I remember walking back from school one day because the usual Uncle who drove us home was unwell. It was a unanimous decision undertaken by five fearless nine-year-olds who didn’t think it was a big deal to walk home through the jungle.
The journey of this fellowship made us go through the sodden fields where Physical Education class would take place, up the hill, cross the winding lonely road towards the Hospital, downhill towards the beginnings of the jungle, and then miraculously found The Gate that would allow us into the Police College grounds.
That easily spanned more than 2kms.
But to The Fellowship, it was absolute FUN!
Alas, things can’t remain the same for long.
In the name of development and innovation, the old has to pay the price.
Although I was not allowed to enter the Police College, just for the sake of invoking nostalgia, I still remember very clearly what it was like running around freely, playing in the old wooden playhouse, jumping into little streams that ran through the back of the Marching Arena and running uphill from my house to the little tuckshop for my regular Nuttela treats…
And I certainly still remember the house I grew up in…
This house may not exist anymore, but it lives on forever in my memory🙂