Chapter 8: Fresh Start, New Respect

I no even feel anything.

No more bitterness, no more pain. Na God hand I leave everything.

Nobody sabi those students reach me.

I sabi who dey try, who dey pretend, who dey cheat for exam, who dey cry for home. I sabi all their wahala.

Dem no get self-motivation, na only to dey push dem. If I no dey, just wait and see.

I know say without steady push, dem go slack. Time go show.

After two weeks rest, Palm Grove College—the same people wey wan poach me before—call me:

Their head of school call me for morning, voice sweet: “Teacher Yetunde, anytime you ready, just come.”

Dem still offer me double salary.

I laugh, thank them. Life no too hard if you get value.

Before I go, I talk one thing: I no wan do homeroom teacher work again.

I just wan teach my maths, go house, rest my body. No stress.

As subject teacher, I no dey worry about class management, no dey answer parents anyhow, no dey stress for people wahala, I fit use my own time.

I fit read novel, take my pikin park, chop suya for junction.

Just teach, I no go dey feel pain say my effort dey waste.

No more headache. My life, my time.

“Teacher Yetunde, you don help us well. Our last maths teacher just go maternity leave, we dey worry.”

I assure them, say I go put my best.

The new class homeroom teacher welcome me well.

She fine, soft-spoken. We dey gist for staff room, she dey ask me for teaching tips.

I still dey teach final year class.

My maths dey hot. Pikin dey rush my class.

After Teacher Li, the homeroom teacher, add me for Senior Year Class Two group, I greet everybody.

The school compound cool, breeze dey blow from mango tree, everywhere just calm. I send my standard greeting—"Good afternoon parents, my name is Yetunde. I dey teach maths, abeg, I go do my best." Na so everybody dey welcome me, dey happy.

Surprisingly, the parents happy:

Dem dey reply with prayer, “God bless you, teacher!”

“Na you be the Teacher Yetunde wey teach for Unity High School before?”

My reputation don waka reach here.

“Teacher Yetunde, I watch your maths class. E clear, lively, you sabi teach.”

As I read the praise, my heart sweet me. E get as e be when person appreciate you.

“I dey fear before, but now wey Teacher Yetunde dey teach my pikin maths, my mind don rest.”

Another parent add: “God go butter your bread, Teacher Yetunde!”

I just dey smile for office.

I answer them:

“Thank you for your trust. I go do my best for maths. If you get any suggestion, abeg talk to me.”

I humble myself, make dem feel free.

I think say some parents go add me for private chat.

I prepare my mind say WhatsApp go start to dey hot.

For my old school, parents dey add every teacher, just to disturb anytime, no respect for boundary.

Dem fit call you midnight, dey complain about pencil.

But for here, nobody add me privately.

I surprise. I ask my colleague, she say for here, na only for serious issue parents dey reach teacher.