Chapter 5: The Last Straw

I vex sotay my neck begin pain me.

I rub am small, try cool myself.

Students dey try, but na me force them learn that study habit.

Before me, na play play children. I turn dem to bookworm by force.

Make we talk true, Class Six students no get strong base, dem no even get ginger. If na another teacher, person wey no get sense of responsibility or sabi, dem for no fit make am.

All the teachers dey talk am—na hard work.

These two years, I don do all-nighter tire, dey write special study plan for every student.

Even my husband dey complain say I dey write lesson note like lawyer dey prepare court case.

Give up my own rest time, dey do one-on-one lesson, sometimes na only bread and water I chop for night.

Sometimes, na only soaked garri and groundnut I fit manage for night, just to mark their assignment. My body slim, my face dry, but I no complain.

Weekend and holiday, I dey tutor them for my house free.

My sitting room dey always full Saturday morning. Neighbours dey joke say na free lesson centre I dey run.

Use my own money buy study material and small gift for them.

Every Children’s Day, I dey buy biro, book, and small sweet—just to make them smile.

I fit talk am, I try pass any teacher for that school.

If dem do award for best teacher, I for collect every year.

But now, these parents dey talk say their children result no get anything to do with me.

E pain me well. But na so life be.

Nothing at all.

I reply: “Since una believe say na only students dey cause their result, then wetin I do for my own time no suppose affect them, abi?”

I drop am sharp, just to make dem think.

Parents fire back together:

Nobody even pause, dem just dey hammer me from left and right.

“So na only result matter? If my pikin no chop well for school nko? If e forget drink water? If e no wear sweater catch cold? If e dey feel sick?”

Everything don turn my fault.

“The children don already tire for book. To clean class, do chore, na homeroom teacher work too.”

Even cleaner job, na me get am.

“Evening prep dey finish too late. I talk am, na homeroom teacher suppose dey carry children go house.”

As if say na Keke I dey run.

Teacher Sani message me privately:

She just drop, “These parents dey craze? Dem feel say homeroom teacher na househelp?”

I laugh small, but pain still full my chest.

As I dey watch group chat dey scatter, my head dey knock.

I rub my temple, beg God make I no faint for work.

I take deep breath, use last patience reply them:

I type slow, “Dear parents, e remain small before WAEC. Abeg, make una trust me, give me chance, I promise I go do my best as homeroom teacher.”

I no even know if e enter their head.

Chinonso mama reply just scatter my mind finish:

“You no get shame. You wan take revenge for us, come dey punish our children?”

I just close phone. No energy again.

Okay o. I don tire.

I just lie down, look ceiling. Na God go judge.