If I had gone to a strange school; a school where I knew nobody and nobody knew me, I would have had a rough time at the beginning. But eventually, I would have adapted to the system and I would have survived. But instead, I was taken to a school that was a few hours away from home and it was flooding with close relatives, long distance relatives, family friends and village mates.

Although it seemed like a good thing at first, soon I grew weary of each and every one of them and everything they represented. Their conversations were always centred on malicious talk in regard to people we knew in common. Since I am generally not built for small talk, I learnt the art of hearing without the obligation of listening, also known as zoning out. Also, their general lack of interest in sleeping early appalled me and I was forced to come up with a drill; yawn, stretch, fake dose-off and then finally walk away like a zombie. It pleased them to think I walked away only when my need for sleep became acute, those poor fools.

But what really ticked me off was the fact that they felt entitled to my personal property, so much so that after a while, they stopped making requests. They would just dive into my suitcase and take whatever they pleased. You’d think that they would do it sparingly. Instead, they supplied themselves generously and within days of coming from home, I would be on the verge of poverty. This was especially true for Sheila.

When I confronted her, she accused me of being selfish and even brought it to everyone’s attention on Visiting Day. My mother was, without a doubt, embarrassed and she scolded me for hours and I endured it quietly but painfully.

That day, I went back to my dormitory determined to be very generous to Sheila. When she came to ask for juice, I gave it to her and then watched her deal with a burning sensation in her throat. I had taken part of my juice and mixed it with pepper and salt and I had let it sit there for two weeks, waiting for her.