It was another school assembly; we stood in long lines on dusty grounds in front of the primary 3 block of classrooms, wearing pristine ironed blue dresses with starched white blouses peeking out from our necklines and arms. This was 1990 in Enugu, I was 7 years old and that morning was different. Our teachers were very excited, clutching each other’s hands, hugging one another and wearing very big smiles. We all knew something was different, was it another coup d’état?
“Good morning boys and girls, today is a special day. Nelson Mandela has been freed”. Our head teacher announced.
As soon as that announcement was made, all hell broke loose. It was as though the teachers had been looking for an opportunity to yell and make a loud raucous. We all followed suit. You see, my parents often spoke about Nelson Mandela, so I knew who he was. I…
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