Boarding school at nine years old

The car pulled up outside the girls hostel. It was literally built on a flat rock. I watched other girls run around, carrying their stuff to their rooms. This place was gonna be my home for the following 3 years. It felt exciting, finally leaving home to have some ‘freedom’, at the age of 9.
I was introduced to my new dorm; dorm 4 St Theresa. I chose the upper bed on a bunk close to the window. My parents helped me make my bed, but I just couldn’t wait for them to leave so I could explore this new place and start making friends. I thought I was fearless. The moment I waved goodbye as the car drove off, a cloud of sadness settled over me. The reality that I had just remained alone, in a strange  place, suddenly came down on me all at once. I walked back to my room and silently cried as I lay on my bed, missing my mum and dad.
Before long, our dorm room was full. We were approximately 12 in each room, but it never seemed crowded as the rooms were large enough. As we talked and got to know each other with my dormmates, I realised this was not going to be too bad after all.
The first thing I thought would be difficult on me was the waking up in the morning. Oh the bell that the prefects rang at around 5:30am every morning sounded like a declaration of the beginning of the apocalypse. We had to immediately wake up, and by immediately I mean if you woke up 5minutes later you could spend the next day sweeping the school grounds. We’d take our metal buckets and go have our baths at the bathrooms. The struggle got real in winter when we had to race to the bathrooms for hot water because it ran out on late bathers. After the preparations for school were done we’d gather outside the dormrooms and have our morning prayer and announcements. Then we’d line up to go have breakfast as the prefects assessed if we were all dressed well and clean. Our little black shoes had to be super-dooper shiny. And our blue uniforms; well- pressed and spotless.
On the first day in class, I remember sitting outside as we waited for the teacher to open the classroom. Making friends was much easier  than it is now. I mean you could bond over having the same pencil back then.
 Our teacher finally came and opened the door. We got the strictest grade 5 teacher, and needless to say, we were terrified. However, she had great teaching skills. She sat us in groups, boy, girl, boy, girl ; something they avoid in high school. I don’t think my little self made a great first impression on her coz I had to work extra hard to prove I was intelligent throughout the school term. It took several beatings on my hands for my handwriting to be as emmaculate as it was back then, before medical school ruined it of course. And it is here that I developed an interest in a subject I never thought I would – Math…which was also ruined by med school. All those complex math skills acquired through school are almost all unnecessary now as I have to occupy my brain space with big scientific terms like amygdalo-hippocampectomy….never mind. Anyway, as days went by, I made some good friends, some of which I’m still in touch with, 12 years later.
At mid-morning we’d go for tea at the dining hall. Lunch was in the afternoon, and basically after all the nitty gritty of classes was over. We’d go and change into casual clothes before having our lunch. Being primary school kids, there was virtually no competition for who wore the most expensive label…at least none that I was aware of. We were definitely already self-conscious though.
Supper meals had the best food. And afterwards we’d have evening studies for an hour. I don’t think we actually really studied here, I for one spent the study time playing word games, drawing or reading stories.
I met some of the smartest brainiacs ever at this primary school. It  was a challenge getting a spot in the top ten. A lot of us are on our paths to fulfilling our dreams. We have all kinds of imaginable careers represented, it’s awesome.
The third term came with Jacaranda blooming season. I loved how the jacaranda flowers coloured the ground purple. Sweeping the flowers off the ground, however, wasn’t so much fun. We believed that if you stand beneath a Jacaranda tree and catch a falling flower, you could make a wish and it could come true. Most of our wishes were that we’d have our parents visit. I don’t remember ever wishing for a billion dollars. For all I know, I could’ve been typing this from a private yacht off a self-named island.
The best days were visiting days, and the day before closing schools, which we called ‘big dinner day.’ Seeing our parents and siblings on that one visiting day was ecstatic and made our lives bearable.
 My primary boarding school was not the fanciest school in the country. No. We had beans for lunch sometimes. But, we didn’t need play-stations and i-pads to keep us entertained. We’d sing and dance, while drumming our school-trunks, and have the most possible fun ever. We narrated movies we would have watched at home to each other, and used our imagination to enjoy them. We had simple but joyful lives. And boarding school was a home, a fortress, a place we all grew together into great, yet unique people.
Reflecting back doesn't mean our lives were much better then than they are now, no. It helps us appreciate the path we've walked to get to where we are. And we might not be exactly where we want to be yet (i'm clearly not writing this from a yacht), but we're inspired by the fact that if we could be courageous little beings enduring being far away from our families to get an education, we can be great older beings, making a lasting difference in this world.

A sign just outside our school read: I came, I learnt,  I succeeded. And that’s exactly what we did.
“In unitate stamus.”