“Class, greet.” Okpohoka’s voice filled the classroom.
I raised my head from the book I had been reading. I gasped. I quickly stood up to join the chorus, “Good morning, ma.”
“Good morning. Sit down.” Her voice sounded unique. “Is this Basic 8A?” Miss Adukwu asked.
Her lips moved. I heard her voice, not her words. She’s beautiful, I mused.
“I nó di zi kwo ali?” Isioma, my seat-mate, whispered.
“Ki hai?” I asked. Isioma gave me a queer look. Slowly, he pointed towards the teacher.
“You are Ewere, right?” Miss Adukwu asked.
“Good. A teacher told me you have a good handwriting.”
I nodded again.
“Follow me; I need assistance with some notes.
On a normal day, I would have, but not today, not now. “I’m not feeling well, ma. Stomach pain” I lied. Partly lied. I felt pain, but not in my stomach. I felt a sudden and strange hardness between my legs. I no longer wore pants, so I knew everyone would notice it if I stood up.
I almost cried. Before me was Miss Adukwu—the one I fantasized endlessly about. In my fantasies, we would sit together while I tell her about my people, and our traditions. She didn’t seem pleased when I told her that our girls are cut in their private part just before they are married off.
I was sure there was something mysteriously about Miss Adukwu, the youth corper, who was recently posted to my school: the way she invaded my thoughts and the spell her presence had cast on me. What else could cause such a sudden change in my body, I wondered. Not long after she walked out of the class, normalcy was restored between my legs.