Friday, 30 March 2012

Mrs. Lola





Children run across the hallway

In search of their classrooms

Friends hurriedly say hello and rush into their classrooms

Settling into their seats

They await their teachers

My name is Bola

And my math teacher is Mrs. Lola

She comes in every morning at 8 O’ clock

My friends and I don’t like her because she wears a stern face

With a voice so shrill

She beckons on pupils to rise

“Where is your homework?”, she squeals

Pupils present their homework

And Mrs. Lola frowns

A frown so ugly that it makes us shiver

“Bola!”, she squeals again

I rise and shiver

Every strand of hair on my skin electrifies

The unfriendly sight of my teacher triggers a tear

I gulp in fear

And then I croak, “Yes, Mrs Lola”

“Clean the chalkboard!”, she screams

As I walk towards the board my hand freezes

I try to get it to pick the duster

But it won’t budge

Mrs. Lola squeals again, “Wait are you waiting for!”

I begin to shake uncontrollably

And then I hear the giggling

And the murmuring

If I was a white kid

I’m certain I’d have turned pink

But my black skin remained unchanged

I begin to drift away

To a world of calm and peace

Suddenly my peaceful world becomes troubled

I hear loud thumps

And then I feel a horizontal flow of heat across my back

I open my eyes

And I see a furious and even uglier Mrs. Lola attempting a second lash

The ice in my hands suddenly melts away

My bladder suddenly empties as I escaped the lash

Then the whole class laughs out loud

I feel like a clown in a circus

And my audience seems very thrilled with my performance

I then begin to cry out loud

The shame and the pain Mrs. Lola was causing me was too much to bear

And like an angel in the mist of darkness

Miss Grace appears at the doorway with an expression of pity on her face

Her lovely afro hair surrounding her round face

“Mrs. Lola, you’re called”

Mrs. Lola turns with anger, “Who calls?”

“The Head Mistress”, Miss Grace replies

Mrs. Lola reluctantly drops her whip

She turns sternly at me and gives me a look

The “I’ll be back!” look

I gently wipe off the liquid trickling down my legs as she strolls out of the classroom

Miss. Grace walks towards me and stretches out her hand

I take her hand and walk out of the classroom with her

She bends and whispers something into my ears

“She isn’t coming back…she’s going for her sack letter”

And then she smiles with hope

I look at her in confusion

Collision of thoughts in my head

I try to comprehend the news

Is she for real?

Have my nightmares come to an end?

I suddenly experience a feeling

A feeling like an ice cube sliding down my back

A feeling of relief and joy

If this is true then “God be praised”

I walk hopefully with Miss. Grace

“Let’s get you cleaned up!”

She holds my right hand and smiles

And my head feels light in a pleasant way

By Sylvia Chika
sylviachika@gmail.com
Post a Comment