A Reflection: Life, education, and art

Discovering Myself

Tense moment

At the time, I didn’t take her words seriously as she pointed toward me. I was lost in thought, focused on shaping my clay pot to match the vision in my mind. Imagination has always been the cornerstone of my artwork over the years. She was part of a group of student teachers from the nearby Teachers College, participating in a program designed to introduce them to practical teaching.

My clay pot must have stood out to earn that recognition. On that particular day in 1994, we were all buzzing with excitement—not just because we were playing with clay (all kids love mud, after all)—but because these practicing teachers, whom we called TPs, were young, cheerful, and eager to make their temporary pupils happy.

St. Mary’s Boys was a beautiful school with well-kept classrooms. I believe it still is, though I’ve always wondered why they called it “Boys” when my top academic rival in my stream was a girl named Lydia. In truth, it wasn’t a boys’ school—there were just as many girls as boys.

I didn’t particularly care that we were a mixed group of boys and girls. What I did mind, however, was how the girls could often outshine me in simple physical activities, especially during class games. While I loved spending time outside like the other kids, I generally dreaded PE lessons. They felt long and tedious. I much preferred being in class, drawing or writing. In fact, just the day before this memorable art class, I’d had a terrible experience during a PE lesson.

It was a competition between the boys and girls in my class. The lesson began with an exciting football match between the Class 2 girls and boys. We—the boys—won, which wasn’t a big deal to me. I would’ve been fine even if the girls had beaten us. I’m not sure how the other boys would have felt about losing, but with my small stature, I felt safe in the randomness of the game and the teamwork it required.

The last part of that lesson, however, became a nightmare that lingered for years. I was tiny—nearly the smallest in the class. Now, we were being paired for a race: a girl against a boy. The most eager ones, mainly the tall and energetic kids, were excited to kick off the races. I knew I could only beat one or two girls when my turn came. As the self-motivated runners dwindled, the PE teacher had to change his strategy. He started pointing at specific individuals to race. I thought I could slip unnoticed by tiptoeing to the back. But I was unlucky—he spotted me. Mimicking my quiet attempt to sneak away, the huge man murmured something under his breath. His stern face and the seriousness of his gestures, paired with his large hands, made it clear I was in trouble. Still, I pretended he was pointing at someone else.

“Yes, yes, you.”“

You’re next!” he said.

I slowly stepped around the group, thinking to myself, “What now?”

“Who wants to challenge this little man?” he shouted.

Almost all the remaining girls raised their hands. Remember, I was only supposed to race against a girl. I nearly fainted—I was the easiest to beat! This teacher seemed ready to scare me half to death. He pointed at the tallest girl in the group.

“Hey, let’s see,” he said.

I wasn’t about to let myself be beaten by a girl, tall or short. Without overthinking, I said firmly, “No.” The teacher’s expression turned furious. The other kids cheered, unaware that as his anger boiled, I was trembling with fear. I can still picture how terrifying he looked as he bent down, holding his knees to support his large frame, glaring into my small face as if searching for something. I stared straight up into his eyes the entire time. Suddenly, the bell rang, and we all raced back to class.

The day felt longer than usual but my thoughts drifted to a one-shilling coin in my pocket -just enough for an ice cream... keep reading