SOME OF US (TEACHERS) ARE GUILTY OF MANSLAUGHTER.

She knows, even her parents too that she is a jack of all trade. 

Her teachers told her that. That she isn't intelligent. The reason why she is good is that she is in the midst of average students. 

I don't know whether she believes them but she is accepting the view that she may be the living embodiment of the word Jack of all Trade.

She just dropped a book on my desk - John Mason's Know Your Limits - Then Ignore Them. In her words, I should read Nugget 6. It is titled "One Thought Driven Home Is Better Than Three Left In Base." 

I am perturbed that she is buying into this already. And I am not happy that some of us are responsible for this seed of doubt sown in her malleable heart. 

How could we be so heartless, so carried away, or thoughtless? How could we identify a problem and fail to proffer solutions? 

I don't think it is late yet to pull her out of this backward thought. I will read the book but I wouldn't buy into her theory. 

I see a smart working student in her. I see a lady who will take the center stage in any field if endeavor she finds herself. I see a student who could combine, head different groups in school and still have time for her books. 

Teachers, our word is golden. It has the power to create and destroy. We must be careful when we correct our students. 

We should castigate and also encourage; smack with our left hand and give hope with the right hand. 

Never tell a parent or a student what the problem is without reeling out solutions as well. And if you are not ready to be part of the solution, be still and forever remain silent. 

A BLIND MAN CAN LEAD A BLIND MAN SAFELY...

I am not the best teacher out there.

I wasn't the smartest student back in my days either.

I have had my series of ups and downs. I once repeated a class and today, I teach students.

But something still irks me. What goes on in the mind of the intelligent students?

Did they just meet themselves these way or once upon a time began working at it?

Were they conscious of these intelligence from the world go or did it come upon them once  upon a time as life went on?

Can the science behind this view be extracted refined and used to wetter the lot of the challenged students? 

What roles can teachers, parents play in this gig? 

I want to help average students like me back in the days become better.

I believe there is a principle, a science to the art of learning and I would like to find out what it is.

If I could make an average student excel, move from his/her position to better or higher form of academic excellence, then I would breath a sigh of relief.

Call me a bloodhound keen on a scent trail; you aren't far from the truth.

WHAT IF I TAKE THE TALKING DRUM TO CLASS?

This happened at a wedding service... 

It was pulling me up not by the hands but literally by my heart. It's thump, reverberating thump was pushing me to the edge of my sit to stand and let the dancing beast in me free. 

Unfortunately I belong to the class of people who haven't thoroughly mastered the art of shuffling feet properly. Guess I used my dancing school fees to play nairabet and lost it to the ups and down of the game. 

Who invented such an instrument, such lovely sound that could cause the heart of a lackadaisical soul to come alive with the zeal of a fanatic? 

The animal whose skin could produce such sound should be posthumously nominated for an OSCAR award. 

I heard that in some quarters it is called the talking drum. The name fits it properly with no inch to spare. 

I wish I could take it to class. Wish my hands could conjure that unique sound that speaks volume in a rhythmic language. It could be my mouth piece, convey my thoughts with much clarity than spoken words. 

Could my school authority allow me take it to class as an instructional aid? 

I looked around me, the church was half empty. The bride and groom were already heading out. I gently stood up, consigned my phone to my jacket and headed out to join celebrate the day God has made. 

Papa Mmeso

A LOVELY SUNDAY WITH MMESOMA: I STOOD HER UP

“Get up! Its three minutes past five. We are almost late for mass!” I shouted as I pulled away their blanket. I didn't hear the alarm clock again. 

My cousins dashed off to their bathroom to bath. Thank God NEPA was living up to expectation, I was able to make good use of time.

We had thirty minutes to get set before Emeka a friend of mine down the street drives by.

I had a date with Mmesoma this morning and I can’t wait to get to the church – our date venue. These little urchins of mine were blowing my plan to shreds already I thought to myself as I hurriedly dressed up. 

She was seated already, a bit far away from where I expected her to be. I couldn’t just swap chairs just like that. Coming late has its consequence, I dare say.

The plan was to get a copy of the ‘Abide In My Word’ plus an ‘Order of Mass’ for children and hand it over to Mmeso so that her mass will be enriched and her brain challenged to participate actively in the mass.

I didn’t plan well. No I would rsther say I failed to plan. I forgot that we were at the tail end of the month. Whatever copies I may purchase would be irrelevant for the new month which was just days away. Mmeso deserves something that would outlast one Sunday believe me.

I was forced to be just a spectator; she was far from me; curse myself for coming late and I had no book to give as promised.

Our eyes held each other for a second and I saw a promise broken and unfulfilled. I was smitten with guilt for a promise that never lived up to realization; just like a guy who stood his lady up with no plausible excuse.

She may not understand even if I explained. However I have come to learn that no excuse can be given for mission not accomplished.

Let me tell you something about Mmeso… By now you must have known that she’s just seven years old. She has two little sisters as beautiful as her; their names I know not. The same pouty lips and innocent eyes you expect from little children who aren’t versed in the trickery and complexities of our world graced those little trusty faces of theirs. 

How I wish I was their father; he must be a proud man. Even though I can still bet on my gut feeling that a male child will put the sowing of his oats to rest – certain things never change on firma terra Africa.

You should be asking me about Mmeso’s mum I guess. I use to know her; dark, tall and a lovely lady. Been long since I set my eyes on her; she was pregnant and I bet must have put to bed. And if I were to make a wish, bouncing baby boy would be my take even though girls like Mmeso do bounce too.

Mmeso had no company today, not me of course ‘cos I failed her - woefully indeed. Her eyes bowed to sleep as I watched; couldn’t do anything about it. Her little maid was kind enough to allow Mmeso rest her head on her laps and slept like a princess – did I mention somewhere that she was a princess?

Gritting my teeth in frustration and unable to change the cause of event, I felt like God watching Adam devour the the forbidden fruit unable to intervene in time and space. 

Next Sunday, I swear by Amadioha’s left foot (as my friend Michael will always say) I wouldn’t disappoint her again.

A LOVELY SUNDAY WITH MMESOMA: THE GENES8S

I have known and seen her for sometime time in the church. Haven’t actually spoken to her yet. She used to sit a couple of chairs away from me with her sisters and dad as well.

I haven’t mustered the courage to switch chairs, get closer or even try sharing bulletin or hymn book with her.

What really caught my attention was that she sleeps often. Once the mass is on, she jets off only to surface towards the end. It pisses me off…I can’t just figure out what tunes her off or does the mass bore her to death?

Maybe if I have the opportunity of seating next to her one of these days, we will work out the sleep angle, I promised myself.

Fortune seemed to be smiling my way one faithful day. I stepped up to my usual seating position and there she was with her little sisters and a space for one just by her side. I hurriedly squeezed in before someone else beats me to it…the mass rolled off.

I couldn’t just wait for the right moment to chat her up. Of course, we shared the bulletin; I guess it was a starting point.

Our voices rose to heaven as we chanted from the hymn book. I showed her the letter board with the hymn numbers hung close to the front door and she dutifully selected hymns when the time came up. We were really hitting it off pretty well.

Her dad was a couple of seats ahead of us. As the mass wore on, he drifted off to sleep along with her little siblings as well. My beloved friend couldn’t because a stranger caught her attention and she can’t just embarrass herself sleeping at his side.

I couldn’t wait for an opportune moment to talk to her. With my heart slamming louder than a blacksmith hammer, I asked her, “What’s your name? Mine is Ik”. Her voice was like the sound of a gentle stream flowing through a beautiful park, “my name is Mmeso”.

“Where do you come from?” I asked further; testing the ground. “Anambra state”, was the reply. Thank God for coincidence at least we have something in common…

During communion, she bent her head on the pew, just the exact posture her dad took while sleeping a couple of minutes ago. I couldn't believe it; she had the temerity to doze off by my side. I gently tapped her on the shoulder, “Are you sleeping?” Her charming eyes engaged mine “No I wasn’t”.

Her eyes corroborated her reply; as clear as crystal and as white as snow. Can’t blame myself…love at first sight is on the cards.

I kicked myself as I left the church, “How did I forget to ask for her number”?

Of course she wouldn’t have a phone; she’s just 7 years.

I went home walking on the clouds. Couldn’t wait for six days to roll by.

THE DAY MY HEART WEPT BUT MY EYES SHED NO TEARS PART 6

What kind of teacher am I? 

How do my students perceive me? 

Am I the professional teacher who doesnt allow my emotions and feelings get in the way of my job? 

I do everything by the book, I don't make mistakes. I am the epitome of a square peg in a square hole? 

My class is devoid of life. My students can't kill a fly in my class for fear of attracting my wrath. 

They are lots more to be written on this but I rest my case here. I have learnt that people hate perfect people. No one will tell me a thing to my face but I may never know or address their problems properly. 

They may decide to bottle up their problems than share it with me. 

Nothing is wrong with being good at my job and sticking by the rules. But if Jesus had to become man to save man, may be I have to get in touch with what it means to be a teenager in other to save them too.