"What if the first classroom we ever entered was not a school, but a community?"
Before I learned to write my name, my village was already teaching me.
Not through textbooks.
Not through examinations.
Not through certificates framed on walls.
My first teachers were two elderly women.
One was my grandmother. The other was an elderly woman who lived within our family compound in Afon, a rural community in Kwara State, Nigeria.
As evening settled over the village, we would gather around them. The air softened, conversations slowed, and stories began. There were no desks or blackboards, yet those moments became some of the richest classrooms I have ever known.
The elderly woman delighted in riddles.
"Àló ò..."
"Àló!" we replied eagerly.
Each riddle invited us to think beyond the obvious. Some drew from animals, others from trees, rivers, seasons, or human character. We laughed when we guessed wrongly and celebrated when someone uncovered the answer. Looking back, I realise those evenings were quietly shaping our imagination and sharpening our critical thinking.
We were learning that wisdom often arrives disguised as curiosity.
My grandmother taught differently.
She rarely sat us down to explain values. She simply lived them.
Although she never had the privilege of owning a mobile phone, she somehow kept our family connected. She remembered relatives living in distant towns, asked after their well-being, and made it a habit to visit them whenever she could.
As a child, I thought she was simply being kind.
Now I understand she was teaching us something deeper.
She was teaching us that relationships require tending, just as farms require rain and rivers require care.
She embodied the Yoruba saying, "Eniyan l'aso mi." People are my covering.
Long before I understood the word community, she had already shown me what it looked like.
Years later, I began to notice that the entire village was teaching in much the same way.
Afon is the administrative headquarters of Asa Local Government in Kwara State. Many know it because of the Afon Fishing Festival, a tradition that has been celebrated for generations. Others know it for the Asa River, which winds quietly through the community.
But the river is much more than a tourist attraction.
It is memory.
It is livelihood.
It is teacher.
