Escaping Before the Bell

Escaping before the Bell at Zangon Gabas primary school, the end of the school day was not always marked by the sound of the closing bell.

For some pupils, it was defined by the thrill of sneaking out before lessons officially ended. 

Those moments of rebellion were not born out of dislike for learning, but out of a child’s endless curiosity for freedom, adventure, and play.

Childhood, like a restless bird, was always fluttering against the bars of the classroom window, eager to take flight.

The image of a boy climbing over the school wall, bag slung carelessly across his shoulder, remains etched in my memory. It was more than a single act; it was a symbol of childhood daring. 

The brick fence, riddled with tiny holes and cracks, was never seen as a flaw in construction. To us, those gaps were perfectly placed steps, carved by fate, designed solely for our restless feet. 

Escaping Before the Bell

Each hole was an invitation, each climb a victory over time. Like ants finding cracks in a kitchen wall, we always discovered a path to freedom.

“A child’s heart knows no clock; its hour is always freedom.”

Leaving before closing time was rarely about rejecting education. We valued our teachers, our books, and even the discipline that came with school life. But the clock inside a child’s heart often ticked faster than the one mounted on the headmaster’s office wall. 

The urge to be outside, to feel the sun on our backs, to chase after a plastic ball on the dusty field or to join friends already gathered near the kiosk across the road, was simply too strong to resist. 

For some, the escape was a way of dodging a dreaded subject, perhaps the long-winded arithmetic class in the afternoon heat. For others, it was a private contest against authority, a little game of “catch me if you can” played with invisible opponents.

What began as a mischievous act soon became something of a tradition. Among certain pupils, sneaking out was not just about leaving school; it was about proving bravery. 

Who could slip out unnoticed? Who could climb the wall faster? Who had the courage to risk punishment for the sweet taste of stolen freedom? It was, in its own way, a competition that tested not only agility but also wit and timing. 

A pupil had to know when the teacher’s back was turned, when the prefect was distracted, and when the corridor was momentarily empty. Childhood, after all, is a stage where even silence has its drama.

“It takes a village to raise a child, but it also takes a wall for him to climb.”

The schoolyard itself became a theatre for these performances. I remember how the younger pupils watched in admiration as the older ones plotted their escape. 

Escaping Before the Bell

To them, it was like watching heroes in action, ordinary classmates transformed into adventurers. A boy would disappear through the fence, and minutes later, laughter could be heard outside the gates.

Sometimes a group of escapees would run to the football pitch nearby, dust rising as they kicked around a makeshift ball made of tied rags. 

Other times, they would simply stroll to the nearby market stalls, buying groundnuts or sweets with the coins hidden in their socks

. The world outside the classroom felt like a banquet, and even the smallest taste was a feast. Of course, every act of daring carried its risks. 

The teachers were not blind to our tricks, and the headmaster especially took great pride in catching offenders. Rumours spread quickly about pupils who were flogged, made to kneel in the sun, or paraded before the assembly for their mischief. Yet punishment did little to stop the cycle. 

If anything, it added more drama to the act, making the escape even more thrilling. To succeed where others failed, to slip past the watchful eyes of authority, was a badge of honour among us.

“The cane could sting the skin, but it could not chain the spirit.”

Looking back now, I realise how much those small escapes shaped our sense of adventure. Childhood is never just about classrooms and textbooks; it is also about the lessons learned outside, in moments unplanned and unsupervised. 

Escaping Before the Bell

For us, climbing that wall was not simply disobedience; it was an expression of youthful spirit. It taught us the value of risk, the excitement of freedom, and even the consequences of our actions. Like a proverb says, “The child who is not allowed to dance in the compound will dance in the bush.” We found our bush on the other side of that fence.

Today, whenever I pass by Zangon Gabas Primary School, I cannot help but pause and smile. The fence has since been repaired, taller and smoother, denying today’s pupils the same chances we had. 

The holes that once served as our ladder have been patched, and security is tighter. Children now leave only when the bell rings, their exit orderly, their steps watched over. Yet I wonder if the spirit of mischief has truly disappeared, or if it has only found new ways of expressing itself.

Every generation of pupils finds its own path to rebellion. For us, it was the wall. For those who came after, it might have been hiding sweets in class, passing notes under the desk, or sneaking a small radio into school. 

The forms change, but the restless energy of childhood remains the same. Perhaps that is why these memories stay alive. They remind us not only of who we were but also of the shared human desire to test limits.

“Childhood is a river that never dries; we may leave its banks, but the water still flows within us.”

When I close my eyes, I can still picture the dusty afternoon sun, the chatter of pupils waiting for closing time, and that one boy hoisting himself over the fence with effortless speed. 

Escaping Before the Bell

I can hear the burst of laughter from those already outside, calling him to hurry. I can feel the rush of excitement, the pounding heart, the triumph of reaching the other side unscathed. 

These are not just memories of mischief; they are fragments of a time when life was simple, free, and filled with endless possibility.

In truth, escaping before the bell was never about running away from school. It was about running towards childhood itself, towards joy, friendship, and the fleeting taste of freedom.

Though we have all grown, traded our schoolbags for responsibilities, and our games for work, a part of us still longs for that daring climb, that sweet escape, that moment of freedom before the bell.

By Muhammad Isah Zng