GROWING UP IN LOBATSE (dangerous games)

In scars I found stories, in veins that ran blood, some lost through open wounds and scratched flesh. There is no limb in my body which does not have a scar, each with a story, each narrated differently from the other, each kept from fading so as to serve as a reminder of what had happened before. There is one on my right knee just above the joint, got it from a fall. We used to run up and down the veranda, jumping off at the end and running around the house. Have a heart shaped scar on my left arm, from my baby sisters accidental mishap. She had thought she’d carry a bowl of hot porridge up to me but that did not happen, instead I turned around and she tripped and fell on me with the bowl and I was burnt. 

Some of us had bicycles and we lent each other to ride. We figured riding on flat ground was not much fun as going uphill and rolling down. That will not require any energy, just for one to fill air through our hairs and faces with eyes closed to look away from the wind. We would not wear any precaution material so as to add adventure to the whole experience. As a result, we’d fall off the bikes or go over a pothole, have a puncture and well, it ended up with a wound and I for one have one on my left thigh. Some had roller skates, we were not aware of the dangers we put our lives in when we skated along the bridge, pulling stunts. Luckily none of us suffered any fate from the roller skates.


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