The Flower That Survived 19 Years of Drought

Labelled

Labelled

The biggest drama of my life happened when I was in 2nd grade at primary school. The school was situated at the top of the community, encompassed by the police station, the post office and a church made from stones. Painted faces of our seven national heroes could be vividly seen on the walls of the grade one block; a clear reminder of the braved men and woman who fought for our rights. In front of the school was a huge mango tree where students would normally go to read and eat lunch. At the gate were vendors with stalls splayed out in a line with snacks neatly stacked to sell the students. In those rough times, this was the only source of earning an income for some vendors' who struggled to eat bread.

My worst nightmare at the time was being labelled by my teacher. Nothing else was worse than to be labelled as worthless or as a trouble maker even though I wasn't mischievous. Even when I was innocent, I'd get the blame for something I didn't do. Unbelievable, this was my teacher's ridiculous and faulty excuse to torture me with a piece of stick she chopped from a Guava tree.

One Monday afternoon, a girl was kicked by a mischievous boy named Tricky. This wasn't his real name, but the name was given to him because he was very mischievous and equipped with tricks. The girl did not see who kicked her, but unfortunately, I was standing beside her. She twisted her neck and looked at me, instantly she started crying. Without hesitation, she reported to the teacher that I kicked her, which wasn't true. I tried to explain myself to the teacher, but couldn't convince her to spare the rod. She sent the girl for the piece of stick on her desk and lashed me several times in the middle of my hands. Although my hands were bruised up, I planned not to show SunShine when I go home. I knew that she was carrying a lot of loads on her shoulders after her love was betrayed by the man she gave her heart. I went home and kept it silent. I wasn't much of a talker because I hated when my mother had to defend me, I always considered I should be the one to protect her.

The following week, the teacher wrote on the board requesting us to compose a story consisting of three paragraphs. Everyone heads were held down writing their story. I stopped for a second and turned my head sideways realizing that Tricky had stopped writing. In the midst of everything Tricky always had something mischievous to pull off. He chewed four gums until they were very sticky and plastered it over a boy's shirt named Alonzo, who was sitting next to me. Tricky was very smart and knew for a fact that the teacher would flag the hell out of me if he just once accused me of pacing the gum on Alonzo's shirt.

"Miss, Miss," yelled Tricky.

"Yes dear," the teacher answered while writing our assignments on the board.

She slightly turned her head around and saw Alonzo's shirt. The reaction on her face could tell how she was going to handle the situation.

"Miss just look at what Joshua did," he yelled.

"Why did you have to chew the gum and put it on the boy's shirt? If your mother didn't teach you right from wrong, my stick, will teach you discipline," the teacher retorted failing to question Alonzo.

She went behind her desk for the stick and whipped me seven times in my hands. This time I had long blue-black marks all over my hands. I had just turned seven years old when this happened.

Two hours later when I reached home, I went into my room and took off my shirt. Not long after, SunShine pushed the door and saw my hands. They were swollen and blue-black.

"Gosh, mom you could have at least knocked before you entered," I said.

"What happened to your hands?" she asked with her eye brows out of position.