They Called It Academic Genocide 12: There’s No Rebel In Me...

The few feet that Darlington was ahead with made a huge difference. He, followed by another guy, was the first to emerge from the field. I was close behind, a bit overwhelmed by a pile of books that I was holding but still fairly fast. Instincts had told us to leave the field immediately when we realised that everyone else was following us. We needed no Cutman to tell us that we were hiding in plain sight and that it was no longer safe. We ran diagonally across the yard towards the other end. A disturbed house helper, clad in her floral maid dress, froze whilst holding a dish, ready to throw away some water. Had she decided to do it, I might have received my second baptism. She opened her mouth as if intending to say something. But stopped. I felt pity for her. How was she going to account for the maize stalks that had been felled by dozens of students seeking refugee?

About 50 metres behind, I heard some screeching car brakes. The car responded positively, coming to an instant halt. And the voice emerged, “Batai vanhu, batai vose…. Basa rakutinetsa” (Catch them all. They are bothering us). One angry cop barked whilst getting into the field. His instructions were followed by some piercing screams, confirming the operation had started. The girls screamed and yelled. I tried to run faster but the screams had disoriented me. Even so, I did not stop. Darlington got out of the field straight on to the road and continued running without looking back. The second guy did the same. I was the third to get out of the yard, a few metres behind. 

I looked left, ready to get on the road. As I was about to get on the road, I glimpsed something that made me dread with fear. I couldn’t ignore it. I sweated. Maybe I have been sweating, having been running for quite a long distance, but at that time I became conscious of my sweat. It was cold and swift. I did not need anyone to tell me that I was scared. My body did it for me. Adrenaline was released instantly. The Fight or Flight Hormone. But who was I going to fight? The gun-wielding cop? How was I going to fly away from the cocked gun which was pointed at me? This time adrenaline brought only fear. With just one instruction, I threw my books away and sat down. The matter had escalated beyond resistance. Beyond a few songs and dance at NC6. It had grown bigger than Geology and Ideology. With my face buried in my palms, I kept convincing myself that I was not a rebel. I remembered only one incident when I was mistakenly punished for being a rebel in an otherwise impeccable record.

I was a seventh-grader when our then teacher, Mr Duncan Lawrence Mapasure, asked me to be in charge of the class since he was travelling. This was not the first nor last time when teachers would ask me to preside over their classes and administer some lessons. But this was the first time I was punished for doing it well. Mr Mapasure left a couple of exercises in several books including New Ventures in Mathematics by Dennis Skinner, Gore ReChinomwe by Cletus J. Ngwaru, and Nhaka YeUpenyu by Gabriel A. Matindike. Everything was going alright until when we started doing some exercises in Gore ReChinomwe. I presumed the exercises were easy and held onto that assertion. So after the lessons, I went straight to an exercise. Hell broke and the class was divided into factions. I was leading the bigger and rationale faction. One guy was leading a much smaller yet vocal faction. The question wanted to choose one word that meant the same as ‘meno’ (teeth). One hand was quickly shot up. "Yes Blessing, tell us the answer", I was sounding more like a teacher by profession. And enjoying it. “The other word for meno (teeth) is meso (face). C is the answer”, he said proudly and sat down. A few guys genuinely clapped hands for him.  “Not quite. Can you give it another try?”. I encouraged him with a combo of words and gestures. A couple of hands were raised to assist him. “Hold on everyone, we want to give Blessing another chance. He will get it. Come on Blessing”, I said wearing a smile and also ready to move to the next question. “What do you mean I got it wrong? Meno is Meso!” He was confident and a few guys were in agreement. “Huh?”, I was literally shocked. I did not expect that from Blessing. Although he was not the brightest star in our class, he was neither the dimmest.

“I said meno means the same as meso”, he asserted. He was much bigger than me. “Sorry Blessing but that’s not correct. Anyone to help him?” I repelled his answer without offending him, at least that’s what I thought. Several hands were raised, to help Blessing. Oh poor Blessing, I thought silently as I was scanning for the next person to pick. Little did I know that Big Blessing was not done yet. He was now standing, at least a shoulder taller than most and much taller than myself. We all looked like midgets in his midst. “No Phenias, you are wrong this time! You can’t be right always. The answer is C”, he said, getting a little emotional. And his faction, just a few guys, roared in approval. “Guys, are you for real?” I quizzed them. “Yes!!”, they were unequivocal. I thought it was a joke but then noticed that they were not budging. “Okay, let’s hear what others think”, I tried to be diplomatic whilst at the same time testing the mob. I had over 80 percent of the class behind me. Blessing had about 15 percent. The remainder were fence-sitters, largely because they had no clue whatsoever of what was going on. “Okay guys, let’s skip this one and wait for Monday when the teacher is back”, still failing to comprehend how we had gotten to that point, I tried to lead the class forward.

“No!! Let’s settle it now. Let’s ask another teacher”, Blessing said. “Good point. Who do we ask?” I knew he was going to lose this one. “Mr. Muzungu, Grade Five", he suggested. “Perfect, let’s go right now”. We left the class. We were six, three aside. Mr. Muzungu was the Teacher- In-Charge (TIC) at the school, making him an esteemed member of the school administration which had Mr. Norman Dangare and Mr. Luckboy Kizito Zari as the headmaster and the deputy respectively. “Morning Sir”, I greeted him. “How are you boys doing?” He responded whilst trying to establish the matter. He might have assumed that I wanted to report bullying, rare but possible. “We are fine Sir. Can you please help us with this one?” I read the question for him. As I finished, he laughed. “This is straightforward boys. Meno is mazino (teeth)”. He adjudicated. I got into the 'I told you so moment' and thanked Mr. Muzungu. 

As we were about to walk out, he stopped us. “Where is your teacher though?” He asked. I was honest, “he left early today. He has some business in town”. “Is that so?” That’s all Mr. Muzungu said. I did not read between the lines at all. All I did was to rush back to the class and announced to everyone that the matter had been settled and, Blessing and his very small faction were wrong. There was a thunderous applause. We proceeded without any other incidents.

We managed to complete all the allocated exercises before dismissal time. Being a Friday, we were looking forward to a relaxed weekend. Indeed, it came. I rested but typical of weekends, it ended before I could enjoy it. Like always, Monday came sooner and I went to school. Our teacher was not at school until about 10am when he arrived from town (Mutare). I was also away from school, having taken a friend – who was not feeling well – home. When I got back to school, our teacher was now back. As I entered the class, I sensed that everything was wrong. He was not smiling. He was not telling jokes. He was visibly angry and holding flogging sticks. What could have gone wrong in my absence? 

“Phenias, don’t sit down. Just come to the front”, he said. Right in front were Blessing and the other guys I had taken to Mr. Muzungu. “Tell me what happened on Friday?”. I innocently narrated everything. “Why did you go to ask? Why didn’t you wait for me?” He demanded to know. “Sir, we wanted to but the class was divided and there was no way we were going to proceed as one unless that question was settled”. I reasoned. “That’s why I am going to flog you. You went to the TIC, now he is aware that I was away. I’ve been summoned to the administration for hearing because of you”, he vented out. “But Sir, I just…” “Shut up, just bend down”, he interjected. It dawned on me that the other guys had been whipped already. It was only me remaining.

I bent down. He raised the stick higher and released it with all his power. I felt pain all over my body. Was it not for my policy that I would never cry openly, I could have screamed. I remained in that position readying for the second flog which came almost immediately. There was no relief in between. I saw his hand disappearing again, gaining power and momentum to strike again, for the third time. I immediately sneaked beneath his big desk and disappeared only to resurface on the other side. The entire class went quiet. I stood up, looked at the teacher in the eye. I was shaking with anger. Without saying a word, I walked out. I did not run, I just walked out of the classroom. Just like everyone else in the class, the teacher was stunned. Deafening silence ensued. Nobody believed what was happening. I walked straight to the grounds and sat there. I was ready for anything. More so, ready for him to come for me. How could I be punished for doing the right thing? If that’s being a rebel, then perhaps I had been a rebel before this day.