Life Changer : chapter one

The Life Changer

CHAPTER ONE

They were waiting for Daddy.

We were.

I paused outside their door.

The laughter was cheerful. It was also infectious. It began as a silent chuckle, then slowly it turned into a mirthful but stilted giggle. Now, it had finally transformed into a full fledged chortle. I stopped awhile to listen. My plan was not to eavesdrop. God forbid that I should be that kind of mother who surreptitiously listened on her children's private conversation. But there was something about the laughter that was compelling and arresting.

Bint, my five year old daughter, appeared to be the narrative voice. She was telling her two sisters the story of her classroom encounter with their meddlesome Social Studies teacher the previous week. The narration was so vivid you could actually visualize what transpired. The teacher believed he knew a little bit about every subject under the sun, especially French which most of the students found strange. Bint herself was new in the school. French was an optional subject even at this level of primary school education. We however encouraged her to take the option since we believed that language acquisition at an early age came relatively easy and with minimal effort. And, in any case, French was second to English in the ranking of international languages, we reckoned.

So it was that the first question the teacher asked was, "Who can tell me how to say Good Morning in French?"

Everybody was silent in the classroom.

"You mean none of you knows how to say Good Morning in French?"

Hesitatingly, not without trepidation, Bint raised her hand.

"Yes?" he pointed at her. Slowly, she stood up. "What is your name?" the teacher asked. "My name is Bint."

"So, tell us, Bint, how do you say Good Morning in French?"

"Bonjour," Bint said.

"That's very good," the teacher said, speaking English.

"And how do you say that's very good in French, teacher?" Bint asked innocently.

"What?" The teacher jerked his head off as if stung by a bee. Then, within a flash, he bolted out of the classroom only to come back a few minutes later with the French Mistress of the senior classes.

"Ask her," he told Bint simply.

"How do you say that's very good in French, Aunty?" Bint asked reverentially.

"C'est tres bien," the French Mistress replied.

"C'est tres bien," Bint repeated confidently.

The class began clapping and laughing at the same time.

The class teacher followed the French Mistress out and didn't come back till after the break.

Meanwhile the whole class as one surrounded Bint and started clapping and singing going round her in cheer and joy. They seemed to have known instinctively that Bint was destined for bigger things. Who else but a genius would ask a question the teacher could not answer?

"I got them. I really got them," Bint was saying excitedly to her siblings.

I found myself laughing silently. Before I got carried away, I let myself unobtrusively into the room.

They were used to my impromptu barging. One reason I used to go in unannounced was to keep them on their toes where issues of personal hygiene were concerned. The second reason was that we were used to keeping each other company. These formed the rationale for my periodic checking of their room - to ensure that they learned the basic norms of maintaining the cleanliness of their room at an early age and to get used to my presence. My own grandmother used to tell us when we were young that what you teach a child is like writing on a rock and when dried, it would be...

To be continue...