Even students caught stealing would implicate him. Somehow, he was always at the center of every theft.
What infuriated me most was his audacity to deny any knowledge of the stolen items, even when they were found on him. He always claimed he was framed. “Framed my foot,” I would think, as I meted out his punishment.
Aside from his reputation as a thief, his dirty, unkempt appearance and the hideous scar on the left side of his face made him even less likable. I heard the scar was from a burn caused by hot oil.
Every teacher had a reason to dislike him. I disliked him because he never asked or answered questions in class and was always the last to pay his fees each term.
I refused to pity him or his struggling mother, who sold buns by the roadside. I blamed them for our late salaries.
I was the most feared teacher in the school and took pride in punishing defaulters. I was especially merciless with Daniel, the notorious thief.
But one day, something terrible happened. It was a day that would haunt me for the rest of my life, a day that would rob me of my peace and plunge me into an abyss of misery and hopelessness.
That cloudy morning, I was already in a foul mood. My fight with my wife and the incessant harassment from my landlord over unpaid rent had soured my mood.
I hadn’t received my salary yet, and my landlord’s relentless knocking had driven me to the brink.
In class, I was a simmering cauldron of anger. The students must have sensed the danger, as no one made a sound. I secretly hoped someone would give me a reason to vent my rage.
“Sir?!” a distressed voice cried out in the silent class.
I looked up to see the new girl who had joined just three days ago. She was Daniel’s seatmate, and from the way she was searching her bag and glancing at him, I knew what was up.
“I can’t find my money,” she announced, glaring at Daniel.
“Stop staring at me like that,” he said, visibly uncomfortable.
“Then return my five hundred naira note, which I left in my textbook!” she fired back. “You took it, didn’t you? Everyone knows you’re a thief.”
“Don’t call me a thief. I didn’t take your money,” he denied.
The class erupted into chaos. Teachers and students from other classes began to gather.
“Be quiet! I’m still here!” I yelled. The room fell silent.
“Are you sure you left the money in that book?” I asked her.
“Leave it to me. I’ll make sure he provides your money,” I assured her, gesturing for Daniel to follow me. I led him to my office.
I saw fear in his eyes, but my anger was blinding.
“Look, I’m not going to ask if you took her money because it’s obvious you did. Bring it out, and I’ll let it go.”
“I didn’t take her money, sir! I swear!” he denied again. I hated liars who refused to admit their guilt.
“You have no idea what I plan to do to you today. Just tell me the truth. Have you spent the money?”
“I didn’t take it, sir! I haven’t eaten anything today. No one saw me buy anything. You can ask them.”
“You delay your fees and our salaries. Yet, you cause trouble. Since you’re being stubborn, let’s do it the hard way. Today, you’ll learn never to steal again!”
“I’m not lying, sir,” he pleaded, tears and mucus streaming down his scarred face. I couldn’t bear to look at him.
Maybe I should’ve let him go.
But no, I was too angry. I ordered a few strong boys to pin him down while I grabbed my cane. I hit him viciously, and he cried out.
But I hit him again and again until I couldn’t hear him crying anymore. One of the boys called out to me.
“Sir, I don’t think he’s breathing.”
“Well, he shouldn’t breathe. That’s his business. Hold him down…”
There was a knock on the door. A few teachers entered.
“The missing money has been found! She didn’t check the book thoroughly. I found it in the textbook,” a female teacher said.
I felt weak and lightheaded.
She explained how more than half the class had confessed that Daniel was innocent. They pointed out the class bully who had framed him because he didn’t like his face.
All these years, the boy with the scarred face was innocent? I couldn’t believe it.
As I tried to process this, a teacher noticed the boy on the floor.
“Why isn’t he breathing?”
I remembered the boy’s earlier warning but thought he was joking. My heart raced as I checked for a pulse. I prayed it was a nightmare, but reality hit me hard.
“He’s gone!” someone announced, and a scream filled the air.
“Gone? How?” I stuttered in horror.
The deafening siren of an approaching police vehicle confirmed my worst fear. That morning’s events flashed before my eyes.
The police arrived swiftly, and I felt my heart sink as they entered the room. Everything happened in slow motion.
They checked Daniel’s pulse, their expressions grim. One officer turned to me, his eyes cold.
“You’re under arrest for the death of this child,” he said.
I stood there, numb. They cuffed me and led me out of the school. The entire student body watched in shock and horror as their once-feared teacher was taken away.
The trial was swift and damning. Witness after witness testified against me. The children, once terrified into silence, now spoke freely of my brutality.
Daniel’s mother, a small woman with tired eyes, gave a heart-wrenching testimony about her son. She spoke of his innocence, his struggles, and his cries for justice that were never heard.
I had no defense. The evidence was overwhelming, and my actions indefensible. The judge pronounced the sentence: life imprisonment.
Now, in the cold, silent confines of my cell, I am left to reflect on my actions. The walls echo with my regrets. Daniel’s innocent face haunts my dreams, and his mother’s tears are a constant reminder of my unforgivable mistake.
I had let my anger blind me, and in my rage, I destroyed an innocent life.
If only I had listened, if only I had given him a chance to prove his innocence.
But it was too late. The weight of my guilt is a burden I will carry for the rest of my life.
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