Diaries Of a Nigerian Teacher (1) What would you do if your student referred to you as too much sauce? He was probably fifteen, I can’t quite say, he looked seventeen, judging based on his physique, but then the eyes have a way of giving one out especially when what they want to do is look fearless; talk about eyes being gateways to the soul. “Excuse you? , you said something? “, I turned, putting up my best teacher’s face and voice. It was a stare down. Or more like a battle over supremacy, you blink or avert, you’re a goner. He cowered and lowered his gaze. He looked lost now, bashed. I smirked. ” Aunty , I….. “ “Ms Onuoha “, I eagerly interrupted.” I don’t remember telling you I was either of your parents’ sister, did I “? Embarrassment flirted with his face for a moment. Lost lamb. ” Well… ?” I prompted. ” I’mmm… sorry…” I shook my head, exasperated and looked pointedly at him. He looked away. “Maybe you should try: “please, Ms. Onuoha, I am sorry”. That would be more appropriate and specific, don’t you think?” I could tell I unnerved him. He shifted from foot to foot with his head a bit lower. The boy was back and we have established them: the boundaries already. Well, almost. “Can you speak up please”, I urged when he said his apologies, a lot quieter than his too-much-sauce phrase. “Please, I am sorry Ms. Onuoha,” he repeated, much louder this time. I stared at him a while longer. “I will assume this never happened,” I said, pointing to the classes, an indication for him to leave. “Oh! Thank you, Ma’am.” He skidded away. I smiled. What was it again that Francesca Lia Block said about a wild horse?
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