By: Prophetess Ngozi Joy
My childhood was a unique blend of joyous moments, heartache, solitude, and thrilling escapades. Both of my parents were educators, and we resided in the teacher’s quarter of a government school. The school was situated on a vast expanse of land, complete with classroom blocks, a large field, and even a few churches. Growing up in this environment was a privilege that I cherished.
During those days, private schools were non-existent, and government schools were equipped with all the necessary amenities. The teachers were incredibly devoted to their profession and held it in high esteem. As the headmaster’s daughter, I enjoyed several privileges, such as wearing socks and sandals to school, which many of my peers could not afford. Before a child could be registered for primary one, they had to touch their ear across their head. However, I was exempted from this ritual because of my father’s position.
Another advantage of being the headmaster’s child was the special treatment and respect accorded to me and my siblings. People looked out for us wherever we went and protected us from any form of abuse. I was fondly referred to as “nwa onye isi,” which translates to headmaster’s child, and many did not even know my name.
My primary school years were filled with fun and excitement, but as I advanced to senior classes, it became monotonous. My mother had high expectations for me and my siblings. She did not want us to be excellent; she wanted us to be exceptional. Her reasoning was that we should lead while others followed. If I did not come first in class after a term, my mother would make the juniors choose food, meat, or any other item that needed to be shared before me for an entire week. This was a painful and heartbreaking experience, as the juniors would mock and laugh at me, and I could not retaliate.
During my school years, I refrained from participating in sports due to my weight. I was often ridiculed and given the nickname “fatty.” One time, I attempted to play volleyball, but was met with aggression from other players who pushed me down, resulting in a knee injury. This experience left a lasting impression on me, and I never attempted to play again.
I recall a significant moment in my academic journey when I graduated from primary one to two. This meant that I would be transitioning from using a pencil to a pen, which I was thrilled about. I felt like a senior and was eager to start using a pen. However, my excitement was short-lived when my father was transferred to a new town to head a school, and I discovered that primary two pupils were still using pencils. I was devastated and cried, pleading with my father to allow me to use a pen in class. Unfortunately, he refused and insisted that I use what everyone else was using.
This experience left me feeling frustrated and held back. I resented the school and felt like I was being forced to regress to a level I had already surpassed. I prayed for another transfer, hoping for a fresh start.
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