"To be sincere with you, this work is too draining. I didn't know this is what I would be signing up for." My colleague said as I stood up to take the class I'm having.
"Even me, I'm just so tired, and me, I can't come and kill myself." Another added.
I just sighed, then responded, "It is well; I'm having a class. See you." I said and stepped out of the staffroom.
As I was making my way to the class, I couldn't stop thinking. Immediately I set foot into the class, the students rose up to greet me, and I just waved at them. I brought out my marker and faced the whiteboard. I didn't even know what to write. We all have been trying our best, even I. I have done all that I could. I looked back at the students, and I saw them looking back at me, expecting what I had for them. I did the little I could, and the bell rang for the break period.
After the break, it was time to take another section; I was having the same class again. This school is one that has no teachers at all except the principal, who takes physics and chemistry. Every other staff member in the school was a corper, so it isn't in any way easy for us, taking two to three subjects, teaching 3 to 6 classes, and having about 18-24 periods in a day. You can tell how draining and tiring that will be.
On entering the class, I noticed a guy. I didn't really pay much attention to him when I entered their class earlier. And what made me notice him was the fact that he wouldn't stop talking, so I asked him to come forward; he came forward with boldness. I don't know; maybe he thought he didn't do anything wrong, or he's just bold. Also, their class wasn't one of the classes I took; I was just filling in for their teacher, who was a little bit sick.
"What is your name?" I asked him.
"Abudu" he responded.
"You mean Abdul.?" I asked.
He didn't even talk; he was just looking at me. So, I asked him to spell it for me so that I would know if I was wrong or not. Maybe it's just a native name, and that's how it's being pronounced.
This young boy just opened his mouth and closed it back....
"Can't you spell your name?" I asked.
He looked at me with those "I don't fear you" eyes of his and picked up my marker to write on the board. His boldness was something else; he didn't even ask if he could maybe borrow my marker or not. Well, I happen to have spent about 3-4 months in that school already, and I remain the only teacher who hasn't used the cane on any of the students. Maybe that was why he was so bold and so sure I wouldn't discipline him.
He moved to the board and wrote down something I couldn't even comprehend; the A looked like a D, his U was more like a C, and even though I tried my best to interchange whatever he wrote on the board into something meaningful, still it didn't give me his name or anything reasonable. It was as if those alphabets were fighting with themselves on the board. What he wrote on the board consists of about 12 alphabets. How would all of that sound "Abudu."
At that point, I knew there was still a lot to do. The senior classes I take have great difficulty in reading, in their pronunciation, and all. The school even encouraged us to take this student in English and also interpret it to Yoruba (our native language) just so they could understand. I never knew it was this bad for someone to not be able to spell his own name. I didn't want to show how shocked and sad I am; I just collected the marker from him and asked him to go and sit down.
Some of his mates began to laugh as he went back to his seat, and I was forced to shout at them, "Will you people keep quiet." I snapped.
This boy seems not to be too bothered; maybe he doesn't care, or maybe it's because he knows there are a lot of him like that in the class, so what's there to be ashamed of? And that was how I found myself teaching Junior secondary classes ABCs and two-letter words. This obviously wasn't what I signed up for when I registered for my NYSC (National Youth Service Corps). But here's where I found myself.
When I finished with them and the bell rang for another period, I beckoned the boy to follow me, so we both sat down on a chair outside, and I asked him.
"Do you have interest? Do you mind me taking/teaching you." I asked him in Yoruba.
He nodded his head in response.
"Ok then, we will start small, but please, encourage me." I told him in the native language again.
He looked at me, looked down, and nodded again.
And I have my reasons for asking him to please encourage me. I had promised myself to not take any students for extra/home lessons. The periods I'm having in a week are enough for me; even if they will pay me for it, I don't want it. I need time to rest and do other things as well, and my health is as well. So, I don't want to take any student outside the school's period. But I had to make an exception with this guy, and believe me, I didn't collect a dime..
So, every day after the normal school time, we would wait an extra 30 minutes to take lessons. We started very small, from ABC to two-letter words and to writing, and well, because his writing as well is nothing to write home about. And I was glad he was improving. There are times he got 3/10; other times it's 0. Even still, I kept going. I love the fact that he's becoming more interested, and he as well asks questions.
And I won't deny that at times, I do feel like, "How do I even find myself here? Must I do all of these" Nobody will question me, but I just thought it's good, even if it's just one student I'm able to impact so well in my one-year stay here, then it's worth it. There are times I find myself staring at him while he's busy doing the work I gave to him.
There was a day I gave him 1+1, 2+2, and the like, and this boy didn't even know what it was. That day I almost regretted the decision I made. I began to teach him with his own fingers and little things like stones and all. And with time, he improved, even though it was little.
One day, after the closing time and I was waiting for the boy to come so we could start, one of my colleagues looked at me and said, "You're still stressing yourself over that boy."
I just smiled and responded, "It is well."
After about 3 weeks that we began, I saw that it seemed others were being more serious in class. I didn't tell them I was taking Abdul after school, but in order for me to be too partial, I would use their free period to teach them all what I had taught the boy the day before. Just that I don't go so deep and all with the way I do with the boy. I would have loved it too, but it will be too draining for me as well.
So, last week, when I was taking their class again, I beckoned Abdul to come forward and write down something on the board. You won't believe what Abdul did. He came forward and said, "My name is Abdullah, and Abdullah is spelled A, b, d, u, l, l, a, h."
Then he faced the board and wrote it down; he didn't miss any word, and his writing has become clearer as well. The whole class went silent. Even I went mute. I didn't know what to say, then he added on the chalkboard what I called him out for.
"Read it," I said.
Abdul read it out loud and faced the class, looking proud.
Believe me, if someone had decided to ride a horse in my stomach that day, I would have given in. I was so happy. It looked very simple and all, but I know how hard it was for me, for them, and especially for Abdul. There are a lot of things I felt like telling him. I felt like carrying him up, like hugging him, like...like doing a lot of things at once. But I didn't.
I was done for the day. This is enough encouragement. I smiled at him and patted him on the back as he made his way back to his seat.
Later that day, I went back to their class and encouraged them all to make sure to read and study their books when they got home. I told them how Abdul also gives attention to his books at home and that they could see he's improving, so they should as well do the same.
As I went back to the staff room to pick up my crossbody bag and make my way home, one of my colleagues looked at me and said, "I saw what happened earlier today. You're doing well."
I just smiled and nodded at him; that was the same nod Abdul gave me when we were about to start back then.
Some victories don't actually need to be announced; there are some words that will remain in the heart, and at times, the most important things are the ones we don't say, and with that, they keep us going.
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Images are mine.
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