I woke up one morning with a sharp pain in my ear. The last time I had an earache was some eighteen years ago. Then it was my mother’s lot to worry about it. But this morning, I am to worry because I’m grown and hardly could hear with left ears. I felt as if some insects crept into ear while I slept. A friend once told me roaches and spiders could be that crazy. Whatever caused pain all I wanted to do was see a doctor. I learnt that Ear specialists are at General Hospitals, so I decided to visit General Hospital on Broad Street.
I arrived early at this hospital but couldn’t see a doctor until after four hours of going through some tiresome routine. Finally, I got an appointment with a specialist and left.
Back on Broad Street, sea fresh air embraced me, washing away foul smell of hospital from around me. The breeze was so welcoming that I decided to take a short walk down street.
It’s been almost a decade I last stepped foot on Broad Street. The last time was my graduation from high school. My absence from here was not because my experiences in high school were some kind of bored moments. No, I had best days of my present life in my high school.
I attended Methodist Boys’ High School popularly known as gentlemen of Broad Street. They call boys gentlemen because school was situated on that street that is not too different from Wall Street, a business district. I had wonderful moments, which some people will hesitate to throw into a waste Bin. I threw it away anyway.
But this morning, out there on that same street that I walked for six years, I revisited my past. I floated on street like I’m dressed in white shirt, white jacket, school multi colored tie and a pair well pressed trousers sitting on brown shoes. I chose to wear my uniform that makes me one of gentlemen of Broad Street again.
Though I knew school had moved to Victoria Island (another part of city) but old fence and gate remain on former site. I walked to gate, greeted security men and asked if I can take a look in. They did let me.
I passed through gate and all that faced me was dilapidation. Stones covered with giant grasses and shrubs, which painted a picture of a wasteland. I could not make out where my favorite classroom used to be or chemistry laboratory where I do choose to read instead of library. I could not make out a thing that could link me with past years spent. I shook my head pitying this desolation that once gave me my wonder years.
But afar off, I saw something that sparked up hope in me. It was school hall. It did survive massive destruction caused by some petroleum company who bought this estate. I stared at it for a long time thinking it a mirage. No, it was not. It was there still standing. Standing tall.