Playing Home
Just as we had climbed up and down the pass of Gwavachemai range, we tiptoed back to the dirt road that linked the village and our school. There were five boys and one boy in our home group, home because we walked together always, to and from school. On this day, were walking home later than usual, because it had been Garden Day. The oldest among us was nine, I was seven or eight, and the other two were around eight. And we were walking, the distance between us and the school we had left behind increasing; we walked or played, but half the time, sometimes all the time, walking home was some form of playing, but if we played for too long on the way home, we would be too late arriving, and we knew what would happen after we arrived. At some point in our playing home we would just speed up and concentrate on walking and less playing to arrive home before anyone noticed we were late. But this one day I am about to tell you about, this one day that comes crushing down like a big rock fr...