My eyes were steadfastly fixated on her chest and my ears were on their own. What they heard, I don’t know. I followed her chest wherever it went as if it held the explanation to the question I asked her that my ears forsook the answer.
The way it vibrates when she laughs makes the boy between my thighs hot and stronger and I would fight the thoughts of wanting to become a hungry lion and pounce on her like a palatable prey.
I know it seems quite weird but I haven’t been myself ever since she started teaching my class. She handled Mathematics so well and Ugonna always told me about this hot new teacher whenever he came over to visit me while I was away battling with my anemia.
He said that the boys in class no longer go to the back of the toilet when Maths class is going on. Everyone sat comfortably and enjoyed her lessons. I wanted to see for myself. So on my arrival to school after my medications that seems to take forever, I understood why the boys newly found love in Mathematics .
Mathematics is no longer drawn long on the blackboard with so much X, Y and 2x⅔ following it but mathematics is full, rounded, firm and seats on the chest of a young woman who takes her middle finger up when one asked a stupid question apparently to get her explaining the obvious that even a toddler would understand.
My first time in her class wasn’t fun, or should I say it was tormenting – but no one tortured me- or better still it was a wet class for me. Blood flowed through my loins countless times and I had my school bag sitting on my laps until her class was over. Funny enough, the boys behind me and the ones after them did the same, maybe, just maybe we were hiding our brains down there.
My school is owned by a church movement and it was counted as a private school, but the kind of private schools you see somewhere around Ogbor-Hill, Aba, where students go to school around 9am and badge in from the fences with their uniforms properly ironed and improperly worn.
This ill manner towards education is usually seen with us the exam class because we think we need to enjoy all the stubbornness now and have stories to tell years after during our old boys reunion association meetings.
Such stories brought about actions that seemed too wild for an educated child which includes urinating into seven up bottles and offering it with a smile from Eden to a friend to drink so you’d score a point, smoking in the toilet during school hours to prove you have a date with anarchy, coming to school with chain watches, necklaces, hand beads and without socks to prove your maturity even when the school prohibits such and punish offenders.
We were always punished and cautioned by the administrator during every morning devotion. Suspension became a new award and we celebrated the suspended even the more because, according to them, it’s not easy to ball in and ball out of school whenever you feel like.
We had categories of students. The staunch men clique who would take a thousand strokes of the cane without changing hands, the big boys who would raise their middle fingers up whenever they failed multiple courses shouting “las las school na scam”; the beautiful boys who come to school with lip balms, combs and powder and always dust their shoes with their “kerchief” whenever it kisses small dust, these are the guys that always won the hearts of the the students in our rival and neighbouring school because they were all girls – our opposite; and we are the bookworms, who know the first thirty elements at our fingertips. We are usually bullied by the other boys because of our smallish nature but I was pardoned because of my anemia and torrents of abuses rained on me in the stead. This made me a snail with few friends that always stick around more during tests and exams.
Over the years, we’ve been accustomed to male teachers and very old women who plan to die teaching in our school. Rumours of male teachers sexually harassing the students – especially the beautiful boys – and sometimes luring them into homosexuality spread like wildfire and our school was nearly shutdown but there was no evidence so we were spared.
Some other time, the new Principal announced that we would be admitting girls to make it a mixed school but he was sacked by the church before he could even take his seat of duty and now, it seems our star appeared in galaxies as Copper Nkem was posted to our school, our all boys school.
She is smart and handles her subject with so much courage and enthusiasm but her way of calling one “olodo” when he fails her question or acts stupid was tempting and out of style. It gave us wet dreams and made us naughty in our heads while looking up to our blackboard that was on her chest.
I guess no one told her, she kept flaunting it, possibly because it’s a norm in her alma mater and she is used to it or maybe it’s her way of looking “sanda lily” and all tush, but it left her in tears, I mean her middle fingers.
After the boys have been arrested and taken to the court for trials of which it was crystal clear they were guilty; Ebuka who is 20, being the youngest in their group , cried and held on to his mother’s hand tightly as the terrific looking policeman separated him with a baton and dragged him into their black Hilux van as they went away.
His mum cried and didn’t bring moi moi to the school for us to buy again till we wrote our exams. The school went cold as the happening boys were arrested and we failed mathematics in numbers because Copper Nkem was redeployed after the rape incident from our boys.
I had a C grade, same as many of us smallish nerds who were restored to default by Uncle Paulinus’ koboko , who took over from Copper Nkem when she left. The other boys, repeated mathematics and some other courses they individually failed while I gave a big middle finger to Jamb as I entered the University to study Microbiology.
Copper Nkem’s physiotherapy section was duly paid for by the parents of the boys who committed the act as demanded by the law court; failure to do so would result in extending their children’s jail terms.
According to our Principal that brought us the news about her, he said she is getting better and on a bid to compensate her, the Federal Government gave her a well paying job with the NDDC.
I said it in my mind the first day I saw it, aside the bouncing of her chest when she gesticulated during her explanation and the pressure I felt down there when I concentrate on it, I knew the extra fancy she added to mock the dullards will land her in big trouble. Our boys are on heat and they’re old enough to know that the middle fingers up is not good for their wellbeing.
©Achi Gp Nuel.