“Growing up, I discovered resilience and courage within the tales of martyrs. Foxe's Book of Martyrs held a special place in my young world, recounting stories of valour amidst perilous trials. I'd immerse myself in those narratives, weaving my own thoughts into their tales, contemplating how I might act in their stead. However, destiny interwove a peculiar chapter into my life—a memory that, despite its weight, lingers, evoking laughter while imparting lessons etched in the marrow of experience.

During my time in Junior Secondary at a public school, our Christian Religious Studies teacher was adamant about selling her workbooks. Initially, she gave gentle warnings, but as few purchased the books, her demeanour hardened. Class evictions became routine, followed by the demanding task of taming fields overrun by wild grass. Yet, none of us budged. The workbook brimmed with blank pages, revealing Mama's attempt at deception.

One day, after the Muslim students had left, I noticed her distress as only a handful had purchased her book. Sensing trouble, I rose alongside the Muslim students, exiting the classroom in anticipation of brewing conflict.

Seeking refuge under a nearby tree, we witnessed the arrival of Mr. Capone and OJ, respected disciplinarians among the teachers. Shortly thereafter, a procession of students lacking the coveted workbooks emerged, destined for punishment—a solemn symphony of lashes upon prostrate bodies, executed by her zealous directives to the male teachers, flogging the students.

Amidst this unfolding drama, a fellow Muslim student spotted me among the group and exclaimed, 'Monk, you're Christian, why are you here? Did you run? I was like ‘shey, this one dey mad ni?’. Fear gripped me as the punitive lashes reverberated nearby. Swiftly, I spun a tale, citing my father's conversion to Islam and his instruction to change my subject to IRS. They embraced my story, celebrating my presumed transformation, echoing echoes of cherished narratives.

The subsequent day, I acquired the coveted workbook and resumed attending class. However, that day remains etched in memory. It still brings laughter, despite my awareness that I shouldn't have lied. It's a story that will endure in my recollections for a long, long time."

@Pious_Monk

PiousMonk:
“Growing up, I discovered resilience and courage within the tales of martyrs. Foxe's Book of Martyrs held a special place in my young world, recounting stories of valour amidst perilous trials. I'd immerse myself in those narratives, weaving my own thoughts into their tales, contemplating how I might act in their stead. However, destiny interwove a peculiar chapter into my life—a memory that, despite its weight, lingers, evoking laughter while imparting lessons etched in the marrow of experience.

During my time in Junior Secondary at a public school, our Christian Religious Studies teacher was adamant about selling her workbooks. Initially, she gave gentle warnings, but as few purchased the books, her demeanour hardened. Class evictions became routine, followed by the demanding task of taming fields overrun by wild grass. Yet, none of us budged. The workbook brimmed with blank pages, revealing Mama's attempt at deception.

One day, after the Muslim students had left, I noticed her distress as only a handful had purchased her book. Sensing trouble, I rose alongside the Muslim students, exiting the classroom in anticipation of brewing conflict.

Seeking refuge under a nearby tree, we witnessed the arrival of Mr. Capone and OJ, respected disciplinarians among the teachers. Shortly thereafter, a procession of students lacking the coveted workbooks emerged, destined for punishment—a solemn symphony of lashes upon prostrate bodies, executed by her zealous directives to the male teachers, flogging the students.

Amidst this unfolding drama, a fellow Muslim student spotted me among the group and exclaimed, 'Monk, you're Christian, why are you here? Did you run? I was like ‘shey, this one dey mad ni?’. Fear gripped me as the punitive lashes reverberated nearby. Swiftly, I spun a tale, citing my father's conversion to Islam and his instruction to change my subject to IRS. They embraced my story, celebrating my presumed transformation, echoing echoes of cherished narratives.

The subsequent day, I acquired the coveted workbook and resumed attending class. However, that day remains etched in memory. It still brings laughter, despite my awareness that I shouldn't have lied. It's a story that will endure in my recollections for a long, long time."

@Pious_Monk

Lol. Peter the second