Before the Commodore oy The Roots in Vakpo Clad in a cloth around my neck, my skinwell oiled, my hair shorn and a slate tucked under my arm, I would walk barefoot with my friends through the hot brown sand, sweat pouring down our faces. Our chatter filled the air as we cracked jokes and teased one another. We would quicken our steps, eager to arrive early at the Vakpo Adomi Catholic primary school, knowing the strokes of the cane that awaited us if we were late. At lunchtime, there was hardly any time to rest. We would walk all the way home from school, attend to our chores and then head straight to the farm to harvest cassava and collect firewood. Before leaving, we would quickly put some cocoyam on the fire to roast. The Birthday Journal 7
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