Joe Blackie!”
There are ways of enduring the pain. Just by adding more shorts underneath your school shorts or skirt, you can be partially or totally insulated. Or simply undertake a course in “beatings”- a game where you inflict
pain on each other, by caning, in turns, so as to get used to the pain (hehehehehe). Want to get even? Simply remember to take that piece which breaks off after you or someone has been caned and dip it in soaked
gari, overnight, when you get home. Don’t be surprised the next day to find your teacher with a swollen hand or arm (hehehehe. Childhood superstitions. Fantasies. *shaking my head*).
Next time try to keep your mouth shut during that curfew imposed on your tongue if your buttocks are still sore. Just read a book!

%d bloggers like this: