True Story: She Even Offered Me Sex

True Story: She Even Offered Me Sex

I was one of the noise makers in the class. My noise making got to a point that even teachers who do not teach me were aware of it. It made me a villain in many eyes in authority and a superstar among my mates.

Right from JSS 1 through JSS 3, there was no single day that my name was not among names of talkatives. I have tried with the best of my attitude to set a record of missing the names of talkatives' list for a single day. But those days I put my best behaviour in class, I ended up getting DP to my name on the list.

Dear computer children, DP does not stand for "Display Picture". In our days, it meant "Double Punishment". For instance, if talkatives were to receive five strokes each, then the DPs will take ten strokes. By act of Satan, there were days I will even get double DP or triple DP. On a doomsday for me, the class prefect, the writer of the names of talkatives, will have to invite the Electoral Commission to help in counting and collating my DPs. These were the rare days that my buttocks will appreciate the fact that Hell is Red Hot.

My colleague talkatives and I led several kpa kpa kpa movement to overthrow class prefects with the view that things will change. But things got worst. You know power corrupts. People we perceived as friends of talkatives took over the authority of writing names of talkatives and ended up DPying us the more.

I sparingly went home with my end of term report card those days. My dad could not read. So, he relied on his linguist for interpretation. His linguist was one man who never liked me for reasons best known to him. As a matter of fact, he hated me. But he was my dad's confidant.

The confidant will always embellish, adorn, exaggerate and extract horrendous literary devices from my report. And by the time he finishes interpretating the report to my dad, three ugly slaps would have come unannounced from my dad.

The linguist always had a little thing or nothing to say about my academics but he will surely find a way to thwart my impeccable termly academic record. He will say, "ability without gentility is nothing". ".....yes, is nothing", my dad will add. To me, the saying lost its essence by the way my detractor applied it.

I tried to prove dad and my critic wrong by changing the appearance of my termly report but I realised every effort made matters worst. I felt jinxed at a point. And I did not absolve the witches  from my hometown.

Notable class teacher's remarks on my report card were: extrovert; takes delight in distracting class; likes writing on the blackboard (I blame my area witches for this compulsion of a conduct); vandalizing school's property; perpetual noise maker (the almighty of all my crimes).

In subsequent terms, my class madam decided to switch from the usual "talkative" on my report to "loquacious" and "garrulous". Those days, I did not know what those words meant. So, I thought I had improved. Little did I know that those words stood for "Talkative, PhD". Luckily, my dad's linguist did not also know the meaning of those words. So, it was more of a blessing in disguise.

I was like fontofron, the talking drums. My mouth was alway itching to talk, moving from one desk to another as though they were torns on mine.

Madam Malaria was short pretty woman with succulent ass that distracted me a lot when she was facing the blackboard. She doubled as my English teacher and class madam. She was lovely but her ruthlessness in dealing with talkatives was bloodier than South Africa's xenophobic attacks. Sorry, she was called Madam Valeria, we the stubborn ilk preferred Malaria though.

At long last, we got to JSS 3. I promised to change because of the much sang BECE even though I did not know the essence of that examination. Another revolution saw Jemima into the office of the new class prefect. She was gentle lady and hardly talk. She was an introvert and will always stay glued to her desk amidst razzmatazz in class.

I felt I could exploit that "weakness" to consolidate and magnify my loquacity to deafening proportions. I got it wrong. The once gentle girl will shout on top of her voice to ensure silence in the class. Making noise became harder task to do in class.

My name was always first to be written accompanied with zillions of DPs. It got that worst that even days I was absent in school, my name will be written as part of names of talkatives.

One day, during break, I ransacked her desk to find the list of talkatives. I did not find the list. I found something bigger than the list. I found salvation. I found the greatest treasure ever in my life. I found a love letter that was written and addressed to her by her boyfriend in Nobisco.

I read the letter and the content was shocking. Some of the words I can recall from the letter include: kiss, sex, caress, breast, buttocks, pubic hair and whatchamacallit. The content of the letter explicitly expressed how Jemima was blessed with goodies and how he, the boyfriend, wanted to relish them in the near future. The latter part of the letter hinted me that there have been exchange of love epistles between them. The letter kept giving me some funny feelings that I had to read it umpteenth time without getting satisfied. I did selective reading of some paragraphs of the letter particularly the breast aspects. It was amazing to me because I have no idea about love not to talk of kiss, caress and all that.

It was break over. The next lesson began. I saw her with the talkatives' list on her desk. I signalled her and showed her the letter. She got flushed and combed through her desk to fish for the love letter. She realised that I, Kweku Baako had intercepted it. Quickly, she changed a new paper to start writing new names of talkatives. Through out the lesson, she concentrated more on my face than on the blackboard.

After the lesson, we met for bilateral talks and negotiations. The deal was simple. I will not show this letter to anyone if from today she makes my name Haram to the name of the talkatives list. It was a deal.

On that day, when madam came for the list, my name was conspicuously missing. The whole class was dumbfounded to the bone. Even madam had course to worry because my name was not there. But Jemima defended me with all her vocabularies.

My usual co-talkatives were all mentioned to come out and face the music. But I sat comfortably on my desk sighing with great relief to my buttocks. Because my name was not there, madam decided to double the strokes from the usual five to ten. She said, it could serve as deterrent for them to change too.

For the next two weeks, my name never appeared on the list until my partners in crime raised a concern and contacted me. They insisted to know what magic came to work out Jemima and me. I wanted to stay true to the deal but the pressure was too much that I finally gave in. I showed them the letter and the blackmail went on to a different level. All my partners in crime were to be immune too.

We enjoyed freedom of making noise until the class madam realised that something was amiss. It was just impossible for this clique to turn into saints overnight. Other class members reported Jemima to the madam for being discriminative in writing names of talkatives.

The brunt became harder for her to bear again. One day, she insisted on meeting me long hours after school. She met me in the school's workshop and was shedding tears profusely. She pleaded I gave the letter to her but I was adamant. She cried, knelt before me, soaked me with tears and practically did everything to retrieve the letter from me. But I was still stonehearted.

She stopped crying but her sobs were still loud and worthy of sympathy and empathy. She moved towards me. Put her hands on my shoulders and seductively looked into my eyes and said, "What do you want me to do for you right now?" She dragged me closer to her chest and hugged me deeply. I felt funny and threatened. "Leave me alone", I yelled. She released me slowly and looked into my eyes again. My eye dripped off a tear. I went into the unimaginable porch of my bag and fished out the letter. I handed it over to her. She was like "Ooow". Ecstasy was not reverent enough to convey her feelings. She hugged me again with uncountable mentions of "thank you".

The following day, she resigned as the class prefect and my wahala began again. But then, we remained tight ever together until we parted after BECE. Interestingly, she got Nobisco, the school of her boyfriend.

But I was still having a photocopy of the love letter for back up particularly when matters came up for scrutiny and interrogation.

Until now, I never knew the opportunity I missed was a gargantuan one because Jemima was a full woman with huge unmined treasury of indecipherable proportions.