Sahel Sarai

Lessons in Time

Every morning at 8:15, the ringing of the bell brings the prepubescent children to the front yard where single lines are formed, and the urge to keep throwing rocks at the brick wall where targets have been drawn in chalk are restrained. Shuffling is heard as the girls line up with their black skirts and the boys in black trousers, hair neatly kept, slicked back or in braids. One by one, the children walk through the front door, down the corridor where there always seems to be a defective flickering light highlighting mop streaks. A familiar smell of old paint and freshly brewed coffee welcomes the children to the rest of their lives. Those in their later years, eagerly waiting for the term’s end and their progression to middle school where recesses are unsupervised, naturally enjoy the upper echelon of the primal hierarchy. Not so much as a glance is sent towards the younger children who know the older ones by full names, harbouring feelings of envy, admiration, and simultaneous hatred for the pretentious bunch. The youngest, terrified of making a fool of themselves by displaying their true distaste with being away from the warm comfort of their homes, nervously hide their bewilderment and overwhelm.