WHEN BEAUTY BECOMES A CRIME (EPISODE 4)
Banji felt his soles melting in his
sanders, hot as a burning coal. His
heart blowing his chests like a
frenzied pestle and mortar, a cold
shiver tearing at him.
It was then he realized the man had
stopped writing only to observe
if the students were following. Still
reading the letter, the man’s
head nodded as spontaneously as
the tip of a plant grazed by a
breeze, and his face coloured with
indignation.
He knew Mr. George would disgrace
any student that messed up
in his class. This was not his first time
of catching a student with
love letter, and he wouldn’t hesitate
before publicizing the content
like a newscaster. Banji imagined
how he would broadcast and
display the letter like species in a
practical class.
During such humiliation, Mr. George
would clear his throat
loudly, ask the student to stand up,
then say to the class, “Hello
ladies and gentlemen!”
With that, all the busy pens would go
on break. All ears would be
alerted to witness yet another
humiliation festival.
“This wonderful student,” he would
pat the student on the back,”is
writing another version of the
current topic, which I would like to
announce to you!”
And the class would roar,”We want
to hear sir!”
After the drama, the whole class,
especially the girls, would laugh
to the point of tears if the letter was
spiced with grammatical errors.
Mr. George would ask the student to
remain on his feet till the end
of the class.
To his utmost surprise, Mr. George
had not started the broadcast.
He was smiling and shaking his
head.
Then suddenly….
“Class, listen to me attentively! ” Mr.
George said, then paused to
get the class’ attention, “make sure
you copy all your notes neatly. I
will score your notes according to
how organized and how complete
they are…check out this note, for
instance, ” he raised Banji’s
exercise book and showed the note
to the class, “see how Oladele
underlines each topic and with a
very neat handwriting.”
Oladele was Banji’s surname. His
mind was at ease having
realized he was not showing the
letter.
Mr. George placed the notebook
back on the desk, and tapped
Banji’s forehead like he usually did
when a student had impressed
him.
“Follow me when I’m leaving the
class.”
“Okay…okay, sir.” He stuttered.
For a moment, Banji pinched himself
to confirm if it wasn’t a
dream. Is that Mr. George, or his twin
brother? Some questions
needed immediate answers in his
head. Is he trying to use another
style to punish him? Why did he
snatch the notebook if he was going
to compliment, instead of
reproaching him?
***
Walking along the SS1 block, Mr.
George began to warn Banji in
a low tone. He asked him to be
extremely careful lest he was
caught by any other teacher. He said
he had pardoned him only
because he had never failed any
question in his class nor failed his
exams.
As wicked as Mr. George had been in
marking, Banji was among
the students that had ‘B’ in his
subject the previous term. No one
ever had ‘A.’
“If you notice,” Mr. George was
picking his words carefully like a
pastor giving a sermon, ” I only
embarass the unserious students in
my class….A class is not the right
place to draft a love letter. It’s a
very bad attitude that warrants a
severe punishment. Don’t let that
repeat itself. Concentrate more on
your academics and think less
about girls for now. If you get
carried away by them, your grades
might begin to fall gradually. Are you
getting me?”
“Yes, sir.” He nodded.
Mr. George paused as if to relax his
diaphragm, then continued
with a tiny smile, “I can see you are
creative at crafting a letter,
and you made me remember my
youthful age….”
Mr. George gave Banji a brief
narration of how he earned money
from helping people to compose
letters, both at home and school. He
was recalling those days with a tone
brightly coloured with nostalgia.
That was in the 1970’s. Now, Mr.
George was in his late fifties,
already growing a white beard and
moustache. But he looked
younger than his age in his brown
suit, his height was dwarfed
beside Banji, and his skin coloured
like a coffee.
Banji had never imagined any
teacher having a private talk with
him. For the first time, he realized his
worth to, at least, one
teacher. He really never joked with
any subject. His credit counts
had never fallen below 10, right
from his JSS class.
Now approaching the staffroom, Mr.
George slowed down his steps
and cautioned him to choose
carefully if he must date any girl. He
asked him to find a brilliant girl that
would contribute positively to
his academic life.
“Thank you so much, sir!” Banji
wanted to prostrate flat, like a
lizard. But Mr. George asked him to
get up and hurry back to his
class.
***
On getting to the boarding house,
Oyinkansola’s eyes wandered to
the wall clock. 2:05pm. A dirty
pinafore was hung beside the
double
deck-bed she was sharing with one
JSS3 girl.
“Uhhh! Deborah is too dirty sha,” She
grumbled, ” wetin concern
me sef. Na she get her body.”
The blue-painted room was far too
wide, accommodating sixteen
deck-beds. Oyinkansola was the only
one that had come back from
school in their quarters. She felt
aches all over her body from the
day’s tedious classes. The stress was
less today since there was no
lesson. She flung her school bag and
her tired body on her bunk, at
the lower section.
As she lay on her back, sleep was
beginning to darken her vision,
but her mind was glaringly awake.
The government teacher asked
her to always come and stay with
him in the staffroom before lesson
hours. He said he would be giving
her extra-tutor and expose her
to the possible exam questions. She
had started avoiding him lately.
Almost the same trick were played by
other teachers, but they were
not the subject on her mind. Banji’s
thought had weighed on her
mind like a massive rock. In the class,
she would find herself
thinking about him, without
intending to do so.
“He must be tired of approaching
me,” she breathed, biting her
lower lip, “Oh, God.”
Two days ago, after closing time, she
had seen him at the verandah
of his classroom. He did not as much
look at her side, despite that
she had deliberately stood near him.
He was busy speaking with one
fair girl.
“Is she even his girlfriend?” She
whispered to the ceiling, and
pouted her lips. As if a certain voice
had replied ‘YES’ from
above, she hissed and argued, ” She
can’t be jor. Maybe, her
classmate.”
“Why didn’t I listen to him at that
woman’s place?” She slapped her
waist so hard, as if crushing a
mosquito, “See what my shakara has
caused me!”
After a while, she drifted into a deep asleep. In her dream she saw herself leaning by a sycamore tree in
sanders, hot as a burning coal. His
heart blowing his chests like a
frenzied pestle and mortar, a cold
shiver tearing at him.
It was then he realized the man had
stopped writing only to observe
if the students were following. Still
reading the letter, the man’s
head nodded as spontaneously as
the tip of a plant grazed by a
breeze, and his face coloured with
indignation.
He knew Mr. George would disgrace
any student that messed up
in his class. This was not his first time
of catching a student with
love letter, and he wouldn’t hesitate
before publicizing the content
like a newscaster. Banji imagined
how he would broadcast and
display the letter like species in a
practical class.
During such humiliation, Mr. George
would clear his throat
loudly, ask the student to stand up,
then say to the class, “Hello
ladies and gentlemen!”
With that, all the busy pens would go
on break. All ears would be
alerted to witness yet another
humiliation festival.
“This wonderful student,” he would
pat the student on the back,”is
writing another version of the
current topic, which I would like to
announce to you!”
And the class would roar,”We want
to hear sir!”
After the drama, the whole class,
especially the girls, would laugh
to the point of tears if the letter was
spiced with grammatical errors.
Mr. George would ask the student to
remain on his feet till the end
of the class.
To his utmost surprise, Mr. George
had not started the broadcast.
He was smiling and shaking his
head.
Then suddenly….
“Class, listen to me attentively! ” Mr.
George said, then paused to
get the class’ attention, “make sure
you copy all your notes neatly. I
will score your notes according to
how organized and how complete
they are…check out this note, for
instance, ” he raised Banji’s
exercise book and showed the note
to the class, “see how Oladele
underlines each topic and with a
very neat handwriting.”
Oladele was Banji’s surname. His
mind was at ease having
realized he was not showing the
letter.
Mr. George placed the notebook
back on the desk, and tapped
Banji’s forehead like he usually did
when a student had impressed
him.
“Follow me when I’m leaving the
class.”
“Okay…okay, sir.” He stuttered.
For a moment, Banji pinched himself
to confirm if it wasn’t a
dream. Is that Mr. George, or his twin
brother? Some questions
needed immediate answers in his
head. Is he trying to use another
style to punish him? Why did he
snatch the notebook if he was going
to compliment, instead of
reproaching him?
***
Walking along the SS1 block, Mr.
George began to warn Banji in
a low tone. He asked him to be
extremely careful lest he was
caught by any other teacher. He said
he had pardoned him only
because he had never failed any
question in his class nor failed his
exams.
As wicked as Mr. George had been in
marking, Banji was among
the students that had ‘B’ in his
subject the previous term. No one
ever had ‘A.’
“If you notice,” Mr. George was
picking his words carefully like a
pastor giving a sermon, ” I only
embarass the unserious students in
my class….A class is not the right
place to draft a love letter. It’s a
very bad attitude that warrants a
severe punishment. Don’t let that
repeat itself. Concentrate more on
your academics and think less
about girls for now. If you get
carried away by them, your grades
might begin to fall gradually. Are you
getting me?”
“Yes, sir.” He nodded.
Mr. George paused as if to relax his
diaphragm, then continued
with a tiny smile, “I can see you are
creative at crafting a letter,
and you made me remember my
youthful age….”
Mr. George gave Banji a brief
narration of how he earned money
from helping people to compose
letters, both at home and school. He
was recalling those days with a tone
brightly coloured with nostalgia.
That was in the 1970’s. Now, Mr.
George was in his late fifties,
already growing a white beard and
moustache. But he looked
younger than his age in his brown
suit, his height was dwarfed
beside Banji, and his skin coloured
like a coffee.
Banji had never imagined any
teacher having a private talk with
him. For the first time, he realized his
worth to, at least, one
teacher. He really never joked with
any subject. His credit counts
had never fallen below 10, right
from his JSS class.
Now approaching the staffroom, Mr.
George slowed down his steps
and cautioned him to choose
carefully if he must date any girl. He
asked him to find a brilliant girl that
would contribute positively to
his academic life.
“Thank you so much, sir!” Banji
wanted to prostrate flat, like a
lizard. But Mr. George asked him to
get up and hurry back to his
class.
***
On getting to the boarding house,
Oyinkansola’s eyes wandered to
the wall clock. 2:05pm. A dirty
pinafore was hung beside the
double
deck-bed she was sharing with one
JSS3 girl.
“Uhhh! Deborah is too dirty sha,” She
grumbled, ” wetin concern
me sef. Na she get her body.”
The blue-painted room was far too
wide, accommodating sixteen
deck-beds. Oyinkansola was the only
one that had come back from
school in their quarters. She felt
aches all over her body from the
day’s tedious classes. The stress was
less today since there was no
lesson. She flung her school bag and
her tired body on her bunk, at
the lower section.
As she lay on her back, sleep was
beginning to darken her vision,
but her mind was glaringly awake.
The government teacher asked
her to always come and stay with
him in the staffroom before lesson
hours. He said he would be giving
her extra-tutor and expose her
to the possible exam questions. She
had started avoiding him lately.
Almost the same trick were played by
other teachers, but they were
not the subject on her mind. Banji’s
thought had weighed on her
mind like a massive rock. In the class,
she would find herself
thinking about him, without
intending to do so.
“He must be tired of approaching
me,” she breathed, biting her
lower lip, “Oh, God.”
Two days ago, after closing time, she
had seen him at the verandah
of his classroom. He did not as much
look at her side, despite that
she had deliberately stood near him.
He was busy speaking with one
fair girl.
“Is she even his girlfriend?” She
whispered to the ceiling, and
pouted her lips. As if a certain voice
had replied ‘YES’ from
above, she hissed and argued, ” She
can’t be jor. Maybe, her
classmate.”
“Why didn’t I listen to him at that
woman’s place?” She slapped her
waist so hard, as if crushing a
mosquito, “See what my shakara has
caused me!”
After a while, she drifted into a deep asleep. In her dream she saw herself leaning by a sycamore tree in
a large field filled with roses.
The flowers were falling and rising like sea waves as the wind swept past, causing a deep cold in
her body. From a long distance, Banji was walking towards the tree.
Oyinkansola felt like going to meet him, but her feet had stuck to the spot. She rather extended
her arms to receive him, wanting his muscular frame to rest on her full bosoms. When their hands were
two inches apart, a girl appeared and pulled him back. It was her best friend, Aisha. “He
belongs to me,” Oyinkansola pleaded with her, trying to grab Banji, but to no avail. “You never said you wanted him, did you?” Aisha yelled at her.
her body. From a long distance, Banji was walking towards the tree.
Oyinkansola felt like going to meet him, but her feet had stuck to the spot. She rather extended
her arms to receive him, wanting his muscular frame to rest on her full bosoms. When their hands were
two inches apart, a girl appeared and pulled him back. It was her best friend, Aisha. “He
belongs to me,” Oyinkansola pleaded with her, trying to grab Banji, but to no avail. “You never said you wanted him, did you?” Aisha yelled at her.
“Oyin! Oyin! Oyinkansola!”
She was abruptly stirred from sleep at the mention of her name.
“Oyin! Sorry for disturbing you,” said one of her room-mates,
Felicia, “please lend me your maths textbook. I can’t find mine in my bag.”
“Maths?” She queried, rubbing her eyes.
“Yes, I need to revise the last topic.” Felicia was in science class, SS1 B. Her
bed was at the opposite, upper section. Slowly, Oyinkansola opened the bag and handed her the text book.
She was abruptly stirred from sleep at the mention of her name.
“Oyin! Sorry for disturbing you,” said one of her room-mates,
Felicia, “please lend me your maths textbook. I can’t find mine in my bag.”
“Maths?” She queried, rubbing her eyes.
“Yes, I need to revise the last topic.” Felicia was in science class, SS1 B. Her
bed was at the opposite, upper section. Slowly, Oyinkansola opened the bag and handed her the text book.
“Please, handle it well o.”
“For sure nah,” she said. When she
climbed to her bed, she added,
“wetin you come dey insinuate sef.
Your yanga too much.”
Oyinkansola leaned by the wall. Her
arms hugging her arched
knees, and her eyes diverted to the
wall clock. She had slept for
nearly twenty minutes. The dream
returned to her in a flash. She
sighed. Aisha and Banji. Funny
dream, She thought.
At this instant, there were twelve
room-mates in the house. The
earlier silence was now shattered by
the continious creaking of
cupboards, click-clacks of plastics,
and chattering of voices.
“So, you also dey use envelope
demacate page. Copy-copy-cat,”
Felicia grumbled playfully from the
opposite, “Okay. I’ll put it back
when I’m done. That is page…page…
Okay page 59.”
“I didn’t put any envelope at….”
Oyinkansola said, trying to
recollect if she had bought any
envelope, “let me see it.”
When she collected it, she waited for
a few seconds on seeing it
sealed with a tape. Inside it, she
discovered a folded paper.
How did it get into my bag? She
wondered, and unfolded it.
“Dear Oyinkansola,”
“For sure nah,” she said. When she
climbed to her bed, she added,
“wetin you come dey insinuate sef.
Your yanga too much.”
Oyinkansola leaned by the wall. Her
arms hugging her arched
knees, and her eyes diverted to the
wall clock. She had slept for
nearly twenty minutes. The dream
returned to her in a flash. She
sighed. Aisha and Banji. Funny
dream, She thought.
At this instant, there were twelve
room-mates in the house. The
earlier silence was now shattered by
the continious creaking of
cupboards, click-clacks of plastics,
and chattering of voices.
“So, you also dey use envelope
demacate page. Copy-copy-cat,”
Felicia grumbled playfully from the
opposite, “Okay. I’ll put it back
when I’m done. That is page…page…
Okay page 59.”
“I didn’t put any envelope at….”
Oyinkansola said, trying to
recollect if she had bought any
envelope, “let me see it.”
When she collected it, she waited for
a few seconds on seeing it
sealed with a tape. Inside it, she
discovered a folded paper.
How did it get into my bag? She
wondered, and unfolded it.
“Dear Oyinkansola,”
The salutation prompted her to
adjust on her seat. A letter by who?
She quickly checked the sender’s
name. “Oh, my God,” She
whispered. Her body shivered from a
sudden cold, and her chests
thumped, as if struck by a stone.
With a rapt attention, she began to
read the letter like an exam question. After the second paragraph, she sighed happily and
held the paper to her chests, smiling like a
naughty kid. She resumed the reading.
adjust on her seat. A letter by who?
She quickly checked the sender’s
name. “Oh, my God,” She
whispered. Her body shivered from a
sudden cold, and her chests
thumped, as if struck by a stone.
With a rapt attention, she began to
read the letter like an exam question. After the second paragraph, she sighed happily and
held the paper to her chests, smiling like a
naughty kid. She resumed the reading.
At the end, she smiled dreamily,
dipping her middle finger in her
mouth. She read and re-read, up to
five times, then brought out a
diary from her bag. She was trying to
quote down the words that
enticed her the most. She aimed to
write a reply on the following
day.
“You just dey smile,” Felicia said from
across, on seeing
Oyinkansola’s gleeful face,”e be like
say you don win jackpot.”
“Abeg, face your maths jor,” she said
jokingly, “Shey I resemble pythagoras theorem for your eyes?”
“You no serious o.” Felicia said, giggling.
dipping her middle finger in her
mouth. She read and re-read, up to
five times, then brought out a
diary from her bag. She was trying to
quote down the words that
enticed her the most. She aimed to
write a reply on the following
day.
“You just dey smile,” Felicia said from
across, on seeing
Oyinkansola’s gleeful face,”e be like
say you don win jackpot.”
“Abeg, face your maths jor,” she said
jokingly, “Shey I resemble pythagoras theorem for your eyes?”
“You no serious o.” Felicia said, giggling.
****
At the closing hour, on monday, Banji was sitting alone in the class, wondering if Oyinkansola had seen his letter. He wasn’t certain if Bisoye, his friend in SS1 H, had sneaked the letter in the middle of a core textbook. Or did Bisoye really do the job for him as he had claimed? He had bribed Bisoye with five naira, to compesate him for the dangerous task. Any student caught sneaking something into a bag would be held guilty of theft, and probably be prosecuted if the case got to the VP. He had seen Oyinkansola with Aisha today, but she didn’t react like she had seen the letter.
uddenly, from across the window, Banji heard his name called by a frail, tender voice. He saw a
teenage girl, probably in JSS1 or 2.
“Senior Banji,” she called again. “How did you get to know my name?” He asked, surprised.
The girl smiled and said, “Senior Aisha’s friend sent me to you.” “Who exactly?”
“Senior Oyin,” the girl mouthed. She was handling the same brown envelope he had sent to Oyinkansola.
teenage girl, probably in JSS1 or 2.
“Senior Banji,” she called again. “How did you get to know my name?” He asked, surprised.
The girl smiled and said, “Senior Aisha’s friend sent me to you.” “Who exactly?”
“Senior Oyin,” the girl mouthed. She was handling the same brown envelope he had sent to Oyinkansola.
At that instant, somebody cleared throat behind him, loudly. It was Olumide and two of the boys that connived against Oyinkansola the other day. One of them snatched the envelope from the little girl
before Banji could collect it….
before Banji could collect it….
DROP YOUR COMMENTS
Watch out for part 5
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