Okello Odong

Back in the 90s, when we were mere kids starting school, our village had two options: Awere Primary School, where most kids went, and Odek Primary School, where my siblings and I decided to go because our Dad taught there.

You see, in those days, nursery school wasn't a thing in a village setting. So, we started school early and tagged along with our Dad every morning like tiny minions on a mission, even though we were practically not old enough for primary school since we wouldn't pass the test of reaching your ears with the opposite hand.

We tagged along with him every morning, blending in as regular pupils until our little legs couldn't handle it anymore. I'll never forget my first day with him when I got tired and burst into tears, sobbing to the teacher, "I want my Dad!" Dramatic, I know.

Off I went, marching through, to the staffroom and every single classroom, tears flowing, and my nose running like a leaky faucet. Eventually, I found him teaching in P. 7 class, and there I was, a total mess, clinging to his trousers like my life depended on it. He got me cleaned up and composed before the class continued like a hilarious family comedy. We tangled through clutched on his trouser as the class continued.

The school breaks were especially epic; while other kids ran home to get lunch or buy from ladies selling close by, I would have a stroll with Dad for some soda and Riham Biscuits in the trading center.

Looking back now, those fuzzy moments were pure gold. It was like having a backstage pass to the world of education. Being the teacher's kid meant being the center of attention, getting all the love and, well, some unnecessary attention too—from both teachers and fellow students.

But hey, I wouldn't trade those fuzzy, fun moments for anything else!

📸 Photo Credit: Geoff Walker