Ibinu

Mr Niger D.

Lola.

The bell rang to signify the end of the second period and the beginning of the third period, meaning that it was time for French class.

Mr Kofo and Mr Lauren; the French teachers in charge of the junior years, would be stepping into their classes at any moment now.

Notebooks clutched in their hands and rulers tucked lovingly under their armpits: To flog any student that isn't able to recite the present simple, past simple, imperfect and future tenses of the verbs they dictate.

I had been taught French in my primary school and I had studied for longer than a term in this school so it shouldn't be hard for me to recite tenses, form sentences and write letters.

But it was hard and I could boldly say that Mr Kofo is the reason I currently hated French with a passion.

I would sit in class and everything I had studied and learnt would float out of my head, just a few centimetres away from my fingertips, forever out of reach. I would remain in the limbo of ignorance for an hour or two before my brain slowly returned to my body.

Mr Kofo was specially assigned to all the eminent and lustrous junior classes while Mr Lauren was assigned to the ample and prosaic classes. And I contemplated failing every single day just to get away from him. He literally made my skin crawl. 

But ultimately that plan had to be scrapped because they reevaluated our classes at the end of the term and we had barely started this term a few weeks ago so I still had months of torture to look forward to, besides I don't think any avoidance on my part would have been successful.

The dude was seriously creepy, which thirty-plus man would call a nine-year-old girl his 'chérie'? : which means sweetheart by the way; summon her to his office for stupid reasons and tell her to come to him for 'anything'?

Yet expect her not to run in the other direction when she sees him or even hate his subject with a passion.

Well, he was dumb if he thought otherwise and with the confidence with which he kept approaching me, I would have guessed that it had worked for him in the past, as evidenced by the fact that he told me I could ask senior Anna for reference on whether he took care of his 'chéries'.

Bleurgh. 

I would rather eat sand than date that crusty old man.

A tall, dark-skinned man with a clean-shaven face and a neat long-sleeved shirt and trousers entered Jss1 Eminent. 

He had a slight smile on his face that transformed him from an overly serious disciplinarian to an approachable serious teacher that was concerned about his students progress.

The class quietened, seats were adjusted and pens and books were readied. The students loved Mr Kofo, they ate up everything he said, If he said the sun was square, they would believe him.

"Lola, why are you sitting at the back? Would you be able to see the board from there? Why don't you come forward to your regular seat?" He smiled at me and motioned for me to come forward, his ruler was still under his arm while his books had been placed cover up a few seconds before.

Great. He just had to phrase it as a question and not as a command so that if I disobey it would look like I was the rebellious student who didn't know how to appreciate a good and responsible teacher.

Double bleurgh.

I stood up and walked forward on shaky legs wishing I had hidden under the table before his arrival, though I would have been caught during the roll call. Can't he see that I was trying to avoid him?