What’s the name of that cream?

2007,we were girls in our primary school where the surrounding smelt of wet earth in the rainy season and dry soil in the dry season,In our ever clean and not too clean, blue and white checked gown and beret,On the assembly ground,where the green,white,green flag waving on the long,white pole,With the loud,piercing voice of  a  teacher instructing with the

“line up according to your heights!”

  We’ll march gracefully,till we got to the final class,where we merely walk carelessly with the bass of the drum thumping in our hearts.
  9years later,Zainab in class B,the girl teachers call Ebony,stood in front of me now looking like Fanta+Coke




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