To all the victims of bullying and abuse in boarding schools.
I was in Junior Secondary class 3, the equivalent of the 9th Grade when it happened – when I experienced the most traumatic episode of my childhood.
I was sent to a boarding school in Nigeria from age 11-17 years. My parents did their best. They had nothing but good intentions, they also chose a school owned by the “Marist brothers” to cater to my catholic faith and spirituality.
I remember my mother telling her friend, that they chose the school because it was going to instill good morals in me.
Attending a boarding school meant early independence and the opportunity for a child to learn how to adapt to living outside of their family unit.
As an Ada, I needed to be prepared for life beyond education, so while the school was responsible for my academics, the boarding house was there to nurture my maturity and independence.
It was an uneventful night in our hostel. The very large hall that served as our sleeping room was bustling with 13- 14-year-old squabbles, giggles, and noises. We had just returned from our night studies and we were settling in for “lights out”.
My memories fail me in recollecting what event led to the other but I remember that I laughed out…
