Chapter 10: The Teacher’s House

Wild spirit papa lie.

E no keep any promise. As e sell me, I dey feel pain for chest.

He sell me to one old teacher wey near fifty years. The man get bald head, small beard, and eye like person wey sabi book.

He even lie give me: “Bershan, if e better, I go come carry you in three months, come redeem your sister too; if e no work, just forget me.”

He call me Bershan—a name I never hear before. E just turn back, dey wave.

I watch am waka go, my mind just dey turn. My leg dey weak, tears dey gather for eye. I no even fit shout.

The man wey ride donkey no even look back, just dey go west as sun dey set. As sun dey paint the sky orange, e shadow long, e no look back.

Before I fit settle, old teacher call me for work. E voice loud, command full ground. “No time for play!”

“I dey teach ten students every day. You go set chalk, slate, paper, and ink for their table before time.”

Na real wahala. Every morning, I dey sweep, dey arrange everything sharp sharp. Apart from that, na food, cloth, all the old man wahala.

E like him things neat. E no like wahala. If I miss anything, e go shout my name reach backyard.

Teachers no dey chop anyhow. E get taste, e dey pick food like say e be king. Rice must be white, pure. If e see stone for rice, na big trouble. I dey sort rice tire.

Small grinding stone dey house, every three days we dey use am. My hand red from grind, but I dey learn patience.

If old man tire for rice, he want change. E go shout, "Guinea corn! Change menu!" I go rush arrange. Guinea corn must grind to fine flour, mix with water, make swallow drop soup. Sometimes I go taste small, dey remember home.

Cloth plain, but old man like cleanliness. If small stain touch am, e go vex like market woman wey dem cheat. If food stain cloth, he must change am. So I dey wash and spread every afternoon for backyard.

Every day, na bath and change—just to boil water and wash cloth dey tire me. E like hot water—my hand dey roast for fire.

No time to cry. Tears no dey solve wahala. If I slack, work go pile like refuse for market day.

As I dey pick vegetable, dey wash cloth, I dey hear the students dey read clear and loud for classroom, my mind dey sweet me. Their voice dey sweet me pass palm wine. I dey wish say I fit join dem.

After they finish reading, old teacher go explain and break am down for students. Sometimes I go peep from window, dey try follow lesson.

As time pass, I begin understand small small. I dey pick up word, dey learn say ABC no be big magic.

Before I know, one month plus don waka, I dey work fast. E get as e be, but my hands dey move like person wey get ten fingers. So tey, when I get chance, I go hide for window dey listen.

I go crouch behind big drum, ear dey sharp, eyes dey shine. As I dey understand, I wan see more. My spirit dey hungry for book and chalk. Like the words and writing. Sometimes I draw am on sand, dey try remember.

One morning, after I set writing things, see say time still dey, I open book, carry chalk, ready to write. My hand dey shake small, but I dey eager. I wan prove say my head no dull.

I sit up for table, roll up sleeve, ready to write. I breathe in, try remember all the letters I don see.

“Wetin you dey do?”

Voice sharp like razor. My heart jump. The voice sharp, fear catch me.

I turn quick. My knees touch ground, my hands dey shake as I try talk. As I turn, I see old man, I quick kneel. “Master…”

I dey fear say punishment go follow. For this place, e no be play.

Old teacher waka front of me, dey sneer. “You wan learn read?”

E eye dey shine. E dey look me like person wey catch rat for soup.

I nod, then quick shake head. “I no fit.”

I dey shake, no sure if to talk true or lie.

He just laugh, turn back, open door to sunlight. E laugh deep, voice loud like festival drum. Sun dey shine, e bright well, but old teacher shadow cover me finish. The sunlight dey bright, but the fear from him face cover me pass.

Cold just catch my body. Na so my spirit freeze, goosebumps full my skin. For this life, na only God know wetin go happen next.

“I no gree, my face pale.”

My mouth dey dry, my hope dey hang. I grip chalk, heart dey shake—if na trouble I dey find, make e come quick.