4 FEET (EPISODE 1 to the #HAROL series)

It was *Hala week.

Chop-boxes and trunks were empty, and the desert jokes were running thin on campus.

The kitchen staff had staged a demo cum strike. They wanted their salaries upped by 200%.

Administration chuckled and is rumored to have said,

"Let them demonstrate. Afe biaa )mo y3."

This was 2016. Things were different.

Two days after the "dem-strike" two students were hospitalized for chewing in excess, raw mint leaves.

Nothing was done.

Five hours after the vegetarian incident, the headmaster's bungalow was burgled. The robbers made away with every eatable, even the pink chewy panties Mrs. Avormegah had imported from Sweden.

The very next day, the kitchen staff was paid. All was well again.

It was with a full stomach that Harry Acquah slept that night.

He woke at 9:45, fifteen minutes late for Tampa's class.

Mr. Tampa. (Physics teacher by day, torture expert by night (and day too!)

The man had no fear.

He often said,  

"If I punish you, and your parents complain, I don't care. If the school complains, I don't care. I work for GES, and all those lazy bastards can do is to post me somewhere else." he'd rap his cane against his desk then say,

"Once a teacher, always a teacher."

Oh God. *Me wu.

***

Carol was seated with her face buried in the lab report.

The list said her partner was Harry Acquah, and the seat next to her was empty.

Mr. Tampa was filing past the students with his cane, calling out the names of all present.

Where was this boy kraa la?!

There was commotion at the entrance to the lab as 5 people tried squeezing their bodies through the half-open door.

The results? - Nasty.

Carol felt especially sorry for Esinam, the only girl within the human sandwich.

Judging from how scrunched up her nose was, one or two of those boys had forgone their morning bath.

Mr. Tampa stood there, observing this demonstration of human stupidity.

He smiled.

"Someone tell these idiots to step back and enter one by one. I don't feel like caning anyone."

As though he'd just finished a lengthy benediction, they all gave a collective sigh, and individual bodies reappeared from the mess.

"Grab a seat next to your partner, and try to work out those equations on the board."

Some minutes later, Harry felt the sharp rap on his back.

"Young man, where is your lab coat?" He felt his forehead bead with sweat.

"I left it back in the dorms, Sir."

"You left it. So your bucket and your empty chopbox can calculate its own mass. Eh?"

Harry shook his head.

"Everyone without a lab coat. Outside. Now!" Mr. Tampa thundered.

He was surprised to see 4 other boys fall out. This class was going to be fun.

Mr. Tampa left the others with a commandment, one attached with a promise.

They knew better than to misbehave in his absence.

Quietly, he led the 5 boys to the school field, allocated them each a plot of land and instructed.

"Hey, you! Jerry 12!"

"Sir, it is Jay-"

Phiw!

The poor boy who tried to correct him was silenced with a loud knock to the head.

"Jerry, Jay, What gives! You, take this plot. I want to see you digging. 4 feet. Now."

The others were all given similar instructions.

Then he left them. His left butt-cheek swinging ever so slightly every time he took a step.

They knew him well, he was mocking them.

So they set to work.

An hour and half later, they had finished.

Their uniforms were now colored brown and two of them lamented how their girlfriends would complain come Saturday, wash-day was always a nag-fest for them.

They finally lay their hoes and cutlasses down and managed to trudge back to the lab.

"Oh, you're done eh?" he asked. The boys nodded.

"Perfect. Now I need you to cover those gaping holes. Go now. Go, smoothen those holes. Who and who were you going to bury anyway?"

And just like that, his back was turned to them as he concentrated on replying a text that came through on the intergalactic walkie-talkie, aka, his phone.

Harry had had it.

He lunged forward.

The End?