Six months is a real short time

My mornings before my travel to school for all the seven years ran on a blue print. It was always the same for I would be away at school for close to 6 months.

My father always woke me up at precisely 3.00 am on his watch, 2.50 on the wall clock; I still have no idea how he managed to rise with out an alarm and in all those years. My house would already be alive and most times I would be the one to wake up second last, my sister would still be asleep from her previous day's late hours of study. My father would have almost dressed up except for his shoes.

I would then walk in to the open space behind my house to see my mother and my brother's wife busy preparing food for the travel and snacks that I was supposed to eat in hiding at school for at least a month. My brothers, the three of them were rarely together, but whoever was there had my dress neatly pressed, my shoes shiny and my baggage packed.

My mother always made sure two whole buckets of warm water was in the bathroom with the costliest sachet of shampoo and soap available. A mug of warm water on my head ran a weird chill down my spine, something I have never been able to get over to date. By now one of my brothers packed the food and the snacks.

When I was all dressed up, my father would make sure my shirt had little wrinkles, this was when my mother slipped money in to my pockets with my father watching. My grand mother would sneak her precious savings in to my hands with no one noticing and my brothers always managed to give me money as I wore my shoes. My brother's wife would then empty her tailoring kit box of all she had in to my pockets.

My little sister would be awake by now as the clock ticked to 5.00 am. Hugs and kisses would then flow from all over and some more money would find my hands, from I don’t know where.

The whole family would then walk in the dark towards the end of the street, with my luggage on a bicycle one of my brothers rode and this was precisely when my mother made sure I was even richer and with out my father watching. My grand mother, mother, sister and my brother's wife stopped at the end of the street, not before all of us had shed at least a tear. I would tread on, holding my brother's hands.

When we reached the highway, my brothers would stop every bus before I had a seat and would wave me and my father good bye, these strong men they never cried. The bus went through post office my mother and father worked; I made sure I had a glimpse.

At 6.00am I would be an hour and a half early for the train, courtesy my dad. My uptight, strict dad talked a lot during this time mostly asking me to work harder, made sure I had the best biscuits, almost always got a surprise gift and kissed my hands through the window as the train moved out of the station.

With some other school mates from around my place on the train, the travel was enjoyable, a little relieved because I'd be on my own with the money. The end of the travel was the most exciting part, with wads of money I bought the silliest of things, like this one time I bought a cricket bat for around 500 bucks which lasted for precisely two days. When I was sure I had very little money left, I left to school.

After a few days, when my school and the seniors start to make sure my day is as bad as possible, lying on my bed in the dark and crunching on the potato chips I promised my family I would have in hiding, I would realize the day of my travel in my head and would start to tell myself …

Six months is a real short time…
Six months is a real short time…