There is Nothing New Under the Sun

The quick denials of Jesus at the Garden of Gethsemane and post the last supper were played out soon after the last election and clear winnings began to tilt towards our president incumbent, General Muhammed Buhari. The swift leaps of allegiance by some voters to the winning APC took me down memory lane and located in my memoir the day that Hamza, a pupil in my class, unleashed three descendants of one of Egypt’s plagues - frogs, on the class. Even though it’s over 20 years since this incidence occurred, I shan’t forget how I nearly jumped out of my skin at corona V I. Hamza’s frogs had a field’s day jumping from one desk to another in the middle of my English lesson! For minutes that seemed like hours, I lost control of my children and the lesson. Funny isn’t it how well calculated pranks by children could completely discomfiture teachers who might think of themselves as organised, strict and in control. My lesson started nicely and I had my class’s undivided attention. I had sailed my class through the introductory preambles to the lesson and then settled them into doing exercises from their textbooks. You know those blissful moments of quiet, when you could hear a pin drop, a lone bird tweet in a tree or a faint horn blare a couple of streets away - my class was this quiet! I sat down at my table to complete the marking of the previous day’s work. Isede’s shrill of terror shot my head up while Aife’s simultaneous strangled whimper of fear jerked me off my seat in matching fear. Before I could say Jack Robinson, everyone was either on their table or scrambling to huddle together in twos and threes. The freed frogs themselves appeared to be having the fear of their lives! They jumped here and there seeking escape. I must confess that I was scared stiff. I began to urge the children nearest the door to go down at once to fetch a steward or nanny to ‘rescue’ us. My poor children nearest the door stood glued to their spots afraid that the frogs might take their move for a confrontation and jump on them. Eventually the noise from my class brought neighbouring colleagues from their own classes to see what could be wrong. A frog- capture exercise then ensued, very deftly, to the relief of everybody. Hamza, the culprit stood head down at his table. I bet he could hear his own heart beat in the onslaught of angry reactions vented on him by the class. I was informed that Hamza had brought the frogs to school in the empty dried milk tin he was holding. He was going to donate them to the school’s conservation club, of his own volition. Being always the playful type, he decided to play this practical joke on the class before taking over his donation. Although I fumed with wellfounded anger, I decided not to be reactive. I quenched the continuing commotion, adopted the appropriate tone and pitch of voice, and instructed my class to carry on with their work. I did not say a word about the incidence for the rest of the day, the next, and the day after the next. My sheep knew my voice! They got the message and never broached the subject. As for Hamza, my confident dead- silence on the matter was a befitting punishment. I completely starved him of what he’d hoped to achieve.