Bu Mus and Pak Har- fan made us fall in love with school, and more than that, they made us fall in love with knowledge. I felt unbelievably lucky to be there, amidst these amazing people. If that an- cient animal had decided to chase me earlier, the only thing people would have found would be my decrepit bicycle. That boy was Harun, a funny boy and a good friend of ours. It was one among hundreds—maybe even thousands—of poor schools in In- donesia that, if bumped by a frenzied goat preparing to mate, would collapse and fall to pieces. Bodenga was a free creature.
It is part of Su- matra, but because of its wealth, it has alienated itself. Verse by verse, the song crept over the old wooden walls of our school, perched on the tiny linaria leaves like thistle crescent butterflies, and then drifted away under the thin clouds to the north. Picture Puzzles In this series of printable worksheets, the student uses pairs of pictures to figure out compound words. The pulsing veins on his brow gave the impression that he often forced his agenda upon others. People say he sacrificed his leg in order to acquire more crocodile magic.
He deliberately fed his body to the ferocious crocodiles of the river.
Compound Words – EM2
My father vividly recalled the storm. They were the biggest benefactors of the buttrrfly of our island. Never before had one of her students protested something in such a direct manner.
We were per- plexed by his unusual behavior. One problem after another struck our school. Bu Mus was our mother hen. He resembled a pine tree struck by lightning: She sewed until late into the night, and that was her livelihood.
For us, school was amazing. Every piece of information was a fuse of butterfy that could blow him up at any moment.
He stared at us one by one. Every morning, the PN School students were picked up by a school bus which also was blue. One look from my father was enough to silence them. It takes a special chapter to tell their tales. He pedaled 80 kilometers roundtrip every day.
On the other hand, Sahara had a soft spot stpowatch Harun. A child that small His name was Kucai. Hour after hour, until evening, he kneaded coconut leftovers, causing his hands to develop an oily appearance that never went away. The song was none other than the famous Tennessee Waltz written by Anne Murray. Curiosity possessed him, and compelled him to constantly ask questions.
I remember something my father told me a few days before my first day of school. Off in the corner was a drowsy cow, and in the oppo- site corner, sitting just as calmly, was Lintang.
I felt unbelievably lucky to be there, amidst these amazing people. Our poor school was still poor, but it was increasingly fascinating. Or shoe- makers to mark the leather?
When Lintang was in first grade, he once asked his father for help with a homework question about simple multiplica- tion. In the column for chalkboard and furniture he was forced to add a new choice: He responded to Harun despondently: Waiting for one more student was like trying to catch the wind. Bodenga was a free creature. We, the natives of Belitong, were like a pack of starving rats in a barn full of rice.
Something isn’t quite right here …
Sandwiched between them, we were like the dimwits challenged by Columbus to make an egg stand up straight. Their house was long, and so is their story—which I promise to tell you later. Nowadays people call it Down Syndrome.