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Have you ever been to a small boys' hostel? I don't mean when you were small boy but when you thought you were adult. My experience was exasperating.
On entering the dormitory you are surrounded by a seething mass of small bodies which stares up at you from two feet above the ground as if you were a revered demigod. The more forward boys speak to you. They ask you difficult questions, though never your name, like where you hail from (smalltalk), music (to test whether they'd have trouble with me) and girlfriends (everyone laughs uproariously). They don't actually care about your answer. Once you show them your beaming smile and have been accepted they leave you alone....well, most of them do.
Come study time a boy brings his ragged, rabbit eared exercise book. "Uncle," (I had suddenly become related?) "I did the first question but can't do the second." It's from passage comprehension. I ask him whether he has read the passage. He looks at me, dumbfounded. His looks convey that you don't do such things now and that I am extremely stupid to have even considered reading the passage.
I look at the question. "What is treasure?". I try to explain what buried treasure is. "Don't say that word," I am advised, "It is not good." I try hard to control my temper. I swallow hard. "OK, just pay attention, treasure is ..."
"Every morning I trust a man with my eyes.." he says to an ant weaving across the table!
True Story by
Rumey Jiffrey
76/1, Matale Road,
Akurana.
2000.
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Copyright © 1999 Rumey Jiffrey