Weasel

Yesterday, I went to school. No classes, but I proctored an exam. In the middle of the exam the head teacher came in with slips, receipts for all students whose dues had been paid in full. After passing them out, on this the last day of English for the year, those without receipts were told to "Get out. Don't come back." My unspoken thoughts were that the students should be allowed to complete the test and, if they still didnt pay, their grades could be withheld. However, should they come up with the money, their year wouldn't have been wasted. This was not to be, and 20 of my students--out of 91-- rose and left the class.

The exam ended and I gathered with the other teachers in their lounge where I heard what happened in one of the other classes. In that class--also one of mine--a boy named Weasel, a name given to him while an abductee soldier in the bush, was found to be among the non-payees. Asked to leave, he was adamant in his refusal. This disrespect so outraged the male teacher monitoring the class that he came to the defense of our female head teacher and began to beat the boy as he sat, defiantly refusing to give up his seat. Eventually, he rose, struck his attacker, and ran from the room, the teacher in pursuit.

But Weasel was too quick and disappeared around the corner. The teacher was forced to return to the lounge to vent his anger and frustration. Then one of the female teachers entered. She announced that Weasel had returned, he had gone to where the teacher kept his boda and had stolen his helmet. The teacher's lounge emptied and there was Weasel, at the borehole, pumping furiously, filling the teacher's helmet with water, and drinking from it. The compound was filled with shouting students astonished at the display, happy to be witness to it.

The teacher ran at Weasel, shouting. Weasel, crazy yes, but no fool, put the teacher's helmet on his head and stood ready to fight, throwing kicks that would make Chuck Norris proud. But the teacher was too big, too strong, and Weasel was forced to run off into the bush, helmet still on his head. The teacher, knowing that Weasel was now in his element, did not follow.

We went back into the lounge only to hear an eruption from the students in the coumpound. We walked out and there, off in the distance, atop a hill, stood Weasel, the helmet, his trophy, atop a long pole. He marched back and forth, the helmet going up and down. I knew that this would not go well for him. Hoping that a return of the helmet would ease things and remembering that I had a decent relationship wiht him, that maybe he would not perceive me as a threat, I asked the Head Boy if I could go out and get the helmet back. He said, "That one is crazy. If you go out there he will cut you." He added that he would send two fellow students and they would return with the helmet. Five minutes later they were back helmet in hand.

That was it, until the four, khaki-clad policemen arrived with their rifles and walked into the bush in search of Weasel. As of this typing he reamains at large. I hope he is safe and that there are many chicken coops for him to raid in his future.