I had many fondest memories of childhood. One of my fondest is christmas time.
One we close 1st term and we are over the results of everyone at home, we start sorting out our clothes for travelling to our village. We choose a day to go for shopping where i have to beg my dad that i was old enough to go to lagos island market - he always told me your elder brothers will choose for you besides they'll pass down their outgrown clothes to you. I will get sad and beg and beg and finally i'll follow them to the market.
We all travel by road around 22 - 24 December and constantly ask our parents where are we now, they'll say ijebu ode, then osun, ondo, once we hear Ore we know we'll soon get to benin where we stop to eat lunch. We listen to all those igbo jamz on the way and compel them to buy us plantain chips and all what not on the road.
At villa we reconnect with our cousins who live there, and some who also stay in Lagos. I loved to follow them to the stream to catch tadpoles which i called fish. Followed to our farm to harvest yam seedlings (even if i only carried two or three while we walked home) we then roast it ourselves at the backyard kitchen (which is where all the gist happens)
We attend village church where we abscond after sermon cos their offering plenty especially when they start to call lagos branch and family names. Afterall that's where they make most of the money to sustain them all year long.
After the usually 2 weeks of careless fun without mumsy telling you to stay in the house like Lagos, I return to the city of excellence where I begin my hustle of classwork, homework and corrections.