“It’s located at the top of the staircase, the first room on your left, Sir,” the secretary directed the new English teacher at the boys’ school. She offered to accompany him, but he assured her he would be fine.
Junaid was far too excited to be nervous about teaching a class of senior students for the first time ever. He had spent the previous night poring over notes, resource material and online tutorials. He was teaching the class a poem called Azanian Love Song by Don Mattera; he loved the poem and fervently hoped he could get the students to share that affection.
The minute he entered the classroom though, he knew he was in for a rough ride. The boys ranged in age from fifteen to nineteen, all of them looking as if they were prepared for a battle. Armed with hostile stares, crossed arms, and battle-hardened faces devoid of friendliness marked by the absence of smiles, they were seated at their desks like a squadron of soldiers waiting in ambush.
Junaid marveled at their apparent discipline in presenting such a united front to a perceived enemy. Instead of being daunted by their open antagonism, he was thrilled by the potential their loyalty to each other revealed. He knew he would have to reach them within the first five minutes, or he would lose them.
“This platoon is probably the fiercest example of loyalty I have ever encountered. It would be an honor to be counted a member, but I understand that an initiation would be required. What would that involve?” he asked, gambling on the fragile hope that one of them would answer him.
A tense silence stretched to twenty seconds. Thirty seconds. Fifty seconds. At the minute mark, with neither students nor Junaid having broken the stand-off, a handsome boy in the middle of the class finally spoke.
“Initiation does not guarantee membership, but it might grant cooperation,” he said.
“Got him!” Junaid rejoiced silently in his mind, mentally pumping his fists in victory.
“Accepted. What need I do?”
“Answer a simple question. Get it right, we are yours. Get it wrong, you’re out of here.”
“To flounder or fumble now,” Junaid told himself, “is not an option. May God guide me, if it is His will.” Aloud, he bravely said, “Hit me.”
“If you build a fort, drive a Ford, and fill out a form, then what do you eat soup with?”
Junaid’s immediate response was to answer, “A fork!”. But at the very last second, as if his brain had suddenly slapped him hard up the side of his head, he realized that would be the wrong answer. Grinning widely like the Cheshire Cat, he said, “Aah, you won’t fool me that easily. The answer is a spoon!”
As if every single boy had been magically transformed, they all burst into delighted laughter and applauded wildly.
Turned out they were actually great kids playing a practical joke on the new teacher on the block.
Image: Sam Balye (www.unsplash.com)
