I accidentally dropped my pen on the ground and I requested my friend to pick it up. At that moment, the teacher turned and looked at us as if we had just robbed him of his kidney.

Our explanations fell on deaf ears and when the class came to our defence, he cried, "Disrespect!” He claimed that we wanted to beat him up. In a few minutes, we were all clad in ‘non-uniform’ and gumboots, armed with slashers and on our way to the school farm.

Teachers were looking at us as one would look at wasted human cells. They were shaking their heads at us.

They were pointing out that some of us did need the exercise anyway since we had turned into brainless boxes filled with fat.

It was all very confusing. We were renowned delinquents. Teachers had learnt to save their energy for big crimes. Like putting a banana in the doorway thus causing teachers to slide and sit on the floor. Like making student teachers cry. Like pouring ink in the teacher’s desk. So we couldn’t understand why we were being punished this particular time.

Nonetheless, we suffered in silence because naturally, when a known delinquent is accused of delinquency, the likelihood of a fair trial is very slim. Especially when the judge and the accusers are both victims of the delinquent’s crimes.

We slashed the bush under the scorching sun, some of us risking its counter-productivity on our efforts to bleach our skins. We sweated. We sang songs about war and slavery and victory against our oppressors.

Then someone screamed, "Snake!” and we abandoned everything and ran for dear life. We couldn’t possibly run quietly because it would be unspeakable to pass up an opportunity to leave chaos in our wake.

Everyone came out to see what had happened to us. Even the visitors. Those rich people who intended to make generous donations to our school.

We soon realised that the visitors were the reason why we had been banished to the school farm. The school administration was hiding us, the ‘village idiots.’

It was sad to see them fumbling with responses to inquiries about why we were looking ragged in the middle of the day. We sympathised with them. They could have been honest with us. We could have given them foolproof alternatives for hiding us.

You see some of us had lifelong experiences as ‘village idiots’ in our own homes.

Take me, for example. I loved interacting with visitors. But because of my motor mouth, I was always causing embarrassment to my parents.

Once the visitors were gone, it would rain canes on my buttocks. It happened again and again until my parents accepted that I was a ‘village idiot’ and started hiding me.

I remember one day when I was seven, I greeted a woman and called her, "Sir-dam.” She asked me why and I said I was confused about her gender since she had both beards and a bosom. There was awkward silence.