Memories of Choueifat I

Now I hope I've spelt the school name correctly. I studied at the International School of Choueifat, which I am led to believe is some little village in Lebanon, from the age of 4 till the age of 9. I have many memories from my time there, and I am sure if any of you reading were students at the school, you will reminisce with me.
The school was chosen by my parents because in 1984, there was precious little choice in english-medium schools, close to where we lived. We lived in Ajman at the time, a great villa by the beach. I'm sure I've written about it somewhere. Every morning, around 7:30, we would set off and reach the school around 10 minutes later. What bliss, there was NO traffic in those days, just like there were no inhabitants in those days.
My dad remembers those days fondly. The car was a right hand drive white diesel-engined Mercedes 200D. We had two of them and they were both bought in England, when my parents left to return home in 1981, never quite making it all the way and getting stuck in the UAE.
The school was this vast behemoth of sandy brown coloured buildings, spread over a sprawling campus. I must admit, at the time it looked like there was too much space, but it turned out to be just right, considering the growth in student numbers that subsequently took place.
I was in kindergarten, and I remember there were quite a few bilingual students in school at the time. They were from christian Lebanese families, fleeing the civil war back home, and they are half the reason why I am fluent at French today. The other reason being, Choueifat taught us the language of love from such an early age, that the grammar and vocabulary became second nature. I will find such a school, when I have my own children.
One fine day early in the first term, the teacher came running in quite excited - I still recall her face glowing in maniacal delight - virtually dragging a boy behind her. She presented him before me like a head-hunt trophy, proudly exclaiming 'Siddarth, meet Siddarth.' and turning to me, 'I have brought him so you can be friends.' Both of us were just 4 years old, and being friends because of a shared first name seemed like a terrific idea. What a duo, me with my dirty blonde hair and my good friend with the purest black hair you could imagine.
Even now 23 years later, him and I are very good friends and every time I return to visit my parents, in Fujairah, I always pop round his place to catch up.

Happy 27th birthday mate.