Chapter: First School Days
After all the talk about making my mum's life better, I still could do nothing. I was just a pooping kid. The best I could do was learn how to crawl, then walk faster, and try not to cry, at least to make my mum's life a little better.
After Mum was fired from her job, things became really hard—not for me, though. I had no care in the world. I had food to eat, and someone cleaned me up whenever I took a dump. Sadly, that was all I could contribute.
Because of our inability to pay rent, we were asked to move out. With nowhere to stay, my mum turned to the only person in Port Harcourt who cared for her—my aunty.
My aunty was married and had six grown-up children. The youngest was in his twenties at the time. Upon hearing my mum's request, my aunty and her family welcomed us with open arms. In summary, I became the family baby. These guys should be my cousins, but in Nigeria, anyone significantly older than you is addressed as "Uncle."
So, they were my "uncles."
Year 2006: Age 2
I finally started school. It wasn't really necessary because, honestly, what could they possibly teach me? I could communicate fluently and had already graduated from university in my past life by 2025. Of course, I couldn't tell anyone that. Among all the annoyances of regression, I'd say going to school was the most frustrating.
On January 10, 2006, I started pre-nursery at age two. My mum walked me to school, which was a short distance from my aunt's house.
Fountain Child Academy—the name was boldly written at the entrance of a two-story building. You could tell it was a school because of the banners showing children in the school uniform.
Upon entering, the noise from the children filled the air—it was both scary and loud. The principal escorted us to my class.
"Oh, so this is his first time in school?" a middle-aged woman with a kind smile asked.
"Yes," my mum replied.
Bending down to my level, she asked, "Fine boy, what's your name?"
What is she being all cute for? Why should I answer her? You know what, fuc… I thought, but then someone caught my attention.
"My name is Edwin," I replied.
A beautiful woman, probably in her late twenties, walked toward the principal. She was tall, dark, and had a figure that demanded attention.
"Ahh, Miss Angela, welcome! This is Edwin; he'll be in your class from today," the principal said, pointing at me.
"Edwin—that's a nice name," Miss Angela said, smiling at me.
For an hour or so, I was mesmerized—not by her beauty, but by the sheer size of her chest.
Isn't that too much for one person? Why couldn't I remember this in my past life? I thought to myself.
Lost in thought, I didn't realize when my mum "sold me off"—I mean, paid my school fees. Soon, I was following Miss Angela into the classroom. All day, I stared straight at her. The noise from the kids, which was initially annoying, barely registered anymore. I subconsciously solved everything I was given and answered every question she asked—all to impress her.
And just like that, the day was over. For most kids, this would have been the happiest part of the day, but I felt sad knowing I'd have to wait until the next day to see Aunty Angela again.
"Goodbye, señorita. I know our love was short, but I enjoyed every bit of it," I muttered under my breath.
My mum came to pick me up, and I was excited to see her.
"Mummyyy!" I shouted as I ran to hug her.
"Nna mu ooo!" ( my father ooo) _ a kind i of exclamation used in east Nigeria and a nickname name given to boys _
she exclaimed, spreading her arms to embrace me.
"How are you?" she asked.
"I'm fine, Mummy. How was your day?"
"We thank God," she replied.
Just then, Miss Angela came out of the classroom, holding her handbag. You could tell she was heading home.
"Ahh, Mummy Edwin," she said, looking at my mum with a warm smile.
"Ehh, teach! How are you doing?" my mum responded.
"I'm fine, Ma," Miss Angela said.
"Ma, I wanted to talk to you about something—it's about Edwin," she continued, her tone more serious.
"What has he done? Hope this boy didn't disturb you?" my mum asked, glaring at me.
At this, cold sweat broke out on my forehead.
Miss Angela, what do you want to say now? I was starting to love you! I thought.
"Ah, no, Ma. Not at all. Actually, Ma, your son is gifted—so gifted that he answered questions far too advanced for him. Does he have a lesson teacher or something?"
Phew, I was scared for nothing, I thought, then smiled.
My mum, on the other hand, looked pleased.
"No, I just taught him the basics at home before he started school," she replied.
"Keep up the good work, Ma. Your son is really smart and speaks very well too," Miss Angela added.
Shit, I messed up. I was supposed to stay low-key for now! I thought.
The two women continued talking until they parted ways, and my mum and I went home. I was happy for one thing, though—I had made a good impression on that bust… I mean, my teacher.
The next day, and the days after, became a routine. My mum brought me to school, I spent the day fantasizing about Miss Angela, had sudden thoughts about making lots of money fast, then realized I had no means to do so.
Each class in Nigeria last for 1 year comprising of three terms or sections , well just like that , the year got to an end , and that included my time with miss Angela , i did achieve one thing though, my classmates,
Yea, the kids i taught them the A B C song and that was what we presented on our end of hear party,
Oh i forgot to add on really important detail, yea, i kissed miss Angela on my last day of class , after my exams i gave her a peck on the cheeks amd somehow quickly stole the one on the lips and ran to my mom, who was waiting outside.
After we've covered quite the distance, i turned back to see her , smiling and staring, didn't know what she had in mind , but she made my pre-nursery totally worth it .
And that was the last i set foot in that School, i didn't attend the End of years party, my mom's friends who lived close and thier kids attend same school with me , they delivered the news of how i was the best graduating student of my class and my class teacher specifically mentioned i taught the pre-nursery what they presented.
I could literally see my mom holding back tears after she heard this news. I hugged her and helped her clean her tears.
Looking at me, she said, "Thank you, Edwin, you really have made me proud."
Hearing these words made me really happy—so happy I was moved to tears. But I didn't want to cry in front of her.
I hugged her tightly, wiped her tears, and then ran off to cry on my own because, "Big boys don't let others see their pain," I muttered, smiling sheepishly.
This marked the end of my first journey in school. I promised myself I would keep making my mom proud, no matter what it took.