But for the benevolence of her mother’s employer, the Girl would never have seen the walls of Crescent Nursery and Primary School, a school for only the rich and opulent.
Her class teacher, whom they all called “Miss” was a stout lady with an equally hard face, even though she smiled a lot in the presence of the parents. Miss was a woman who’d conditioned her mind to believe that she was entitled to a “small something” every now and then from the parents of her pupils. A woman who detested the Girl because the girl’s mother never gave Miss “small something”.
So it was that Miss made the Girl’s life miserable — deliberately reducing her score when class works were submitted and marked, yelling at her over the smallest and natural mistakes, reducing the gift contents in her own bag during birthdays when party bags were shared to each pupil…
The Girl’s six-year-old mind was too young to comprehend why Miss whispered to the other Miss of primary two B while pointing at her that “this girl doesn’t belong here.” The Girl didn’t understand but she knew she didn’t like the bad feeling that washed over her all the same.
It was one Tuesday afternoon, during their lunch break, that the Boy came into the class and offered the Girl his bottle of Ribena. Said he had a stomach ache and couldn’t finish it.
She wanted to say no, thank you as she’d been taught but her stomach was growling and groaning with hunger. All she’d had that morning for breakfast was Vitachoco and four pieces of Cabin biscuit that her mother made for her.
So instead, she thanked the Boy and collected the bottle. Was about to take the first sip when Miss materialized out of nowhere, snatched the bottle with the speed of lightning and demanded to know where the Girl had got the Ribena from.
Two sharp slaps landed in quick succession on the Girl’s cheeks before she could reply, even though at Crescent Nursery and Primary, teachers weren’t supposed to touch pupils. More slaps followed as Miss kept yelling at the top of her lungs, demanding an answer but not giving an opportunity for one.
By now, many pupils were trooping into the classroom, drawn by the commotion.
“I’ve always known you for a thief! You go about looking for what to steal when everyone is out on break!”
Slap!
“He gave it to me,” the Girl finally managed to cry out, tears pouring down her cheeks as she tried in vain to retreat to avoid more slaps.
Miss turned around and fixed her gaze on the Boy as though she was just seeing him for the first time.
“Did you give her?” For one who was yelling without restraint only a couple of seconds ago, she asked this question in a surprisingly calm and sweet tone.
The Boy hesitated, his eyes staring at the space between his shoes before he answered in a quiet tone,
“No, she stole it.”
The whole class, filled with pupils and some teachers from other classes, gave a collective “Heiiii!” at the Boy’s testimony. The Girl was given two knocks on the head and then dragged to the feared Master Primary five for punishment before being pulled to the headmaster’s office.
The next day, the Girl’s mother would come to the school and she would be made to watch her daughter pulled out on the assembly ground and then tagged “Thief” by all the pupils and staff of Crescent Nursery and Primary School.
***********
She had just walked out of the school fellowship, meditating on the sermon that was preached when he called her name.
After the incident in primary one and even though they were now primary six students, one kept distance from the other. There are some things you don’t forget.
And so, it came as a surprise to her when he said he wanted to tell her something. His head bowed and his eyes staring at the space between his shoes, the Boy confessed how Miss had called him aside that afternoon some five years ago and told him to offer her his Ribena and then lie that she’d stolen it.
He was sorry, the Boy pleaded, he hoped she and God would forgive him so that he would not go to hell fire.
Upon hearing his confession, those familiar feelings rose from the pit of her stomach, filling every fibre of her being. Her throat tightening, she raised her palms to her face and wept.
By: Tosanwunmi Tarre
