I enjoy the rest of the lesson, and so does everyone.
Or so I thought.
During her next class, she says, “We won’t be talking about rape today, or any other day. I’ve been instructed to return to the curriculum. Apparently one of you made a report that I was teaching something I wasn’t instructed to teach and using it as a medium to spoil my students and teach them bad words. I’m sorry to those of you that felt that way about…”
The uproar drowns her last words. I can’t believe someone would do such a thing. I look around and everyone is pissed, even Max. I on the other hand vent within me. At least they didn’t fire her. But they might give a bad report on her stay here. Max had said that schools make reports on the student teachers they receive and that the report is used to grade the students back at school. I’m pissed at whoever reported her.
I don’t say anything though, and neither does Becca. I could’ve sworn I saw her smile.
Naomi is finally able to keep everyone quiet. “Even though I’m not able to teach about it, I can still advice you about it. And my advice is; don’t do it. It’s wrong and it changes the life of the victim forever, negatively.”
On that she goes to her new topic; Cultism.
After the class is break-time. Becca rushes outside with her friends and I follow after her.
I call, “Hey, Becca. Can we talk?”
She leaves her friends and walks towards me. I take her to the end of the block.
“Why did you do it?”
“What are you accusing me of?”
“Reporting Miss. Naomi,” I answer.
She smiles. “She was been uncivil. I know, Ironic right, a teacher on civility being uncivil? Did you not hear the words she was using? I thought she’d be sacked sef.”
She didn’t even deny it. “You were just pissed because she humiliated you.”
“Why are you defending her?”
“I’m not defending her. You’re being a bitch.”
I’ve never seen Becca get hurt after someone called her a bitch. But she is hurt now. “You’re insulting me because of some teacher? Speak of the devil.”
I turn around. Naomi’s within earshot. Before I turn back, Becca is leaving.
Naomi says, “I was asked to bring you with me to the principal’s office after my class.”
“But it’s break-time.”
“So?”
The principal only called students to his office during break-time to punish them. But I haven’t done anything wrong, have I?
“Do you know what it’s about?”
She shakes her head. I follow her.
I hear the principal suspend a junior student as we enter the office. The girl doesn’t seem perturbed by it as she leaves. She even gives me a teasing smile.
“Ah, welcome Miss. Osahon.”
“Sir, you asked to see us.”
Us?
“I did. The school needs your help regarding the education of this boy. We would like you to take him on extra classes.”
“Sir, I don’t understand.”
“After school closes in the evening you will take him on an extra hour of teaching. You will deal with all the subjects he offers until you leave.”
“I’m sorry sir, I can’t do it.”
“And why not?”
“It puts a dent in my personal life.”
“You’ll be paid.”
“I don’t care.”
“Don’t I get a say in this?” I ask.
“Your parents proposed I find you an extra lessons teacher,” the principal answered. “Your father will come pick you up after.”
In other words, I don’t get a say.
“I won’t do it, sir.”
She starts to leave.
“Girl, come back here.” The principal’s voice is authoritative, like he’s talking to a student.
“Just find me another teacher,” I offer.
He ignores me. “You will do this if you want my report about you to be good. Or would you like to go on I.T again next year?”
Naomi’s countenance changes, only slightly. But even I can see that she’s beaten.
“You’ll start today.”
Wow. They’ve really had everything in my life planned for me, again. That also explains the extra lunch money mom gave me. Why didn’t she just tell me?
“You can go,” the principal says to me.
“Where are we to meet?”
“My office,” Naomi answers. “Four times a week. Today aside we’ll be going only on Mondays, Wednesdays, Fridays and Saturdays, no more. I can’t do every day. And no amount of threat will change that.”
She’s bold, and persistent. I like that. The principal agrees and I leave.
After my classes for the day, I wait for everyone to leave–which doesn’t take long– and then I go straight to her office. The door is locked. I wait for fifteen minutes before she comes. She doesn’t apologize for being late.
She opens the door and then the window. She sits and sighs and closes her eyes. She’s tired, but she looks more sleepy than tired.
I take a seat when I see that she won’t ask me to. She opens her eyes after I do.
“Where do I start?”
I consider it. “You can continue from yesterday’s class since you aren’t prepared.”
“It was a rhetorical question. You know what that means, right?” I’m tempted to answer. She doesn’t wait. “We’re starting with math. Get your books out.”
She’s angry about this arrangement and she’s taking it out on me. This is the first time we’re in such close proximities that I don’t feel strange inside me. Still I can’t stop myself from staring.
She’s young, I see that very clearly now. Older than me, but young. She’s also lighter skinned than me. There’s a small scar above her right eyebrow. Her lips are small, yet full. Her eyes are dark-brown, and she has dimples. She’s not smiling, but they’re there. These things I haven’t really noticed before.
She catches me. “No. we’re not doing this.”
“What?” I think she means the lectures.
She answers, “Whatever fantasy is going on in that head of yours. Kill it. Focus on studies.”
“Oh. Okay. But shouldn’t we get to know each other first?”
“No.”
“Why not? If we’re going to be spending time together, we might as well know each other better.”
“Do you know my name? Yes. You don’t need to know anything else. You need to focus on what we’re here to do, or else your parents are just wasting their money. Do we have an understanding?” I nod. “Good. Now, I’m here to prepare you for WAEC. This school is not like other schools were the teachers write exams for students in exchange for money. So you have to study your ass off.”
“That’s my problem. I’m not smart. I read, but I can’t seem to pass. Even when I do, I don’t pass well. I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“Nobody is born dumb. You just have to study smarter. Don’t just study hard, figure out what works for you and do that.”
After that she begins to teach and I scribble on my book. Thirty minutes into the lecture I make another observation about her; she’s a freaking genius. She solves the math like it’s nothing. And she’s a good teacher too. I understand most of what she’s taught.
“Do you understand that?” I nod. “That’s good. But you can’t leave here and expect never to forget it. You have to solve a few questions from time to time. And make sure the next one’s harder than the last.”
“I have other subjects too.”
“That’s why I said ‘from time to time’”
“How is this so easy for you? It must have been years since you last did this.”
“Two years.”
“How’s that? I thought you were in your final year.”
“My third year. Also I’m studying Mathematics Education, so I do math from time to time.”
“Is that different from the regular type of math?”
She chuckles and it’s beautiful. “No. It’s just math taught to those that want to specialize in the education field. You know, teach other people.”
“That’s why you’re so good at it.”
“I guess so.”
“If you don’t mind my asking, did you choose to do this or did your parents?”
“I did.”
“That’s good for you,” I say sadly.
“Let me guess, your parents want you to be a doctor, or a lawyer?” she asks smiling.
“Doctor. And the worst part is that if I’m given the chance to pick what I want to study, I wouldn’t know what to choose.”
“That’s life for you. You don’t always get what you want. But if you try hard enough, you’ll get what you need. And what you need now is to study.”
“Did you just make that up?”
“It’s a song.” We continue.
My father comes to pick me at twenty minutes past six, and that’s when we finally stop. She gives me a few assignments and talks with my father while I go to the car.
“How was it?” my father asks during the journey home.
“Fine. Why didn’t anybody tell me?”
“I didn’t think we had to. I want what’s best for you, you must understand that. Ensure we’re not wasting our money.” I don’t reply. He continues the conversation. “Your teacher seems nice.”
“She is. She’s not one of those bad students you warned me about.”
That’s good. Do you think your mother will be pissed we didn’t make it to church?”
Of course he’s acting like all of it never happened. How typical.
“I don’t know. We’ll soon find out.”
His phone rings. “Hello… Hi, how are you? That’s good to hear. Listen, can I call you back? I’m busy… yeah… Thanks.” He hangs up and gives me a smile.
“You always pick your calls when you’re driving, no matter how much mom’s complained.”
“Let’s just say I finally listened to her.” Seeing that I wouldn’t take that answer, he says, “I just don’t want to speak to the person, okay?”
You don’t want to speak to the person in front of me you mean. This just pisses me off all over again.
I don’t eat dinner on the dining table that evening. I eat it in my room. And I do so for all my meals from that moment on