STORY : WHEN BEAUTY BECOMES A CRIME (EPISODE 4) – A Must Read for all Banji felt his soles melting in his sanders, hot as a burning coal. His heart blowing his chests like a frenzied pestle and mortar, a cold shiver tearing at him. It was then he realized the man had stopped writing only to observe if the students were following. Still reading the letter, the man’s head nodded as spontaneously as the tip of a plant grazed by a breeze, and his face coloured with indignation. He knew Mr. George would disgrace any student that messed up in his class. This was not his first time of catching a student with love letter, and he wouldn’t hesitate before publicizing the content like a newscaster. Banji imagined how he would broadcast and display the letter like species in a practical class. During such humiliation, Mr. George would clear his throat loudly, ask the student to stand up, then say to the class, “Hello ladies and gentlemen!” With that, all the busy pens would go on break. All ears would be alerted to witness yet another humiliation festival. “This wonderful student,” he would pat the student on the back,”is writing another version of the current topic, which I would like to announce to you!” And the class would roar,”We want to hear sir!” After the drama, the whole class, especially the girls, would laugh to the point of tears if the letter was spiced with grammatical errors. Mr. George would ask the student to remain on his feet till the end of the class. To his utmost surprise, Mr. George had not started the broadcast. He was smiling and shaking his head. Then suddenly…. “Class, listen to me attentively! ” Mr. George said, then paused to get the class’ attention, “make sure you copy all your notes neatly. I will score your notes according to how organized and how complete they are…check out this note, for instance, ” he raised Banji’s exercise book and showed the note to the class, “see how Oladele underlines each topic and with a very neat handwriting.” Oladele was Banji’s surname. His mind was at ease having realized he was not showing the letter. Mr. George placed the notebook back on the desk, and tapped Banji’s forehead like he usually did when a student had impressed him. “Follow me when I’m leaving the class.” “Okay…okay, sir.” He stuttered. For a moment, Banji pinched himself to confirm if it wasn’t a dream. Is that Mr. George, or his twin brother? Some questions needed immediate answers in his head. Is he trying to use another style to punish him? Why did he snatch the notebook if he was going to compliment, instead of reproaching him? *** Walking along the SS1 block, Mr. George began to warn Banji in a low tone. He asked him to be extremely careful lest he was caught by any other teacher. He said he had pardoned him only because he had never failed any question in his class nor failed his exams. As wicked as Mr. George had been in marking, Banji was among the students that had ‘B’ in his subject the previous term. No one ever had ‘A.’ “If you notice,” Mr. George was picking his words carefully like a pastor giving a sermon, ” I only embarass the unserious students in my class….A class is not the right place to draft a love letter. It’s a very bad attitude that warrants a severe punishment. Don’t let that repeat itself. Concentrate more on your academics and think less about girls for now. If you get carried away by them, your grades might begin to fall gradually. Are you getting me?” “Yes, sir.” He nodded. Mr. George paused as if to relax his diaphragm, then continued with a tiny smile, “I can see you are creative at crafting a letter, and you made me remember my youthful age….” Mr. George gave Banji a brief narration of how he earned money from helping people to compose letters, both at home and school. He was recalling those days with a tone brightly coloured with nostalgia. That was in the 1970′s. Now, Mr. George was in his late fifties, already growing a white beard and moustache. But he looked younger than his age in his brown suit, his height was dwarfed beside Banji, and his skin coloured like a coffee. Banji had never imagined any teacher having a private talk with him. For the first time, he realized his worth to, at least, one teacher. He really never joked with any subject. His credit counts had never fallen below 10, right from his JSS class. Now approaching the staffroom, Mr. George slowed down his steps and cautioned him to choose carefully if he must date any girl. He asked him to find a brilliant girl that would contribute positively to his academic life. “Thank you so much, sir!” Banji wanted to prostrate flat, like a lizard. But Mr. George asked him to get up and hurry back to his class. *** On getting to the boarding house, Oyinkansola’s eyes wandered to the wall clock. 2:05pm. A dirty pinafore was hung beside the double deck-bed she was sharing with one JSS3 girl. “Uhhh! Deborah is too dirty sha,” She grumbled, ” wetin concern me sef. Na she get her body.” The blue-painted room was far too wide, accommodating sixteen deck-beds. Oyinkansola was the only one that had come back from school in their quarters. She felt aches all over her body from the day’s tedious classes. The stress was less today since there was no lesson. She flung her school bag and her tired body on her bunk, at the lower section. As she lay on her back, sleep was beginning to darken her vision, but her mind was glaringly awake. The government teacher asked her to always come and stay with him in the staffroom before lesson hours. He said he would be giving her extra-tutor and expose her to the possible exam questions. She had started avoiding him lately. Almost the same trick were played by other teachers, but they were not the subject on her mind. Banji’s thought had weighed on her mind like a massive rock. In the class, she would find herself thinking about him, without intending to do so. “He must be tired of approaching me,” she breathed, biting her lower lip, “Oh, God.” Two days ago, after closing time, she had seen him at the verandah of his classroom. He did not as much look at her side, despite that she had deliberately stood near him. He was busy speaking with one fair girl. “Is she even his girlfriend?” She whispered to the ceiling, and pouted her lips. As if a certain voice had replied ‘YES’ from above, she hissed and argued, ” She can’t be jor. Maybe, her classmate.” “Why didn’t I listen to him at that woman’s place?” She slapped her waist so hard, as if crushing a mosquito, “See what my shakara has caused me!” After a while, she drifted into a deep asleep. In her dream she saw herself leaning by a sycamore tree in a large field filled with roses. The flowers were falling and rising like sea waves as the wind swept past, causing a deep cold in her body. From a long distance, Banji was walking towards the tree. Oyinkansola felt like going to meet him, but her feet had stuck to the spot. She rather extended her arms to receive him, wanting his muscular frame to rest on her full bosoms. When their hands were two inches apart, a girl appeared and pulled him back. It was her best friend, Aisha. “He belongs to me,” Oyinkansola pleaded with her, trying to grab Banji, but to no avail. “You never said you wanted him, did you?” Aisha yelled at her. “Oyin! Oyin! Oyinkansola!” She was abruptly stirred from sleep at the mention of her name. “Oyin! Sorry for disturbing you,” said one of her room-mates, Felicia, “please lend me your maths textbook. I can’t find mine in my bag.” “Maths?” She queried, rubbing her eyes. “Yes, I need to revise the last topic.” Felicia was in science class, SS1 B. Her bed was at the opposite, upper section. Slowly, Oyinkansola opened the bag and handed her the text book. “Please, handle it well o.” “For sure nah,” she said. When she climbed to her bed, she added, “wetin you come dey insinuate sef. Your yanga too much.” Oyinkansola leaned by the wall. Her arms hugging her arched knees, and her eyes diverted to the wall clock. She had slept for nearly twenty minutes. The dream returned to her in a flash. She sighed. Aisha and Banji. Funny dream, She thought. At this instant, there were twelve room-mates in the house. The earlier silence was now shattered by the continious creaking of cupboards, click-clacks of plastics, and chattering of voices. “So, you also dey use envelope demacate page. Copy-copy-cat,” Felicia grumbled playfully from the opposite, “Okay. I’ll put it back when I’m done. That is page…page…Okay page 59.” “I didn’t put any envelope at….” Oyinkansola said, trying to recollect if she had bought any envelope, “let me see it.” When she collected it, she waited for a few seconds on seeing it sealed with a tape. Inside it, she discovered a folded paper. How did it get into my bag? She wondered, and unfolded it. “Dear Oyinkansola,” The salutation prompted her to adjust on her seat. A letter by who? She quickly checked the sender’s name. “Oh, my God,” She whispered. Her body shivered from a sudden cold, and her chests thumped, as if struck by a stone. With a rapt attention, she began to read the letter like an exam question. After the second paragraph, she sighed happily and held the paper to her chests, smiling like a naughty kid. She resumed the reading. At the end, she smiled dreamily, dipping her middle finger in her mouth. She read and re-read, up to five times, then brought out a diary from her bag. She was trying to quote down the words that enticed her the most. She aimed to write a reply on the following day. “You just dey smile,” Felicia said from across, on seeing Oyinkansola’s gleeful face,”e be like say you don win jackpot.” “Abeg, face your maths jor,” she said jokingly, “Shey I resemble pythagoras theorem for your eyes?” “You no serious o.” Felicia said, giggling. **** At the closing hour, on monday, Banji was sitting alone in the class, wondering if Oyinkansola had seen his letter. He wasn’t certain if Bisoye, his friend in SS1 H, had sneaked the letter in the middle of a core textbook. Or did Bisoye really do the job for him as he had claimed? He had bribed Bisoye with five naira, to compesate him for the dangerous task. Any student caught sneaking something into a bag would be held guilty of theft, and probably be prosecuted if the case got to the VP. He had seen Oyinkansola with Aisha today, but she didn’t react like she had seen the letter. Suddenly, from across the window, Banji heard his name called by a frail, tender voice. He saw a teenage girl, probably in JSS1 or 2. “Senior Banji,” she called again. “How did you get to know my name?” He asked, surprised. The girl smiled and said, “Senior Aisha’s friend sent me to you.” “Who exactly?” “Senior Oyin,” the girl mouthed. She was handling the same brown envelope he had sent to Oyinkansola. At that instant, somebody cleared throat behind him, loudly. It was Olumide and two of the boys that connived against Oyinkansola the other day. One of them snatched the envelope from the little girl before Banji could collect it…. To Be Continued
Posted on: Mon, 25 Aug 2014 14:16:52 +0000
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