HER WET PILLOW

THE GREAT FEELING OF ACCOMPLISHMENT

CHAPTER 11
THE GREAT FEELING OF ACCOMPLISHMENT

Tutor Maimuna appeared in her long peach Abaya, white shayla (veil) and her white shoes. The black beauty had attractive grey eyes and pink lips making her one of the most beautiful in the school. Her high level of composure and eloquence in speech made her outstanding; we were lucky to have her as our form master. She elegantly came in on her heels. She stood and plastered a glare on every one of us as she scrutinized the fright looks on our faces. Eerie covered the atmosphere; the class was hushed by the fearful anticipation for our results.
“What is it with this terrible atmosphere? Aren’t you sure of what you’ve done?” she finally spilled out breaking the silence but no one responded.
I was sited quivering on my chair. Fear embowered me, my heart palpitated and the tension was too high for my heart to endure. That wasn’t the first time I was anticipating to see the results of the exams I wrote but I don’t know why I felt intense at that moment. Maybe it’s because I had put much effort reading, maybe it’s because I wanted a good start in secondary school, maybe it’s because I don’t want to fail my mother or maybe it’s because I don’t want to give myself the impression that whether I read or not, it would have been the same outcome. “Maybe I want to be the best in my class and my school, maybe I want to be qualified to attend competitions, maybe I want my picture to be added among the ambassadors in the school’s history and maybe I want to have a scholarship to study abroad after secondary school” I said to myself admitting the truth. “Hey! You are still in your first year, snap out of it. It’s too early” another thought flowed through my mind. “or maybe not. It’s a good start.” I finally concluded.
I really wanted to be more than an ordinary student and my result was going to tell. The final exam was coming soon and I needed to know how much more was expected from an ambitious pauper lass.  I needed to score above Eighty-five percent to be a grade A student. I was used to being a grade B while I was in primary school and things still turned out good but that wasn’t the same anymore. I had become more interested as I was enveloped in the hunger of knowledge and success, more ambitious than ever. I was deeply craving for a massive success.
Following the school marking scheme, the result about to be issued contains Sixty percent of the total score. Fifteen percent for the first test, Fifteen percent for the second test, Five percent for home works, Five percent for class works and Twenty percent for the projects. The remaining Forty percent goes for the examinations about to be commenced. I needed to know about my achievement but scared to find out I didn’t get enough.
I snapped out of my thoughts to face the reality that the teacher was standing in front of the class. I clasped and unclasped my hands, I was filled with terror. “What if?” I engaged again. “Amina, get out of these dangerous thoughts. Your hard work won’t be futile. The thoughts of failure are just mere speculations. Do away with it.” I was spunky once again.
The teacher kept us in the intense search for our answers. She was keeping us in suspense and we dared not speak to invoke anger and punishment upon ourselves, we rather remained silent and patient. I looked at my right and I found Fatima in same condition, or maybe worse. She was smothering in silence and I needed to do something. I clenched her hand which made her turn to look at me, I then plastered a smile on my face which she reciprocated.
“Hmm Hmm..” she cleared her throat and everybody paid attention.
“I will call your names. Come here and collect your script one after the other.”
“Mr. Andrews …..” she continued to call the name chronologically synchronizing with the order of our names on the register.
“Miss Adam.” Finally, Fatima’s name was called. She then stood up to collect her result and after which she returned to her seat.
“Miss Muhammad.” I felt a pang on my heart. “Yes ma.” I responded in a tremulous voice. I lurched towards her and stretched my hand for the scripts. Instead of giving me immediately, she delayed and shot me a deadly glare. I was frightened at her quirky action. “Did I fail Maam?” I asked with a shaking voice. “Go and find out on your own.” She replied and handed over the scripts to me. It seemed like my legs couldn’t handle the weight of my body anymore. I abruptly walked to my seat to find out if I stand a chance to succeed that year.
I finally gathered the courage to check. I sniffled and started to go through the pages. Pufffff! To my greatest surprise, my readings weren’t in vain. I couldn’t believe I made it. I scored nothing less than fifty percent in all the subjects. The lowest was actually physical and health education with fifty-two; I didn’t read much for that. I tried to wake up from my slumber but I turned out to be awake. “Is it?” I asked myself swallowing the lump of saliva in my throat. I was swallowed by enthusiasm, eroded by the heavy storm of joy and delight. I then raised my head to see the teacher staring at me. She grinned and I beamed. It turned out that the lady wanted to give me a heart attack over nothing. If I had the chance, I would revenge.
I looked around and saw Fatima with a smile. She also had great scores but her lowest was Forty-five. She was really happy about it; we both passed. We then moved to Farida’s seat to ask her how it went. Farida has the best result among us; of course she is a nerd. But there was something obvious; the gap between the both of us wasn’t as much as the distance between the thumb and the index finger. I was a form competition for her. I couldn’t believe that but I was extremely happy about the situation. It turned out that I had a chance to prove myself after all. What a wonderful way to start a game!, I thought.
The room that was filed with somber and fear was gloomy once again. My classmates had amazing scores which made the game even more complex than I thought. Unlike primary school where the competition was limited and I could get to where I want with an easy route.
“Hmm Hmm…” she cleared her throat demanding for attention and composure.
“You all have done a great job, my precious little darlings.” She said with a grin.
“Thank you, precious angel.” We said in unison.
I know right? Who would call his or her teacher precious angel? We did. Tutor Maimuna was a unique teacher. Her methodology and style was different. The memories I had of how harsh and incompetent teachers were in my primary school were flushed away when I met her. She was so kind hearted, intelligent, considerate and loving. Her relationship with students was exceptionally awesome. She was the favorite of most if not all. She was in charge of guidance and counseling in the school. Many students go there to free their minds as she always had a listening ear. Some even go there unnecessarily just to chitchat with her. She was the BBC teacher in the school. Don’t get me wrong. Not BBC news, I mean Beauty Brain and Character. How that name came in place is a story for another day.
“So respectable ladies and Gentlemen although naughty little things to me….” Her speech was cut short as we chuckled.
“I am serious. You guys are naughty little things. I can remember how this class was filled with unwanted solitude and fright when I came in; that was unlike you. I am highly impressed by your wonderful performances. But don’t let my comment get to your head; your examination is knocking at the door. You all have done a great job so I will urge you to do more. Work hard, be responsible, be dutiful…”
“Be kind, be determined, be focused, be truthful, be obedient so that you may achieve more than you can ever imagine.” We completed the trite statement in unison.  Almost all the students knew the statement as it was called Precious anthem. Tutor Maimuna was quiet trying to cover her mouth with her hands out of surprise. We then started laughing to break the silence.
“So you guys have…” she said amazingly unable to complete her statement.
“This is why I call you naughty little things because you are so naughty and I love it.” She said with a beautiful smile glooming the air.
“Anyways. I have a good news.” She spilled out. “Would you like to hear it?” she asked.
“Yes maam.” We cheerfully replied.
“This class has been nominated for ‘Class of the year’.”
“Yeeeeeeeaaaayyyyyy!!!!!” We all screamed in joy.
Class of the Year was an annual award that started to be issued to the students of a specific class and their form master during the time of the tenth principal of Bright Brain academy in 1985, Mr. Ibrahim Madugu with his Vice; Mrs. Victoria lane. Ibrahim Madugu was one of the best Principals in History. He was known for his great accomplishments which include ‘Class of the year’ and ‘The Writer’s Club’. Class of the year was a special award given to the most wonderful class in the school. And what I mean by wonderful is punctuality, orderliness, obedience, high academic success, good class relationship, great achievements, good coordination, amazing class decoration amongst others. The benefit attached is a certificate for all students in the class and their teacher, a cup for the class, free bags and stationary for students, an increment in the salary of the teacher, a badge of honor for the teacher, and if the teacher wins six times; he or she will have his or her picture on the wall amongst the greatest teachers in history. For me, most importantly; a free meal ticket for a month. It’s amazing, isn’t it?
“So we are going to celebrate. A free meal for everyone today in the cafeteria during break.” She said. I heard Tutor Maimuna won the year before marking her third and this is a chance for her to win her fourth; that’s enough reason why she should be overwhelmed with joy.
“Yeaaaaaayyyyy!!!” we shouted and jumped in great joy and merriment.
School was fun that day, amongst the best memories I had. We were asked to come out of the class as the photographer anticipated giving us a shot for the photographical representation of us as nominees of ‘Class of the Year’. The feeling of glee and mirthfulness enveloped me as I beamed. So this is what wining feels like; this is what success feels like. I would love to have more. I said to myself.
It had never been in record that students in first year won ‘Class of the year’. So even if we didn’t win, it will be in the book of the school’s history that we were the first set of first year students to be nominated for ‘Class of the Year’. My dreams were actually showing a reflection of achievement. It seemed like blessing and grace was raining that wonderful day.
After having a shot by the photographer, we returned to the classes for lessons. The news spiced our day so the sense of accomplishment covered the atmosphere. Every time a teacher stepped into our class, they had this beautiful smile and a comment: “Congratulations!” and we replied gratefully: “Thank you sir or ma.”