My Ordeal In Primary One: A Short Story

We had just moved to a village in Ugwunagbo LGA, and I needed to enroll in a new school because the previous one was now too far away.

Mom and Dad made the decision to enroll me at the government school located directly across the street.

When Mom had finished registering me for school, the headmistress led us to the primary 1 student’s building where we met the class teacher, Mom had a brief conversation with her, and I was shown where to sit. The confidence was there while Mom was still in sight but as soon as she left, I felt like I was left alone with a pack of wolves.

The voice of the teacher (female) snapped me out of it when she questioned my name, “Bright,” I replied, implying that she needed to look up my surname in the registry, because I wasn't going to say anything further because it was already difficult for me to utter my name.

Here’s the deal: I was a shy kid who didn’t want to talk to anyone, and going to school wasn’t my idea in the first place; I was dragged to school against my will, and they didn’t even ask for my opinion.

So, she informed the entire class that I was a new student and that they should get along with me (which I hope they do), before turning to the board and beginning to teach mathematics.

Understanding what is being taught has never been a problem for me; in fact, I’ve always been the first in class since nursery school, and I believe that’s how I’ve survived this whole school thing, because teachers love intelligent students, and you can easily make friends even if you can’t socialize.

"So, class we won't be using slates again, I hope you all have your books and pencils," the teacher said. We've been writing on slates since nursery, and the teachers would give us chalk to write with and warn us not to break them. Assignments were also done on the slate, but you had to clean off whatever you'd written earlier, even if it was the most beautiful art you'll ever draw, and the teacher would mark it with a red chalk.

But now we had to write on paper with a pencil; it was strange at first, but after a few sentences, I got the hang of it.

When it was finally time for recess, I stepped outside to find the worst part of school: while roaming around the football field, I overheard one person ask another, "Can you thrash this guy?" He instantly lifted my legs without hesitation or even answering the inquiry! When I regained consciousness after my head hit the ground and I phased out for a few seconds, I saw someone pounding the guy who had yanked my legs, and it was my older brother! Wait, didn't I say I had an older brother? My bad.

Regaining consciousness, I went after the guy who had asked whether I could be beaten, and I continued to strike him as hard as I could until my older brother moved to him after carefully dealing with the other person, and he thoroughly beat them up.

From then on, whenever we saw those two individuals, we beat them up, and anyone who asks, "Can you beat this guy?" gets beaten up as well, both the one asking and the one being asked. We just live across the street, so getting home is simple.
The rest of the term went smoothly and the troublesome guys were now afraid of us and never dared to bother me or my elder brother, I was also able to make a couple of friends.