Hi there, I'm a budding writer and intend to go into it(writing) as a profession, and the below is one of my works, I posted it at first in the education section but the reviews there were quite meagre. I'ld like the many brilliant literary minds on the forum to check it out, give it a sound review, the kind a newbee like me needs thanks. Its about a pupil and shyness.


It was on that July day,July the 3rd precisely. Yes, I remember it, as I would do if it were just yesterday. The class had been raucous, noisy. And the discordance had lingered on, up until Tola, the leader of the noisy band had announced to the class after catching a fortunate glimpse of Mr Ojo's approaching figure.
In a sharp suppressed voice he had said uncle ojo is coming. (We addressed our male teachers as uncles and the females, aunties). And on hearing this, everyone not sitted had scampered and scuttled for the redeeming safety of their seats. In unison, and in one accord, we had all reached swiftly for our various social studies notes in our bags laying them postrate and face-up on our wooden desks, waiting. Then, after an interval of about a minute or two, he--teacher ojo had walked in briskly wearing a kaftan and a smile, a wry smile, the smile of one who despite knowing he was been played, had decided for everyone's good to pretend ignorance.
"Good morning uncle, we are happy to see you God bless you thank you!.
we had greeted merrily, Uniformly.
"Yes, morning class. He had replied in his deep brash voice, a voice which to me, was rather too rude and awkward a deviation from his meek chubby face. A voice that was not innocent, borne by a face that was.
Then after a dramatic flip-flop of his hand back and forth, he had asked almost as an after thought;
What is today's date?
APRIL! TED! TUTAZANA ONE! we had chanted back. We loved those chants. And as well the chances to give them.
Uncle had turned to the parched chalkboard to scribble the date upwards and at the rare of it, and over a faint slanted line. At the centre, he had with his chalk, and bad writing equally put up a word with an underline below it. An unfamiliar clutch of volatile looking letters...HYGIENE.




What is this? He had asked, his widened eyes upon us, his hand thrown towards the board.
Who knows what HYGIENE means I say? He had repeated, his bearded face a mask of inquiry? We stared. Many did not know, I knew then though, from his pronunciation of course, rather than the spelled word. It was was one of Baba's favourite words "Hygiene". " cleanliness is next to Godliness he always said. "Learn hygiene, learn cleanliness. He would add. So I knew. But how was I to put the words out, to my open my mouth without fretting or stuttering, i had almost raised my hand, but had quickly caught myself early enough. I had never answered questions in class, and hopefully would never be called upon, so It was quite better not imagined let alone done, I concluded. Shielded by thoughts.
A cold dry silence descended on us all, sore and bearing and intense. The kind payed as tribute to the dead by grieving comrades. However, with Uncle Ojo's unblinking eyes on us, our hearts were not silent, mine for one was not, it thumped and throbbed against my callow chest, like a violent aggressor, like it did not belong to me, like it's real owner was an athlete on the run, somewhere, somehow.
Now though, it raced even faster because uncle Ojo's hand had switched from the board and was now projecting a finger at someone in class, someone close, behind me perhaps, since he was pointing "through me" had to be through me.
"Yes You!. I turned. The plump girl behind me then asked with a hand on the chest;
" uncle me?
"No Not you, The boy in front.
" Ikimi. Ikhimi Gabriel right? I saw you raise your hand.
It was the first time I've ever wished I were not me. I felt like denying at once. But still I had nodded and said "Yes. My heart raced even faster.
"Can you tell us then?
24 pair of eyes gazed at me. Pricking my skin, stirring my blood, dulling my vision. Sweat gathered on my forehead and on my palms. I willed the words to come out. I willed that my throat weren't so hollow and void, and wordless. When I tried to open my mouth, nothing cane out. I dallied.
" speak out, my boy we dont bite. He said with hands akimbo. Then, gesturing at my classmates he added; " they don't too.
I thought of Baba, and then mama what would he had thought of me then, or say? mama too. Would she be proud? Then, I decided i would talk, would tow the noble path, would make mama proud and Baba.
"No idea? He prompted with the question.
"Hy. ...Hygiene is cleanliness. Cleanliness is next to Godliness. I said sharply. The resounding GOOD!, that followed sent not sound waves, to my ear but rather dignity down my being, I felt worthy
" class clap for him. They did, then he said " this is why you all should never entertain shyness, it prevents you from doing the things you should. Looking at me he quipped, you just taught us something.



The class ended afterwards with us reciting after uncle Gabriel; "hygiene is a lesson which teaches us how to be clean, in everything we do.

This was a long time ago but the memory of the moment had stuck with me. Because as uncle Ojo had said, I had taught them something, and because he had also said shyness " prevents.
I was happy I could teach my class, and could overcome my shyness to do that, it was the first time I had felt useful to an audience much larger than my immediate family. My father, Mother and Siblings.

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