I never did like studying Biology. I guess it’s a good thing that I had made up my mind before hand that I wasn’t going to be a doctor. Biology didn’t like me either. Time and again, my score on the examination had been shameful. But of course, that’s what happens when you don’t pay attention in class. 

It didn’t help that the subject was being taught by a human sleeping pill. Mrs. Kworoba, bless her heart, was far too laid-back to keep us attentive. Her voice had no dynamics; I likened it to the buzzing sound of bees. Her voice was soothing and it was exactly what we needed to put us to sleep on hot afternoons after glutting our stomachs with posho and beans.

I grew so accustomed to failing Biology that even when my brain was as vacant as the sea, I would walk into the examination room feeling as confident as justice. This was my lot in life. But on the day before the End of Term Biology examination, Mrs. Kworoba announced that anyone who didn’t score above average would have to write a letter to her parents, stating her reasons for failure.

With less than twenty-four hours left, I knew that there was no way I could read and understand the contents of a subject that I had deliberately ignored since the first moment I arrived in secondary school. So like the rest of my classmates, I resolved to cheat. What I didn’t know is that cheating requires tact and bravery. I was and still am a tactless coward.

As soon as I sat down for the paper, my throat dried up and sweat started pouring down my forehead and my spine. I could barely write because my hands were shaking furiously. When Mrs. Kworoba moved towards my desk, my heart started pounding like a drum, ever so close to my mouth and my eyes were covered with mist.

In a loud and angry voice, she announced, "Hand me that piece of paper right now!” I held out the piece of paper I had brought to aid my cheating and only then did I realise that she wasn’t talking to me...she was talking to Linda Bereta.