By the Idler-in-Chief
It is that time of the year again, when Nyagenke vibrates to the thrum of pomp, pageantry, and impenetrable parental pride: graduation season.
Across the town, from Nyagenke International School to the renowned Nyagenke Group of DEB Schools, there is a collective preoccupation with ceremony.
The smell of splendor and the subtle implication that a child’s self-worth is directly proportional to the size of the cake at their preschool graduation is wafting in the air.
This has taken me back to my own modest beginnings in the DEB compound, where pre-school, primary, and secondary were all crowded into one sunburnt plot of land.
Our graduation day was a study in efficiency as it only entailed you standing up, putting your right hand over your head and touching the left ear.
If you could accomplish this feat without toppling over, it automatically meant that you were mature enough to move on.
I am from the Stone Age so don’t wonder why I did now wear a gown or get photographs that would later bear evidence that I was once in such a school.
In those days, there was no Whatsapp and certainly no cake that could feed a small army.
Failing to touch your ear meant that you better try your luck next year, little one, and perhaps consider practicing hand-stretching exercises across your head.
Today, Nyagenke International Academy is determined to beat our premier Nyagenke University of Nothing in graduations as our kids leave pre-school behind.
Today, parents and guardians arrive in outfits carefully coordinated to match the giant cake because nothing says “early childhood achievement” quite like a sponge the size of a small car.
The children are draped in robes that require adult assistance to navigate, and somehow the mortarboard is a choking hazard.
Photographers hover, snapping pictures from angles that make one wonder whether the child is graduating or rioting.
And of course, there is always the “academic procession,” a twenty-second parade of innocence and terror, often accompanied by a soundtrack whose lyrics I can’t pick.
In my day, the excitement was simply surviving the right-hand-over-head test without tripping over a fellow graduate.
Those were the moments that mattered.
The DEB schools taught resilience, focus, and, most crucially, balance because nothing tests coordination quite like a left ear and a right hand in mid-air.
Yet, there is a beauty in the contemporary chaos I cannot entirely dismiss.
Watching a three-year-old clutch a certificate as if it were a small nation’s constitution has certain tenderness.
The pride in the parents’ eyes is genuine, even if slightly performative.
There is laughter, applause, and the kind of optimism that makes one momentarily forget that life after preschool is slightly less dazzling.
And while I cannot deny a twinge of envy at the opulence, I also find comfort in knowing that my own humble “graduation” left me with the skills that really mattered: dexterity, humility, and an unparalleled ability to avoid unnecessary drama.
So, as Nyagenke erupts into confetti mortar, oversized cupcakes, and marches of miniature humans in robes that rival those of the University of Nyagenke (UoN), I raise a quiet toast to the past.
To the DEB schools, where simplicity ruled, and learning to touch your own ear was a rite of passage that demanded nothing more than patience, balance, and a hint of courage, the train left the station a long time ago.
And to the present, where optics reigns supreme, may the children survive the gowns, the cakes, and the cameras.
May their futures, like their tiny hands reaching for distant ears, stretch a little further than even their parents can imagine.
The world changes, my friends, but in Nyagenke, some things remain eternal: the joy of learning, the pride of a parent, and the occasional absurdity that makes life worth chronicling, and this happens to be my business!