My Last Weekend in Secondary School
It was a Saturday evening I can never forget. It was during our final days in secondary school, and only SS3 students were left in the hostel. All other students had gone home because we were in the period known as extension, a time set aside for us to prepare for WAEC. Since we were all mates and it was safer to stay together, we were all kept in one hostel. That togetherness brought a lot of bonding, joy, and unforgettable memories.
In the middle of exam preparations, laughter, and stress, we also found time for fun. We used to fill what we called a “slum book.” It was a special book where we wrote our names, hobbies, favorite subjects, phone numbers, towns, best friends, and other personal things. Usually, everyone had their own slum book from junior classes. But SS3 was different, we decided to make it more special. Each of us brought an exercise book that we cherished, and we all wrote in each other’s books. It was our way of staying connected after school, especially since many of us were from far and different places. Even now, those books have helped many of us keep in touch.
As we got closer to the end of our exams, the mood became emotional. Some of us were washing and arranging our things, others were ironing uniforms, deciding whether to give them to juniors or take them home. Everyone was packing. Yet, underneath all that preparation was the bittersweet feeling of saying goodbye to a place that shaped us.
That evening, we decided to burn all the trash from the hostel. At first, it was just to clean the place, but the fire unexpectedly became the center of fun. We started adding cartons and other materials to make the fire bigger. What began as cleaning turned into a full moment of excitement. We all gathered around the fire, laughing and playing. Then someone suggested we jump over the fire, just for fun. One after another, we took turns.
Then, it was my turn.
Just as I was about to jump, someone ran unexpectedly from the side, and we both collided right into the fire. It was no longer play. It became a moment of fear and struggle. We were trying to escape the flames. The other girl got slightly burnt, but I was not so lucky. I got badly burnt near my ankle. The pain was serious. Even today, I still have the scar. It’s big, and anyone who sees it always asks what happened. You’d have to look closely, but once you see it, you’d know it wasn’t a small thing.
After it happened, I couldn’t tell my father the truth. I knew he would scold me for being careless or playing rough. So I made up another story to explain the injury. Inside, I was battling pain and regret, but I had no choice.
Surprisingly, that wasn’t the end of our fun. towards evening, we didn’t feel the pain as much. I and the girl who also fell into the fire decided to turn the experience into a song. We laughed while composing it, even though our legs hurt. The song went something like this:
"Fire burn me, fire fire
Fire burn me, fire fire
When I was sixteen years, I tried to show that I am rough
Gathered around me were my mates..."
That song has stuck in my head till today, just like the scar on my leg. That weekend was painful but unforgettable. We were only trying to create memories, even if we did it in a rough way.
Looking back now, I realize how special that extension period was. It was our last weekend together as secondary school students. It was the end of an era, and despite the injury, I cherish every moment of it. Some memories leave us with laughter, and some leave us with scars but both stay with us forever.