One of the times in my life I always try not to remember is the times I spent in the boarding house, It felt like been deflowered, violated prematurely. Up until the day I stepped into the corridors of Henry Alex Duduyemi Boy’s hostel I would say I remained as naïve about the world. I remember the first time we came in, although the memories are a bit vague, but I remember how it felt to have the pink and gray school uniform, the green hostel wear and the white sunday wear and oh!! The crisp new books we had to get from the school store. I couldn’t sleep the first night, It was my first time away from family and I was in a room full of boys I had never met.
Earlier that day, we had all gone round the school, Introduced to our teachers, and of course we got registered, I remember all of us screaming down the stairs to the field and 30 and I mean more than that of us chasing one leather ball. The corridors of classrooms we could see from the field, some watching to impress a girl in the class others just happy to see the seniors. We all must have looked like the stupidest sets of babies on the school grounds that day.
One major lesson I learnt from arrival in the hostel is that, just like our crispy new books that were not yet opened, relationship with other pupils were also as fresh on that day and the moment we start to open them, the more you use the books, the more dogged the books become, the less the excitement you get in seeing the book, some books will remain unopened and untouched forever and some will be torn to their last bit by the end of term. However, a book that contains important material will be well used and tended would not remain crisp but any damage to it would attract much concern and attention and the same goes for the people I met in boarding house.
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