With my tiny toes in my white silky sulk, wore in my shining brown Kortina sandal, I walked down the pebble path that led to the mission school, just a stone throw from my father’s house. My slightly oversized khaki knicker had no need of leather or rubber belt. Our uniform was sewed with long rope like the handle of a woman’s bag, to be suspended across our feeble shoulders as kids. Who cares? 

No tea, no milk, no sugar, no bread. Such were luxury beyond the reach of peasant farmers and petty traders, in a village that’s many kilometers away from the nearest town. our breakfast was a either a combination of hot pap (ogi) and bean cake (akara), or you simply dash across the street, with one and a half kobo in hand and return with a bowl of any food of your choice. It was an era when you could open an account in Federal Mortgage Bank with ten kobo!

Early morning in the village, it was common finding people with stick in the mouth. Not cigarette, it was called “pako” or simply chewing stick. Toothpaste was for the rich and if there was anyone who was so rich, tooth paste was still not within his reach. Hey! Nobody was complaining anyway. Bathing early in the morning was odd for any serious-minded man. I can explain that but later.  

Preparing for school was very easy. Wash your face, bend your back and wash your arms and feet as well, bathing was for Sunday morning. In our elementary school days, chewing stick was still predominant but it wasn’t what you could do in a haste. It takes time to bite one end of the stick till it is softened, then you start to steer it round the nook and cranny of your mouth, with momentary spiting all around.

There must be a better and faster way, otherwise we would be late to school. For the fear of teacher’s cane, we devised a means. Charcoal! Grind it to powder, dip your finger in it and roam round your mouth twice or trice! Then down to school we strolled. Do I have a witness?

Morack Akin-David 

Biographer