On my first day in nursery school in University of Lagos Women Society, I cried and broke into an almost violent tantrum. I remember the day vividly: my mom in a suit, uncle Sunday driving, my dress — red, with some sort of round-ish design. We were in the classroom when I started crying. I wouldn’t let go of my mother’s hand, and kept trying to pull or push myself to her; I ended up dancing around her while the teacher, Mrs. Kayode, a plump, light skinned woman with slick black hair, stood at the entrance. She probably had a smirk on her face: “You don’t know, you don’t know what is going on, but eventuarry.” There was no escaping.
Second Half, New Quarter, Who This?
Second Half, New Quarter, Who This?
Second Half, New Quarter, Who This?
On my first day in nursery school in University of Lagos Women Society, I cried and broke into an almost violent tantrum. I remember the day vividly: my mom in a suit, uncle Sunday driving, my dress — red, with some sort of round-ish design. We were in the classroom when I started crying. I wouldn’t let go of my mother’s hand, and kept trying to pull or push myself to her; I ended up dancing around her while the teacher, Mrs. Kayode, a plump, light skinned woman with slick black hair, stood at the entrance. She probably had a smirk on her face: “You don’t know, you don’t know what is going on, but eventuarry.” There was no escaping.