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% and until that was sorted, there would be no more cooking on school grounds.

The School's Administration is rumoured 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 hospitalised for chewing raw mint leaves in excess, their excuse - hunger.

Kitchen staff showed up on the third day to demonstrate again, red bandanas and wristbands on - obstinate in their resolve and chanting for change. The students were thrilled, peeking from their classroom doors and windows as teachers fled the classrooms to commiserate. They were hungry too. 

Nothing was done.

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

Mr. Avormegah the headmaster was livid during announcements at nightly devotion, issuing threats no one really cared about. After all, nothing was normal anymore.

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 the next morning, fifteen minutes late for Tampa's class and hours after the wake-up siren had gone off. The dormitory was empty save for the notorious Alampain, and no one expected that one to be in class anyway.

He swung off the top bunk and scratched his head, 

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?!

Like clockwork, there was immediate commotion at the entrance to the lab as 5 students rushed in, squeezing their bodies through the half-open door.

The results? - Near stampede.

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

She'd been punished to sweep a portion of the school field for being late to morning prayers and ironically late now.

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

Carol shuddered in solidarity.

Mr. Tampa stood there, observing what he called '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 after getting seated, Harry felt a sharp rap on his back. 

He knew it was Tampa's cane...

"Young man, where is your lab coat?", he asked

Harry felt his forehead bead with sweat.

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

"You left it. So I should do what for you right now. Carry you?

Eh?"

Harry shook his head. Trouble.

"Everyone without a lab coat. Outside. Now!" the educator 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 an area and instructed.

"Hey, you! Jerry 12!"

"Sir, it's Jay-"

Phiw!

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

"Jerry, Jay, Whatevah! You, take this plot. 

I want to see you digging. 

4 feet. Now."

The others were given similar instructions.

Then he left them, his left butt-cheek swinging ever so slightly each 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 now coloured brown, two of them lamented how hard it'd be to get their clothes clean again come washday. Harry chimed in to tell them to wash said uniforms immediately after class - this wasn't his first rodeo with Tampa and that red soil on campus liked to stick like dye.

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

"Oh, you're done eh?" Tampa asked with a sly smile, the class hanging on to every word. 

The boys nodded.

"Perfect. Now I need you to cover those holes you just made. Go now. 

Go, make sure you make everything smooth! 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 rather loudly on the intergalactic walkie-talkie he called a cellphone.

Harry had had it.

He lunged forward.

The End?

*Cetharus*
Hala Week: Hard times often characterised by low food rations and pinching provisions in some Ghanaian high schools. Usually close to mid-terms or the end of the school term.
Me wu: translates to "I'm dead" in the Akan language