On the roads, as I cycled to town,

I often came across Chinese characters, 

Spray painted boldly on the surface of the road.

Unable to read Mandarin, I could not tell what they were.

We were living in peace and from nowhere,

this unrest came upon us.

However, the communist movement had been brewing.

We were not aware of it.

The government was and took steps to end the threat.

One day, I arrived at school to find it in commotion.

“Two died here. Right here, shot dead. Some actually saw the dead bodies.”

I was glad I did not see the dead bodies.

Our school principal, Sister Cecily came early to the school and screamed.

On the walls of the school were those Chinese characters.

She called the police.

The two men tried to climb the fence and escape.

They were shot dead.

Another day, I arrived to find the school in mourning.

We sang, “Nobody’s child” and mourned our loss.

Overnight, we had become orphans.

Blood for blood, the Sisters received threats from the movement.

They left for England.

Sister Cecily who was the principal.

And, Sister Maria, our English and literature teacher.

One of the sisters of the local congregation took over.

Life went on.

It was not the same yet the same.

Our school still retained the best records in town.

We were still very proud of being Red Ants.

Our uniform was red.

Whenever there were funeral processions of wealthy patrons,

Classes alotted, would join the processions.

Walking long lines of red.

Looing like red ants swarming the town.