Dear: Madam


Dear Madam,

My hands are trembling as I write out that name. Madam. I came to understand the meaning of this word in high school, on the day that I met you. Which incidentally was the most traumatic experience of my life. I may go into counselling one day and it may be because you called us ndankeys, ndefowosipas and mbatoks that ndisafnd mbiteng’s = donkeys, devil worshippers and buttocks that deserved beatings!

My English changed and was never the same after being in your school for 4 years. I was the best English student for 4 years in a row and still didn’t know how to spell helmet (hemlet), government (goverment) and writing (writting) when I graduated! If I could erase those 4 years of my life, I so would. Just thinking about it makes me sad. How you didn’t allow us to keep any grub/chow so there would be a stampede at the kiosk when the shop keeper brought KOOS (you know, those green candies!) or how you beat us like the ndankeys we were and how you taught us to be vulgar. I can’t even repeat some of the things you said during school assembly!

For about 5 years after high school, I would freeze when I heard the sound of heels tapping a floor. They sounded like a bomb waiting to go off, “tick” “tock” “tick” “tock”. SHIVERS

I heard you retired from teaching. Well congratulations. There is a group of girls roaming the streets of the world who will never forget the beatings that they received from you. Wishing you the best, Madam.

The girl who loved sleeping,

Njenva (PS. Thanks for coming up with this name for me!)


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