*Follow me as I write about my major blunders as a first time Literature teacher.
There’s a little fiction here and there to spruce up the story (I lead a mellow life thank you very much) and also so I don’t see one of y’all at my workplace one random day lol. *
It was the biggest school you had ever been to. Your friend from Mozambique had kids there, so she spoke to the Director of the school, and two days later, you were called for an interview. You didn’t hesperrit. The last friend you asked to get you a job said she would. She didn’t. The last relative you asked took your CV… and kept if under a pile of books on their desk. So you really, really didn’t hesperrit.
You picked out your most un-Islamic fit- you’ve been working in an Islamic institution and the last thing you needed to do at an interview in a secular organization was to wear black shoes and a long, black abaya with a black veil. You didn’t want them to think you were Boko Haram. So you wore black shoes and a long, black abaya with a blue veil.
You walked in, and it was the biggest school you had ever been to. For the first time in your life, you weren’t nervous. You needed a new job, and better pay, and a new wardrobe, really. All that black was kind of getting depressing. You also loved to write, and the first thing they asked you to do was to write. You killed the essay. The next thing they needed you to do was to sell yourself and your passion, teaching. You did that too, seamlessly. You got the job, but before you did, they said you wouldn’t teach English. You would teach Literature.
“Literature?” You said, unsure of yourself, for the first time since the interview. You sounded stupid, and deaf, but really, you didn’t hesperrit. You’d never taught Literature before.
“I’ve never taught Literature,” you confessed to them, and they said okay. You headed back to your workplace, thinking about how to craft the resignation letter you would soon need. This was going to work out. You were going to get the job, and you were going to become the next English teacher at Do-It-Well School. It was a weird name for a school, but, sometimes, it’s not by fancy name.
You got the job, and you quickly opened up the acceptance letter. You were going to become the next Literature teacher at Do-It-Well School. Your heart sank a little. Literature? Where the heck were you going to learn to teach a bunch of teenagers that? You brushed off the insecurity of not knowing how to do something. Life is about learning new things and becoming a better version of yourself, you assured yourself. You were elated. You hadn’t the slightest idea about Literature, sure, but was it not just to read ordinary book? You jumped for joy, for a new life, and for a new experience. Little did you know.