They say everyone has that one teacher in their lives, that one schoolteacher who made a difference, who inspired them, and motivated them and made them who they are today, that one teacher without whom they would never have achieved whatever success they have achieved at the point in their life of which they are speaking.
Well, I don’t.
Every single teacher I ever had since P.7 in Kampala Parents (before that, as you know, I was in outside countries such as Kisumu) was an evil bastard. They were all mean, rutheless bullies who did nothing but bully little children because they enjoyed it. I hate them all and will never forgive any of them. They are scum. They are vile, repugnant scum.
You know what? I don’t have a whole lot of proggie this weekend. I have um… this on Sato, and that on Sunday, but I can find time to actually, finally, close this chapter. I think I should use the money I have left in the bank now that I am gainfully employed and well-rewarded for my labours to hire a few goons and hunt those bastards down.
Heh heh and sinister slurp sounds. “Hey teacher, it’s me Bazanye. Remember me. I told you I’d be back…”