Chapter 12: My First Day at School
901 Words
Finally, the day we had been waiting for arrived.
It was time to register for school.
Uncle Tola had found a good school just a few streets away from Grandma Olujobi's house. One morning, he took Maria and me there to complete our registration.
Everything felt new.
The school building.
The classrooms.
The teachers.
The children running around the compound.
I held Maria's hand tightly as we walked through the school. I was excited, but deep inside, I was also afraid.
Before that day, Grandma Olujobi had already prepared almost everything we needed.
She bought us beautiful school bags, black shoes, white socks, exercise books, lunch boxes, water bottles, and every little thing a child needed for school.
She wanted us to have everything other children had.
She never wanted us to feel different.
After the registration was completed, the school assessed both of us.
Because I hardly understood English or Yoruba at the time, they placed me in Primary One.
Maria had attended school before, so she was admitted into Primary Three.
I didn't mind being in Primary One.
I simply wanted the opportunity to learn.
A few days later, school officially resumed.
Very early that morning, Grandma woke us up with her cheerful voice.
"Wake up, my children. It's your first day of school."
We quickly got out of bed.
After taking our baths, Grandma helped us wear our uniforms.
She made sure everything was neat.
She adjusted my collar.
She straightened my socks.
She smiled proudly as she looked at both of us.
Then she packed our food into our lunch boxes and gave each of us a little money.
Before we stepped outside, she hugged us tightly.
She kissed each of us on the forehead and prayed for us.
"May God protect you both. Learn well, behave yourselves, and come home safely."
Those simple words filled me with courage.
As we walked out through the gate, Grandma sat on the balcony watching us until we disappeared from her sight.
Looking back today, I understand why she did that.
She loved us deeply.
Let me tell you something about Grandma Olujobi.
She was one of the kindest people I have ever known.
She was humble.
She was generous.
She loved children with all her heart.
Nothing made her happier than seeing a child smile.
But she was also a woman of discipline.
If you did something wrong, she corrected you immediately.
She never ignored bad behavior.
Yet, after correcting you, she would draw you close, comfort you, and remind you that she still loved you.
She knew how to discipline without taking away a child's sense of belonging.
When we arrived at school, my heart started beating faster.
There were so many children.
Some were laughing.
Some were playing.
Some were running around without a care in the world.
A child is supposed to feel happy among other children.
But I didn't know how.
Fear had become part of me.
For so many years, I had learned to expect danger instead of kindness.
I quietly followed my teacher into the classroom and sat down.
I hardly spoke to anyone.
I simply watched.
I listened.
I observed everything around me.
To my surprise, my classmates were friendly.
Some smiled at me.
Some introduced themselves.
They asked me to play with them during break time.
Even though I was still shy, their kindness made me feel a little more comfortable.
My teacher was also very patient.
She never made me feel stupid because I struggled with English and Yoruba.
Instead, she encouraged me.
She praised every little improvement I made.
That first day turned out to be much better than I had imagined.
When school closed, Maria and I walked home together.
The moment we entered the compound, Grandma was already waiting for us.
The smile on her face said everything.
She couldn't wait to hear about our day.
Before we could even remove our shoes, she started asking questions.
"How was school?"
"Did you make any friends?"
"What did your teacher teach you?"
"Did you eat your food?"
I couldn't stop talking.
I told her everything.
I told her about my classmates.
I told her about my teacher.
I told her about the songs we learned.
I told her about the games the children played.
She listened with so much joy, smiling through every story as though she had been there with me.
Seeing her so happy made me happy too.
As the days passed, I became even closer to her.
To me, she wasn't just the woman who had rescued me.
She was my mother.
So I started calling her, "Mummy."
One day, she smiled and gently held my hand.
"My child," she said softly, "I am your grandma."
I looked at her, confused.
She continued, "The woman you always speak to whenever I give you the phone... she is my daughter. She is your mother."
For a moment, I didn't know what to say.
Then my face lit up with joy.
I finally had a mother.
And I finally had a grandmother.
At that age, I didn't fully understand how everything had happened.
All I knew was that I was surrounded by people who loved me.
After everything I had been through, that was more than enough.
For the first time in my life, the word "family" no longer felt like a dream.
It finally felt real.
- Writer
