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Never take Anyone for Granted
#NevertakeAnyoneforGranted
March is always a rainy month in the tropics. It is always a month dreaded by the students in Africa.
It had rained heavily again this morning, and I had reached school late and dripping and wet as an eel. I felt feverish. It was the mid-term of senior four at Lubiri Secondary School. The moment I stepped into class, I was clumsy as a bull in the China shop. I had an itching allergy, often made worse by cold water or chlorine. My whole body itched terribly; it was like the African fire-safari ants had invaded my being. The teacher of English, Miss Lubanga was horrified, as I scratched my body severely. Everyone in the classroom laughed hysterically, but not Lorna.
She had walked up and offered me her warm woollen jumper, which I took gladly. It embarrassed me, but I still felt cold as Mountain Rwenzori snows. Lorna did not mind the laughter. She smiled beautifully. After a short while, I warmed up, and the itching eased. I stared at Lorna seated on the first desk, writing her exercise quietly.
That very moment my mind drifted back four years when I had joined senior one. Lorna was the first girl I ran into after being admitted to a government secondary school. She was light-skinned, and of medium height, maybe five feet tall. She was skinny and small. I had got lost in this new maze of a big school. I found Lorna seated on a rickety old wooden bench near the parade ground, reading David Copperfield, a novel written by Charles Dickens. I stopped, stared at her shyly. I asked timidly, "Where's Form 1 A?."
She promptly pointed in its direction. As I turned to walk off to my new class, I felt a warm, moist hand on my bony shoulder; she had decided to...
March is always a rainy month in the tropics. It is always a month dreaded by the students in Africa.
It had rained heavily again this morning, and I had reached school late and dripping and wet as an eel. I felt feverish. It was the mid-term of senior four at Lubiri Secondary School. The moment I stepped into class, I was clumsy as a bull in the China shop. I had an itching allergy, often made worse by cold water or chlorine. My whole body itched terribly; it was like the African fire-safari ants had invaded my being. The teacher of English, Miss Lubanga was horrified, as I scratched my body severely. Everyone in the classroom laughed hysterically, but not Lorna.
She had walked up and offered me her warm woollen jumper, which I took gladly. It embarrassed me, but I still felt cold as Mountain Rwenzori snows. Lorna did not mind the laughter. She smiled beautifully. After a short while, I warmed up, and the itching eased. I stared at Lorna seated on the first desk, writing her exercise quietly.
That very moment my mind drifted back four years when I had joined senior one. Lorna was the first girl I ran into after being admitted to a government secondary school. She was light-skinned, and of medium height, maybe five feet tall. She was skinny and small. I had got lost in this new maze of a big school. I found Lorna seated on a rickety old wooden bench near the parade ground, reading David Copperfield, a novel written by Charles Dickens. I stopped, stared at her shyly. I asked timidly, "Where's Form 1 A?."
She promptly pointed in its direction. As I turned to walk off to my new class, I felt a warm, moist hand on my bony shoulder; she had decided to...
