To say that we didn’t get along with Mrs. Amanya is an understatement. We resented her and the feeling was mutual on her part. Every time she entered the classroom, we endured insults and spiteful remarks. In retaliation, we called her unpleasant nicknames and drew cartoons of her everywhere.

But the animosity worsened when on top of verbal abuse, she added physical torture; she started pulling our ears and slapping our faces. We tried to get rid of her by locking her out of the classroom but we ended up spending the day cleaning bathrooms and toilets. We posted complaints in suggestion boxes but received no response.

Finally, we made a death threat; we wrote "If Amanya comes back to our class, we will kill her.” The writing was made with red ink to give the impression that we were out for blood. We slipped the note under the staffroom door at night and the next day, we sat in our classroom, praying that she would be too scared to show up. 

But she showed up and wasted no time hauling insults at us. Coincidentally, she stepped on a banana peeling that someone had left lying around. She slid and fell flat on her back, letting out a piercing scream. We responded with laughter and applause.

But then she didn’t get up and neither did she move. She just lay still, looking pale...dead even. Laughter and applause quickly faded and was replaced with fainting, farting, crying and screaming.

By the time she was carried to the school clinic, news about the murder of a teacher had spread like wild fire. Some heard that we had beaten her to death, others heard that we had forced a banana down her throat and it had choked her to death, while others heard that we had pushed her to the ground and her head had split open.

By the time the police rounded us up, a murder charge was hanging over our shoulders. It was later discovered that she was alive and well, just embarrassed. But by that time, we had already been whisked away to spend a night in the coolers where there was more fainting, farting, crying and screaming.