Part 4 The Journey in

The rainy season routinely caused chaos in Lagos,and there was never a definite guarantee of getting to school on time through the waterlogged roads. We would leave earlier and earlier with me rushing my brother out of the house in the pouring rain. We would wade to the bus-stop barefoot weaving in and out and out of the go-slow traffic. We took our leather Bata shoes off to protect them from the murky waters. The fear of the cane was always at the forefront of my mind during our morning journeys. I would remember the feel of it on my hands, the big red welts would throb for most of the day and would disable me from writing thus incurring more wrath from my teacher. It was a vicious circle. She routinely flogged me on my left hand - the one she knew I used to write with. She thought the use of the left hand was inappropriate for writing and was probably hoping the routine caning might change me around Needless to say it didn't work.

I tried my hardest to fit in but was still, after a couple of years, like a fish out of water unused to the roughness of the school education I was receiving.I was confronted by prejudices based on my racial identity on a daily basis by my teacher in the classroom who would routinely laugh and make fun of my accent, telling me and everyone else I looked like a witch or a mammy water if my hair was slightly out of place.This not only had an effect on me but the children around me who for fear of the teachers wrath would not associate with me. As I began to disappear into myself my grades slipped and she sometimes failed me for the hell of it, which I only discovered when my mother appalled at a D I got for history (one of my favorite subjects) read the paper then made an appointment with the head of the school who marked it to a B and could offer no explanation for the failing mark.

Inevitably, I began to truant off school now and again dropping my brother off and wandering around Tejuosho Market merging myself into the vibrant chaos and wandering in and out of a myriad of colourful shops selling fabric, shoes, bags, imported clothes and jewellery enjoying my own safe company till the school day ended. Nevertheless I managed to pass my common entrance exams and moved into the secondary school which was housed in the same compound.

It was a Monday morning school assembly and inspection day. I came looking forward to my literature first period lesson. I adored literature as it was a slice of heaven reading and discussing books by authors such as Chinua Achebe who brought West Africa alive to me with his book Things Fall Apart. My former class teacher who by some bad hand of fate happened to be on inspection duty that day ordered me to stop, looked me up and down, head to toe and proceeded to tell me I was wearing false eyelashes and should report to the teacher's staff room where she would trim them for me, and oh yes my hair was a mess. Being a tomboy, only out of trousers when I'm in my school uniform I hadn't a clue what false eyelashes were.The morning was spent kneeling on the floor in front of the staff room my face red with embarrassment, pain from the concrete floor and the shame of watching my classmates walking past whispering words I could not hear but could well imagine. At midday my former class teacher showed up with a pair of scissors and attempted to hold me down so she could trim my eyelashes. I could not be still as I thought she would take my eye out .

After we danced outside the staff room to the amusement of students and staff she decided to cane me instead. Relief flooded through me briefly as the welts would heal but one could not buy another eye. As I stood with my face against the wall she chose to flog me on my back and shoulders. It seemed like an eternity, the pain was intense not just physically but mentally as through my tears of pain I wondered why this woman wanted to break me. She seemed appeased after the flogging and had a strangely relaxed look on her face. My eyelashes were forgotten. I vowed that day she would never lay hands on me again.