ShortStory I Derailed Homosapien

DERAILED HOMOSAPIEN

        “Good morning students,” Mr. Adesokan tendered after the unanimous warmth greeting received from the overall students as the tradition demanded. “How was your weekend?” He added in a jiffy.

        “Fine sir,” The students chorused. “Thank you.” They added, stood still.

        “Please have your seats.” He urged while standing.

         The students who were dressed in sky-blue checks immediately assumed their respective seats simultaneously, anxiously waited for a formal introduction from the strange being.

         It was on Monday morning at about some minutes past nine O’clock after the students’ usual morning assembly. It marked the beginning of the sixth week of the second term’s segment.

         Mr. Adesokan was a new teacher in the institution, Comprehensive Secondary School, Ojagidi, Ogun State. He assumed duty on that very day. He had just replaced Mr. Tunde whom was transferred two weeks back to one of the neighbouring public schools in the state; Mr. Tunde was one of the school’s Mathematics teachers in charge of the senior session but his duty posts were particularly S.S.S-1 and S.S.S-2 classes.

       “Hope this is SS1?” Mr. Adesokan verified.

       “Yes sir!” The learners chorused on the top of their voices.

       “Alright,” he said. “What arm is this?”

       “SS1A.” They responded.

         It’s noteworthy that each of the senior classes was made up of four different arms ranging from A to D.

       “Good.” he uttered, paused. “Do you know why I’m here?”

       “No sir!” The class of about forty students exclaimed, became jittery and curious.

        Apparently, the suspense was telling on them, hence they couldn’t wait for additional time.

       “Okay,” he said. “I am Mister Ola Adesokan.”

          The entire students became more impatient, could not wait to hear the next word, phrase or clause that would be dished out by the yet unknown dude who seemed to be in his early forties.

        Mr. Adesokan who was slim, dark and average in height was clad in tactically ironed black trousers and grey plain shirt coupled with a pair of black sandals. The shirt was neatly tucked into the trousers.

      “Henceforth,” he continued. “I will be taking you on Mathematics.”

        This time, the students in their entirety became relieved. They had been longing to see who would replace Mr. Tunde. The former Mathematics tutor was indeed a good and refined teacher who had all it required to make even a dummy understand the said subject to the fullness. His abrupt transfer from the school raised a tremendous pandemonium among the affected students.

        And, looking at Mr. Adesokan, going by his dress as well as countenance, the class seemed convinced that Mr. Tunde’s replica had eventually come to replace him. It became absolutely tranquil while excitedly waited to hear more impressive words from a man who appeared not unlike a god-sent.

        After all the needed instructions accompanied with consequential enquiries, Mr. Adesokan hurriedly introduced the topic for the day, which was overwhelmingly welcomed by the students.

        Something abnormal transpired in the process; while Mr. Adesokan was enthusiastically teaching the class, he was distracted by a female student who was lousily seated on her desk. The girl in question who was ignorant of the scene she had created felt relaxed and was attentively and passionately listening to the lesson, unknowingly to her that she was making her corrupt-minded tutor lose his concentration.

         Having managed to exhaust his period that lasted for about eighty minutes amidst the inevitable temptation, Mr. Adesokan signalled to the teen, asking her to come out. The moment she stepped out, he whispered to her to see him in his office during the school break time.

        The poor girl who couldn’t wait to embrace the awaited break time because she was anxious to ascertain or fathom what actually prompted the unexpected invitation, began her journey to Mr. Adesokan’s office at exactly half past eleven O’clock in the morning (11:30 am) the moment the school bell rang for the break. Her class was about a hundred metre (100m) away from the office. “Good morning sir..s!” She greeted as soon as she walked into the staff room.

         It was a complex room compromising four male teachers including Mr. Adesokan. Interestingly, all of them were Mathematics teachers; two were for the junior section whilst others taught the senior segment. Their respective tables coupled with chairs were separately positioned at the four corners of the room.

       “Good morning, dear.” They responded. “How are you?” one of them tendered.

       “Fine sir.” she replied, walked straight to where her intended host was seated.

       “Good day, sir.” She greeted the moment she got to her destination, stood directly opposite him.

       “Good day, my dear.” Mr. Adesokan responded. “How are you?”

       “Fine sir.”

       “Sit down.” He tenderly urged, pointing his right arm at the seat permanently cited opposite his likewise those of his colleagues.

       “Thank you, sir.” She appreciated, quickly sat on the seat.

       “I called you here to know more about you,” said Mr. Adesokan. “Because when I was teaching your class this morning, you appeared very serious-minded.” He added in false pretence.

       “Thank you, sir.” She joyfully dished out.

       “You are welcome.”

          At this point, she remained calm and relaxed.

       “So, what’s your beautiful name?”

          The pretty-looking teenager smiled at the tone of the question especially the ‘beautiful’ that was inclusive. “Yetunde.” She replied amid the grin.

        The seemingly harmless discussion lasted for several minutes. At the long run, phone numbers were exchanged though she wasn’t with her phone because they were severely warned not to come to school with their cell phones. In view of this, they agreed on how they would be reaching each other.

         Only God knew what the proposed intimacy, which seemed to Yetunde like that of a father and his daughter owing to the tune or mode of the proposal, would lead to.

        At the fifteenth minute on the dot when the discussion ended, she hurriedly left for her classroom filled with fantasy and ecstasy like one who had just won a lottery.

        To be continued, Please. 

 

Fred Doc Nwaozor

Executive Director, Docfred Resource Hub (DRH) - Owerri
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