Mrs. Lola

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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
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