“… eyedebereh yegidihin yemitastemir timeslaleh…”
“… tefetroh meselegne hulunim timihirt kes bileh beand dimts new yemitwetaw… chok tilina melso dimsih yikensal…’’
“…yesetehen note course outline yimeslal… beza lay endemitawkew metshaf yelenim…”
“…timihirtu minim lisibegne alchalem…”
Some comments I received on the first session I had with my students after classes were resumed.
I was planning on just spitting biochemistry. Things had turned a bit acrid between us with the whole strike business and I was not sure if I wanted to indulge in hasab mansherasher. But midway through the second hour, I say gebachihu wey ? and they are without reaction, as usual. Then I ask eshi yetu ga new yalgebachihu ? And one student raises his hand and says that he has not understood everything starting from enzymes and that I could ask the same question to the other students and they would respond the same and that they had discussed the issue with the dean and they came to class in the hope that the dean had told me of their complaints. The beauty of it is that everything starting from enzymes is everything that I have taught them thus far.
The flood gates have now been opened. I stop the lesson and begin taking students’ comments.
Guess I had it coming.
There are also some students who think that except for some minor adjustments, I could make “an excellent teacher” But that does not exactly mean that they are torn on the subject of me. A big majority of them doesn’t feel me.
I don’t blame them. In their defense, I am a certified bore. I would not like me to teach me. If you don’t believe me, just try and read the paragraph before last and this one too, for that matter. In class, seldom have I succeeded in getting my point across – and I am not sure whether they are the relevant points- without driving a good number of them to sleep. Some also study in class and the rest wander far far away – and I wish they could take me along with them, and when they are dreaming away, sometimes in tag teams, I wonder what they are dreaming of – leaving behind their bodies for attendance sake. And once attendance has been taken at half time, there would be fewer students for the second half. I am not complaining though – once the class is half full, my voice starts to resonate. It is all about acoustics baby!
The probability that the other teachers may be facing the same problem is no consolation for me because, fuck the others, this is not how I pictured my teaching career would be.
My defects, the student’s defects, the facts of life of a student, some promises, more problems…
That was two weeks ago and things have not changed a great deal.
Sometimes I think it all boils down to my sexual frustration. Yeah, blame it on the lack of sex! Maybe it is affecting me in more ways than I had expected it would. It is messing up my students. I am not having any so why should they? And how do I do that? By subjecting them to four hours per week of long-winded libido-killing lectures! I suspect some of them might even have gone sterile. So young…
(I hear the plan to eradicate tse tse flies by sterilizing the males with radiation had failed. May be my recorded sessions blaring from speakers in tse tse-infested areas could do the trick. “Get me Junedin…”)
Freud would have been proud of me. I mean, is this not the kind of theories he is famous for? Anyone? Anyone who has read him?
The good thing is, fuck their libido, mine is intact. I may even go as far as to say I am at my horniest. Take for instance this girl from the red suq in our sefer. There I would be standing on the threshold, waiting for her to finish wrapping the two loaves of bread- and she seems to take too much time wrapping, maybe she wants me to notice her, and take good notice of her my dick does – and lo! my dick has assumed 12 0’ clock position and is threatening to stab my belly in its attempt to reset to 6.
And then I get home. You know a man can only do “so much” by himself. And I do that “so much” for the day.
And there is this waitress in the administrative lounge. She used to be an innocent girl when she first started. Now her ass is getting bigger and I am noticing some associated behavioral changes. Be careful girl, for your ass is getting to your head!
Kebatari! Arfeh firfirhin atbelam?
I do not know if you have heard it before but let me tell you a joke. This boy gets married and it just so happened he had no clue about the propers of the wedding night. So he asks his father (wait! it’s a different joke) and is told bezia neger endiyachawitat. He takes off his clothes, holds his you know what and brandishes it saying “belash belash…”
Funny? No? Anyway, shout out to Mo.
I am getting to the part which deals with the title of this post. It is a marmalade which is produced here in Ba Da and let us just say that it has an unforgettable taste which you would still have at the tip of your tongue after you had signed off for the night. And you know me, I like it. Many people wonder what point there is in knowing- as is being made easier by social networking sites – what a person had for breakfast. Well, I cannot vouch for the millions others but in my case, my disclosures have a method to them.
Allow me to explain
My neighbor invited me for coffee ( how I hate it when anyone does that!) ; you know the soldier’s wifey right? It was her, her lady friend (whose husband is also in the forces) and a young girl from the main house. The guys were out of town for training. Bechewata mehal the friend asks me how I am coping with cooking for myself and whether I did not have a little sister whom I could bring in to fill the part. She starts telling me about her brother and how he ended up marrying a coworker owing to his being fed up of migb betoch and sometimes cooking. The messed up part is that the girl had told him that she was 25 when they got married but later, after they had a child together, she reveals that she was 35 when they got married. Now, family and friends are on the brother’s case and he is confused.
Age do not matter to me. In fact I think I would like them older than me. And a couple of times I had managed to squeeze in the talk gin yiwadedalu ? Of course, no part of my three female company thought that my question had any merit. And I agree with them – it was clearly a marriage of hod convenience and the guy got more than what he bargained for when the girl brought ten more years to the table; in addition to good food, that is.
A more appropriate question is: gin balemuya nat? And that too I had asked.
Getting to my point…
As I hope was made clear by the story above, there are wende latewoch who are finding it hard to get by and are being driven to committing despicable acts such as marrying for the sake of a well prepared meal. Now, I am not here to defend the holy institution that is marriage. I know in The Bible it says mefatat aygebam but I must have missed the passage where it says megabat yigebal. I will not get married, not even for belash belash’s sake. As it stands, I have not had enough of myself. And I am not talking in “so much” terms.
So, anytime a late in distress is about to do something stupid, I want him to remember this: hold on brother for it is not that bad! Breakfast can be overcome no problem (this is where the muz ena zinjibil comes in). And if you can take care of either lunch or dinner outside, it would be easier to cook one serious meal a day. You should eat fish cuz you know they got the ω-3 shit going on. It doesn’t necessarily have to be Romedan for you to eat temr too. Monotony is what we are trying to fight through the days of the week. Keep your eyes and ears open to know what other people like you are doing under similar conditions, the way I am doing this for you. And you can wash your clothes and clean the house too. I know it could get tiresome sometimes but it is a sacrifice that we/I am willing to pay for not having to deal with people, be it in the form of a wife (you wish!) or temelalash serategna.
And you, you, and you, tell me what you are eating.
I need a new profession.