The diplomats

I can start with the odor oozing from the boy sitting beside me or the pain in my shoe that would later give me blisters but I will start with the stare from all angles of the class. I feel them like tiny sticks of broom poking me.

Distant whispers that concern me wave beyond my earshot. To maintain my composure, I keep my gaze on the protruding stomach of the man who had asked me to stand and introduce myself to the class. I have no idea the subject he teaches but his choice of clothing-red stripe shirt tucked in black trousers-and command of words makes me think he teaches English.

"Well, Zere, welcome." He gestures as he speaks, touching his plumpy chest as he says, "You can call me Sir White as the students call me. I am your literature guide. It is a very easy subject... Not hard to pass, just listen in class and read the books. Fun thing is that they are amazing stories. And whatever you don't understand, you can meet me after the class. "

His gaze goes over me and I imagine he is looking at the boy sitting behind me. Although the boy had been scribbling something on paper, I still got a glimpse of him before I sat down.

Sir White turns and picks a book from the desk.

"Bring out your Joys of Motherhood. Who can remember where we stopped?"

"Nobody?"

The class is a graveyard but then, a soft voice breaks the silence and causes me to crane towards the girl sitting beside the window. Beyond the window is a passage. "Page fourteen. Paragraph three."

"Thank you, Anita. It is always Anita."

Anita, who wears a low cut, doesn't look up from the book in her hand or crack a smile. She would rather not have us looking at her.

The melodramatic tone of Sir White's voice drags my attention but one page into the book he reads, my mind fades, drowning his voice.

I am aware of the slight tap of my foot, of the pain on my left foot, of the eyes that turn to me from time to time. I observe paper fly from one end of the class to the other when Sir White turns to write sophisticated words from the book on the board. And each time he pens something, I want to reach out and slap the marker off his hand because the friction on the board irritates my teeth.

"Zere," Mr. White's jovial voice pulls me from a jumble of nothingness. "You don't have the book?" He approaches me with a wide grin.

Yes, and the uniform too, I say in my head. "No sir, I am yet to receive my books."

"Okay." He drops his book face flat on my desk and a momentary confusion envelope me.

"Use mine then... but you will have to read it aloud."

"Eh?" I say but he is already walking back to the front of the class. Paper flies from one end to the other. The girl picks and unfolds the squeezed paper and smiles at what she reads. After that, she scribbles on paper too.

"Zere," Sir white waits for me to look at him before he continues, "If you can't..."

I interject. "I can."

There is a caricature of a woman breastfeeding a child on the cover of the book. I pick it and see chapter 7. My hand is as steady as my heart rate but to maintain this composure, I continue tapping my right foot. The left suffers in the undersized shoe.

I start but he interjects. "We have passed that place, weren't you listening? Anyway, just continue."

About three lines in, a voice from behind says, "We can't hear her." and murmur waves around the class.

I inhale, hold it for a while, and exhale before I continue. When the chapter is done, Sir White looks impressed by my composure, he takes the book, looks at his watch and says, "I will have to cut the class short. Next week you will read for us again."

Jubilation explodes and it takes a while before the class acknowledges Sir White's claps. "Keep quiet all of you! Why are you happy that your learning is cut short? Didn't your parent pay for it? See, let me tell you," he dogears the book before closing it and moves to the front. I watch his ass joggle in his trouser until he perches on the desk. His demeanor exposes his mind: He wants to give a lecture with factual examples of how important school is.

"You know what?" He gathers his books and places them in his bag. "I am sure whatever I say is going to go through one ear and come out the other. I will just leave you guys to it." Apart from the clacks of his shoes (and the joggle of his ass) as he walks to the door, silence envelops the class but hell is let loose as soon as he crosses the door.

Before Sir white had entered, my classmates encircled me, most of them, boys, already conveying their interest with their eyes; the girls weighing my energy. They had asked me questions like, what is your name? What is the name of your former school? Only girls school? One had exclaimed when I relayed that information. were there a lot of lesbians? I nodded to that one.

I expect them to encircle me again but everyone goes about their activity-laughing, talking, shouting, happy the class is cut short- and in this instance, I feel inconsequential.

"Zere." The voice comes directly behind me and I know it is the boy who had been drawing. I crane to see his eyes already on me. He has a small birthmark atop his nose.

"How did you do it?"

"Ehh, do what?" My voice falls under the noise.

"Keep your composure."

Strangely, I smile but it does not feel out of place because he returns it to show perfect dentition.

"I am used to it." I talk above the noise.

"To what? Used to what?"

"New environments."

"Oh." My answer steals the words from his mouth because he opens it but nothing comes out.

"How do you go home?" he finally ask.

"Ehh?" I look around to see if anyone is paying attention, (maybe a prank or something.) Apart from the girl at the window seat, no one seems to care, even my surrounding seatmates.

"That is the way she is. She likes staring. Her name is Anita."

Anita averts her gaze to her desk. Shy much?

"Why do you want to know how I go home?" I raise a brow.

"I stay next door. I saw you guys moving in last week."

I see him in a new light, even notice the weak waves on his hair. "My dad will come to pick me," I say. Normally, Yetu would come alone but dad is still cozying up to me; trying to win me over after another relocation. He knows that his presence, which is so scarce, gives me Joy.

"I walk sha, it is not far." He says.

I know but I remain quiet.

He stands, picks his camouflaged bag, and hangs one strap on his shoulder. "We are coming over to your house this evening. I and my mom. Just telling you so you won't be surprised. My mom wants," he quotes in the air as he says "'Welcome the new neighbors.' But her cake is really good you will love it."

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