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

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