Three days after, my back was still aching from my dad’s whiplashes; whose bright idea was koboko anyway? I probably wouldn’t have been flogged if my eyes weren’t bloodshot and my speech impeded at the same time. My dad only pointed at his almighty koboko (horsewhip) on the wall for Michael to crack; giving the most detailed confession of all time. I couldn’t blame him, though. Everybody in the neighborhood knew my dad was a no-nonsense disciplinarian. The thought that he was going to flog the three of us if we didn’t confess, was enough to make Michael talk. I knew I was doomed when my dad signaled to the door and asked my friends to go home. “Tell your parents what you did before I get to your houses”, my dad said and then locked the door after them.
