In life, there are some things you just can’t make head or tail of. For me it was French, I never could keep even the simplest words in my head. It just wasn’t for me, any attempt to study this mystery of a language gave me a monster of a headache. I did all I could to avoid French. I hated French like how some other kids hated vegetables.
My French teacher was my dad’s friend and he felt that meant he should pay extra attention to me (curse the friendship of men). This attention wasn’t in the form of extra tuition, he had rather get me more acquainted with his cane. I didn’t get the man, it wasn’t like the cane didn’t know me already. To make it worse, he would scream at me, the French words which made no sense to me as he caned me. This man known as MONSIEUR AKANKUDE, was the devil, you cant convince me otherwise. We had him last period on Friday and First Period on Monday.
It was a Friday and I was dreading French period. We had Ga just before French, madame Atswei was fun. I should have been enjoying this class, but thoughts of what Monsieur Akakunde had said on monday killed all the joy in me. We were all supposed to recite paragraphs from the French textbook we used. It didn’t help that I had some time during the term sold mine to buy fanyogo. I smiled as I thought about the fanyogo, French soon made my mood heavy again. I didn’t bother learning the paragraphs because I just couldn’t.
Oyiwaladon Ts))l)! (Thank you, Teacher)
This brought me out of my reverie, I craned my neck to see if Monsieur Akakunde was at the door. The devil was a punctual one. He didn’t give you the chance to skip his class. But no, he wasn’t there. I quickly gathered my books and still no Monsieur. I was halfway to the door when the upper primary girls’ prefect entered. I stopped then, I had had a run in with her before, she had reported me for being late. I was never late, I had only gone out to buy donuts. This girl wouldn’t believe me and had reported me to Akakunde who had earnestly introduced me to his cane. After Akakunde was done with the standard four lashes for being late, she had innocently remarked that I had tried to lie my way out of punishment. Akakunde had reintroduced me three more times. I didn’t like her.
Seeing her there, I turned back and walked dejectedly back to my seat. She was a heavyset girl but surprisingly managed to mince to the front of the class.
“There is a staff meeting, and Monsieur asked me to look after you kids till he got back.”
Her tone irked me no end. She was only in class six, we were in class four. She was just a year or two older than us, at most three. She really was full of herself. Being done with the announcement, she moved to the left end of the blackboard where the teacher’s desk was located and sat down. Propping her feet on top of the desk.
My eyes widened at that, she really was bold. If I didn’t hate her so much, I would probably have been crushing on her (I like my women bold you know). I was caught between wishing for Monsieur to appear and not to appear. My hatred for her won through and I found myself wishing Monsieur would appear at that very moment. You know that saying; “be careful what you wish for”. I really should have considered that, as my luck would have it, Monsieur entered and didn’t even spare her a glance. He made straight for the front of the class.
He had one of our French textbooks in hand, this was a man who taught without referring to books. Ever since I sold mine, I have been having this premonition of him finding out. And this nightmare of mine always started with him standing in front of the class with a book in hand. It will be an understatement to say I was frightened. I had already peed a little.
I was expecting it, but I still started. I looked around and realized everyone was laughing. Madame Atswei was still teaching, I had dozed off it seemed. A slow stupid grin appeared on my face, it was only a dream after all. I happened to glance outside then, from afar I could see Monsieur headed to my class, he had a book in his hand. CURSE THE FRIENDSHIP OF MEN.

Author: OsugyaniAbrantie


11 thoughts on “FRENCH KISS”

    1. Mine was Monsieur Mawuli, and boy he was relentless in his pursuit to instill French in us through blood or fire…I can relate to this Kofi….well written by all standards!

      Liked by 3 people

  1. Mine was Monsieur Mawuli, and boy he was relentless in his pursuit to instill French in us through blood or fire…I can relate to this Kofi….well written by all standards!

    Liked by 2 people

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