As I scrolled through the faded photograph, the faces of my former classmates stared back at me - a relic from a time long passed. There was Ms. Sola, our teacher, standing resolute in the center, her stern gaze commanding our rapt attention. And there were the familiar names, each one a thread in the tapestry of my youth: Sharon, Delani, Kola, Hazumo, Gafar, Ibrahim the drummer boy, Moji, Sijibomi, Damilola, Esther, Moses, Bimbo, and of course, my own humble self. Time, that elusive and relentless force, had swept us all along on its inexorable march. The carefree days of Evaton Nursery and Primary School, where knowledge, values, and good morals were imparted, now felt like a lifetime ago. How quickly the years had slipped through our fingers, leaving us changed, molded by the experiences that followed. As I gazed at the photograph, I couldn't help but reflect on the fleeting nature of time. The innocent faces in the image, frozen in a moment of captured history, now ...
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