When the mask fell

Chapter Two

I bent down battling with my tattered shoe while Chioma stood beside me, hurrying me up for assembly as the timekeeper continued giggling the bell. It rained earlier that morning, and the soil was soaked with enough water staining everyone's shoes. The cold beat into my skin as a drizzle still fell. I could not get the buckle together fast, so I continued struggling with the belt, trying to at least make it fit before going to the classroom. The fear of being laughed at by other students filled my heart. I don't want Mr. Eze to call me out for dirtiness this morning again. Chioma could sense the fear in me as she bent down to assist me too.

The punctuality prefect walked up to us with his frowning face.

“You should leave here now girls, or you will be dealt with!” She threatened us and left. I saw the way she was adjusting her prefect tag as the wind wouldn't let it stay firm on her neck. To avoid any possible punishment, Chioma dragged me from the sports field to the assembly ground.

It was not up to five minutes when the chapel prefect finished the praise and worship that Mr. Eze came on the podium. He and his long cane. He was wearing his regular yellow shirt and faded black trousers. Almost all students and teachers knew him for his regular dress. They call it his “Uniform” because he wears it every day. Only God knows how he does it. He is always neat, well-composed, and smells nice. Mr. Eze is a fair man, about 5’7 in height. All students hate to have anything to do with him especially when it comes to disobeying the rules and regulations of the school.

He cleared his throat as he began to call out the names of the latecomers for that morning. He scanned his eyes through the long list in his hand. Everyone he called was assigned to wash the school toilet during break time. I was carried away with the noise on the assembly ground when he called out my name.

This can never be true! I did not come late. Yeah, it's unusual, but this time, I woke up early to change history. All eyes were on me as I came out dragging my feet in the sand so my shoes won't fall off.

“What kind of embarrassment is this for god's sake?”

I successfully climbed on the podium with my head high and my shoes smiling to the crowd with an open toe. I decided that whatever it is today, I won't be ashamed of myself. It's not my first time coming here. It's either for being late, or for dirty clothes, or for owning a particular fee, or something else, but I've been a regular student that Mr. Eze’s lips delight in calling every week.

I was still lost in thought when he interrupted with a question.

“ Do you know why I called her out this morning?” He directed the question to the remaining students while staring into my eyes. I could see the devil in him. The same devil that has always been on my neck. His eyes were calm, but there was something cold about them— the kind that enjoyed breaking people in public.

“ Because of her hair,” Someone said from the crowd. Others burst into laughter. Some teachers laughed too. I was just there convincing myself to stand right even if the world is crumbling around me.

“ No! That's not it,” He answered.

I was shocked. Everyone was shocked too. Is it not obvious that I did not make the hairstyle called for all female students on the Friday before?. My hair was packed with a rubber band. My dandruff gave it a noticeable color for everyone to see.

“ Well, if everyone is not seeing a different girl here today, I can see it clearly..” He paused, licked his lips as usual, and continued.

“ Can't you see that she just got a new pair of shoes ?” He said with a smile on his face.

Everyone burst into laughter. This time, the principal joined them except Chioma and a boy from the senior class. No one expected it. I was shocked and disappointed as I tried to adjust my legs together. The more I drag my legs, the more the shoe toe keeps opening. I kept wondering how he got the information. Could it be the punctuality prefect? Did anyone tell him about it? Who else saw me when I was adjusting it earlier? My brain remains puzzled without answers.

“ Biola Ogunleye..”

“The most popular student of Mount Olivette” Mr. Eze continues

“ I won't flog you as usual today, but I will use you as a scapegoat to others in this school”

“ Shoes like this are not allowed in this premises. If your shoe is bad or is tearing apart, inform your parents to help you fix it. Because you are in a government school does not mean you can dress anyhow to school”

“ If you dare me, I will do more than what I've done for her to you. Is that clear?”

They all answered “ Yes Sir.”

“ SSS 2, give us a marching song “ He said while I walked back to my line with shame and emotional pain accompanying me back. If I were to write on a day I can never forget, I think today's experience is more than enough.

As we all marched back into our various classes, with the marching song still echoing behind us, my ears were ringing, but not from the song this time. It was from the sound of Mr. Eze's voice and the student’s laughter. It followed me like a spell I could not shake off. Even when the song and drums ended, I could still hear it ringing in my head, so loud and wicked.

I walked quietly to my desk with my backpack and lunchbox in both hands. I sat down at my desk, trying to arrange my torn shoe neatly under the bench so nobody would notice it again. It felt like I was deceiving myself as I continued. My hands were shaking on their own. The classroom suddenly became an open space, too open, as every eye could see through me. Some girls behind me were still whispering and giggling. I could hear Mary, the class rep saying something about me to the girls.

I did not need to turn to know they were talking about me. It's not the first time, nor the second time. I am used to the kind of whispers that carry my name in pieces. Soon, the Biology teacher began the lesson, talking about something I could not even hear properly. I enjoy Biology class, especially topics like excretion and reproduction. Miss Agnes will explain everything in detail like her life depends on us understanding it.

Her voice sounded far away, like she was speaking from inside a well. My eyes were on the body movement of Miss Agnes as she continued to explain, but my mind was still on the podium. Still on Mr. Eze’s smile and the disappointment I got. Still on the way the principal laughed like she just got a promotion. My chest felt tight, like I was holding a cry that did not want to come out. I blinked several times, forcing the tears back. Crying in class would only give them another story to tell about me. It's not the moment to cry. I adjusted my pinafore dress and began to concentrate.

Chioma swapped her seat with Usman, my sitting partner, to sit beside me. She did not say a word at first. She just pushed her notebook towards me so I could copy the notes. I was shocked when I saw three leaves full. When did the lecture start? That small action alone almost broke me. It was the kind of kindness that reminds you how alone you really feel. After some minutes, she leaned closer and whispered,

“Forget them. They don’t know what it feels like.”

I nodded, pretending to listen, but I did not forget. The rage in me could burn the whole school down. How could I forget when my shoe was still smiling foolishly at the floor?

How could I forget how everyone knows me for bad things? How could I forget when my name had been used as a joke in front of the whole school?

The more the teacher talked, the angrier I became inside. Not just at Mr. Eze. Not just the students.

I was angry at my life.

Angry at the rain.

Angry at my shoes.

Angry at the whole world.

Angry at the fact that I have always had to manage broken things while others walked freely in new ones. I was angry at the fact that four people had to use something before it was passed to me. Why must I use my sister's old shoes, uniform, notebooks, and even the bathing sponge?

“ What is the beauty in saying— my sister dashes me this and that ?”

My head was filled with questions that did not have gentle answers.

Why did my parents give birth to seven of us when they could barely take care of one? Why did I have to be the one standing on the podium with shame glued to my skin? Why was poverty always choosing me in a crowd?

By the time Miss Agnes finished her period, I had already made up my mind. The plan of leaving school immediately flows through my mind. There's no reason to remain in this seat pretending I was fine, while everyone keeps staring at me. All I wanted to do was to shout, scream, and roll on the ground where no one would see me. I wanted to ask questions. I wanted to ask God why he created my life like this. Why must I be the lesson to others?

Before another minute would escape, I packed my books silently. Removed the shoes from my legs— barefoot. It's better not to have a shoe than to have one that causes you pain at every step. Chioma noticed the way I quickly packed my books. She moved closer to me. I could see the sincerity in her eyes.

“You’re not staying for break?” she asked.

“I’m going home,” I whispered, my voice showing how angry I was.

“I can’t do it today. I can’t sit here and pretend nothing happened.”

She hesitated, then nodded slowly.

“I’ll walk with you to the gate,” she said. “Not because you’re wrong to be angry, but because you shouldn’t be angry alone.” She did not complete her statement when I hugged her so tightly.

As we walked through the broken fence that led out of the school without passing the main entrance, I told her everything that was boiling inside me. How I was tired of everything and the questions I'd planned to ask my parents. Not to insult them, but to ask them why they kept bringing children into a life that was already struggling to breathe.

Chioma listened quietly. She did not encourage my anger, but she did not silence it either. She looked like she was in support but not strong enough to execute it.

“You have every right to be angry, Biola” she said gently. “But talk to them with your pain, not with your bitterness. They might be poor, but they didn’t give birth to you to suffer. I believe they have their reasons too. Sometimes life just becomes bigger than people’s plans.”

Her words did not calm the storm inside me, but they stopped me from drowning in it. She squeezed my hand before we reached the fence.

“Whatever you say to them, say it so they can hear your heart, not just your anger,” she added.

As I walked out of the school compound, I heard the bell ringing again behind me. But this time, it did not sound like punishment. It sounded like freedom. But I knew something so strong in my heart — the shame of that morning was not just going to disappear. It had settled inside me, quiet and heavy, waiting for the day it would turn into something else.