When I was in Grade 7, I was looking forward to Grade 8.
Not just because it meant I had passed my exams.
Grade 8 pupils wore trousers and ties.
For some reason, this seemed like a very big deal to me.
Primary school was for children. Grade 8 was different. You wore trousers. You wore a tie. You went to secondary school.
I wanted that.
My Grade 7 itself had been a year of movement.
I started the year at Kalilwe Primary School in Mumbwa. I was only there for about a month before moving back to Lusaka. By Term 2, I was at Ellensmere, a boarding school in Mukonchi, Central Province.
It was at Ellensmere that I eventually wrote my Grade 7 exams.
When we were choosing schools for Grade 8, I selected St Pauls Secondary School. My late uncle Misheck had gone there before eventually going to UNZA, and I wanted to follow in his footsteps.
So in my mind, the plan was clear.
Pass Grade 7.
Go to St Pauls.
Wear trousers and a tie.
Life was moving forward.
After the exams, I went to Mumbwa for the holidays. That was where my cousin gave me the news.
I had passed.
I was excited.
Grade 8 was coming.
Except it didn’t quite happen according to plan.
Heavy rains had caused the bridge leading to St Pauls to collapse. With the school term moving on, we had to find another option.
That is how I ended up at Kabulonga Boys.
I remember my mother taking me there on my first day. Before I was admitted, the headmaster asked me all sorts of questions, including whether I smoked or drank. He even checked whether I had any piercings.
Eventually, I was in.
Grade 8 had arrived.
I started using public transport. I made new friends. I wore the uniform I had been looking forward to.
And before long, Grade 8 was just… Grade 8.
The trousers became just trousers.
The tie became just a tie.
There was already something else to look forward to.
Next, I wanted to pass Grade 9 and make it to DK.
Then I wanted to finish school.
Then university.
Then graduation.
Then work.
Each stage looked different from where I was standing.
And each time I arrived, it eventually became normal.
We reach it.
We enjoy it.
Then, somehow, it becomes ordinary life.
I find it funny that one of the earliest versions of this pattern in my life involved a pair of trousers.
The things got bigger after that.
A place at DK. A place at UNZA. A degree. A job. A promotion. A car.
But perhaps I wasn’t doing anything particularly new.
Apparently, I was already doing it in Grade 7.