Master Odinaka kept suppressing the impulse which had begun to transform into an overwhelming force with every passing second, and coercing him to go berserk. Even as he tutors the I-want-to-know-more SS2 class – as they are widely known in the school for their penchant for learning and throwing questions at teachers after they were done teaching. Of course, no teacher dares enter the class without adequate preparation.
He is almost through with teaching and is now being hurled with questions like stones by the students. At this point, the impulse seems to burst out naked. Yes! Naked it does burst out. Master Odinaka since 2017 when he secured teaching appointment in Rockview Secondary School, has not been seen falling out with any student at the course of asking questions by the student. But right now, he is not just annoyed but extremely pissed off at Sopuru, the student questioning him.
“Two adverbs can co-occur together and qualify a verb in a sentence,” Mr. Odinaka said coarsely.
“But sir… I thought it’s only Adjective and Adverb… “
“Shut up! Take what I said and be still. I won’t strangle myself here over the peanut they give me in the name of salary,” Mr. Odinaka blurted unequivocally. Sopuru is flabbergasted, as well as the other students. This is strange and unlike Mr. Odinaka: one teacher who is darling to more than half and quarter of the students. The atmosphere seems to take cognisance of the odd situation and becomes still, the gentle breeze seeping in through the partly opened glass windows recoils and halts. Sopuru’s eyes jam with those of Mr Odinaka with sobriety and then glance through the class — who are as well watching him and Mr. Odinaka — in one swoop. Mr. Odinaka is taken aback at his outburst and blinks his eyes to be sure he isn’t dreaming. Heavy silence akin to that of a serene mortuary has pervaded the class. Every eye beam on him including that of Sopuru who has taken his seat in the deadbeat of silence. Bereft of what next to do, he dashes out of the class and heads towards the staff room.
In the staff room, he gulps some water from the Eva Can Water he has been using for close to two weeks now, and wipes his mouth with his hankie. He stares around and to nothing in particular, his head is so beclouded to decipher the conversations among the few staff who are not in their classes for whatever reasons. What a mess of him! He ponders and sulks. It’s been over four months now he has been writing the school director to increase his salary of 30 thousand naira to 45 or at least 40 thousand naira to meet up with the prices of commodities in the market — which have skyrocketed and keep skyrocketing on each passing day — but the director keeps turning him over with cock and bull stories: he agrees to reshuffle his salary but at the end of each month he will pay him the usual 30 thousand naira and promise to start paying him the new agreed amount in the coming month only to repeat the old method of payment with the attendant empty-promise. He is in his early thirties and still lives with his family — his parents and younger siblings. His two younger brothers Chinonso and Tobechukwu are both working in pomade producing company and are receiving better pay than him. That his younger brothers who are just O-level holders are receiving better pay and are contributing more to the family welfare than he is a slap on his face. A graduate! He feels something damp run across his chin, drop on his shirt and disappear, leaving a spot of wetness. Lo! It’s a drop of tears. Quickly, he bends on his desk and whimpers softly, being wary of other teachers who are laughing over their jokes and conversations.
It’s 3:30 pm, and by 4:O’clock the school bell will jingle as usual announcing to all and sundry of the school dismissal. Mr. Odinaka’s anxiety waxes stronger with each passing second; he wonders if the SS2 students have not reported his absence from their class to the school director — even after Ugochi, the class prefect reminded him of having them in the morning. Of course, his absence is not unconnected with what transpired yesterday. He taught in other classes he had today, but avoided SS2 class. He is yet to get rid of the cloud of shame that descended on him that moment he trotted out of the class — in confusion — like a man with a little touch of madness. He was rummaging for words with which to justify his missing SS2 class today to the director when Ugochi strode in. “Master please we want to see you,” she said more like a whisper. Mr Odinaka becomes apprehensive, ‘Master please we want to see you’ re-echo in his brain and jolts his heart.
Master Odinaka’s pulse beat faster when he discovers almost the entire SS2 students were the ‘we’ that wanted to see him.
“Master we’re sorry for what happened yesterday. We understand the stress you’re having. You’re one of the best teachers if not the best teacher… “
“He’s the best teacher,” Eberechi, a dark skinny girl chipped in.
The rest of the students affirm, “Yes! He is our best teacher”
Ugochi continued. “You have been teaching us well with love and care. Never have we seen or heard you fall out with any student in this school for asking you questions. What happened yesterday is just an indication of what you are passing through, and we can’t stay by and watch you suffer without stretching out a helping hand in our own little way.”
“Yes,” others affirm.
“Please take this little token from us and supplement your salary,” Ugochi slips an envelope into Master Odinaka palm. Master Odinaka reluctantly grasp the envelop and feels its fatness. Certainly, it contains wads of naira notes. He opens his mouth but no word comes out; he is flabbergasted. Before he could gather himself to express his immense gratitude, the students have almost half gone from him, heading towards their class.
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Nkegbe Chukwuemeka Joshua is a young writer and has had some of his literary works published in International and local magazines such as Writers Space Africa, Hiwaga Literary Magazine, Oneblackboylikethatreview, among others. He can be found on Twitter (X) and on Facebook.
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Read – Be the Mother of my Children – A Short Story by Abdulsamad Jimoh – Nigeria
