The Teacher

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I dropped the cane and began to retrace my steps. As I did, I looked around to make sure no one saw me. I could hear my heart beat against my rib cage. There was a cold shiver patrolling my spine. For the first time in my ten years of teaching career, I Mazi Nkem was scared.

It was not my fault. Well, at least he brought it on himself. It was closing time and I decided to use the restroom before I left the school premises. I was just at the door when I read my drawer make its familiar complaint. I knew someone was trying to force it open. I only needed to discover who.

I won't say I was surprised when I discovered it was John. John, the one eyed. I hated that boy, you see. I hated the fact that he came from a rich background but lived like a miscreant. I hated that despite his unruly behavior, lots of the students adored him. Lastly, I hated that the girl I liked, Sweet Adenike with a large behind, was crushing on him.

John was not the type to scare easily. He tried to play smart, pretending he was just playing around. Next he tried to be violent, silently threatening to use force with his gestures. It was then my three years spent in amateur boxing helped. I beat him to the point where he began to beg. I enjoyed his crying and so I beat him the more.

He must have stopped crying a long time ago. I was drunk on the sadistic satisfaction I gained from abusing him that I didn't notice. When I did, the first thing I did was to drop the murder weapon.

I hurried home and began to pack my things. I don't have much. A few pairs of black trousers, a collection of long-sleeved shirts in different colours, one pair of shoes and my radio. I was ready to leave the town that night. It was when I was calculating the fare that I remembered I had not been paid my salary. I couldn't leave.

That evening I tried not to sleep. I was tired, my eyes ached but I could not afford to be caught unawares. I stayed awake like a vigilante observing the movements of goats and dogs in the night.

The next morning, I forced myself to get out of bed. My body was scared; scared of the many things they would do to it when they discovered I had killed a boy. I wondered if they would burn me first. I picked up a match box, struck a match and dropped it on my lap. I jumped up almost at once. Definitely, being burnt alive would be worst.

There I was, that bright morning, walking to the school as if I had yams for legs. I noticed the stares people gave me and I began to cringe. Each time someone called out to me, I would almost jump out of my skin.

I arrived the school grounds to see the students scampering as they saw me approach. Perhaps they saw me for who I am - a murderer. My fate was sealed when a student told me I was needed in the principal's office.

I went to the office and opened the door. I saw John's parents seated before the principal. I prayed my last.

"This is the teacher. He's Mazi Nkem. He's quote traditional so we allowed him keep the title." I heard the principal announce.

It was John's father that spoke. He told him no one had ever treated his son the way I did. At that point, I began to murmur my sorries as I retraced my steps. I bumped into someone. I turned back to look into the remorseful eyes of John.

"Thank you Mazi Nkem. He came back home yesterday and swore to turn a new leaf. We don't know what exactly you did but we are grateful." The mother's words didn't matter to me. For the first time in my life I was happy John was alive and well.