Soon the long vacation came to an end and the girls were glad to go back to school. They missed their friends so much, especially Ijeoma who has come to get used to the school and love it. She missed her teachers too, especially Mrs. Ubani, their pretty, newly married literature mistress whom she has come to adore like her own sister. She also longed to go back to school and continue with her pro-life work there. Besides, there were so many gists to catch up on and many more to tell her friends.
As usual, the first few weeks or so were academic free. Being September and the beginning of a new academic calendar, there were lots of new students to be admitted, naturally, lectures were interrupted. The girls used the free periods to catch up on and indulge in idle gossip.
On the third week, and just as lessons were about to pick up in earnest, Jessica was in the classroom having lessons when the principal sent for her. Immediately, she knew she was in trouble because the principal hardly sends for anyone except when there is trouble.
Like one in a trance, she walked mechanically over to the principal’s office, all the while her mind doing a crisscross as she tried to fathom the reason why she could possibly be looking for her. The news that Mrs. Torture, as the students fondly call her because of her high handedness and penchant for punishment, sent her pulse racing. She was a terror to both the students and teachers alike because of her strict disciplinary measures and no nonsense attitude. Till date, she has been careful to avoid getting into her black book. Shaking like a leaf under the wind, she wondered where she could have gone wrong this time. She didn’t fool herself she sent for her to give her chocolates or a pat in the back. Then her mind went back to the routine HIV/pregnancy test conducted a couple of days ago and her heart missed a beat. Already, 5 girls have tested positive to AIDS and another 6 tested positive for pregnancy. Most alarming was the fact that one of the girls, Gina that tested positive to AIDS was highly self motivated and health conscious and a strong advocate of condoms. The news of her infection sent shock waves throughout the whole length and breadth of the school. The message the girls got from her predicament was, if Gina could get AIDS, then anyone could.
‘Not me, I can’t get AIDS,’ she thought, trying to dismiss the idea. ‘I’m too big and defended for that kind of stuff.’
But the question kept nagging her unconsciously.
‘I’ll just kill myself,’ she vowed. ‘I can’t bear the shame.’
Then another idea occurred to her. ‘What if I am pregnant?’ she wondered. ‘Come to think of it, I have not seen my period.’
She shrugged. ‘I can’t be pregnant. AIDS and unwanted pregnancies are for small shit babes,’ she said to herself, ‘not for larger babes like me.’
Just then another idea occurred to her, maybe she wants to talk to me about my grades. Yes, that could be possible, she thought. In fact, ever since she started her official journey into sexuality, her grades have been steadily on the decline. And just lately, she paid less and less attention to her studies and concentrated more and more on her social life.
‘It is possible she wants to talk to me about my recent behavior,’ she muttered to herself.
Just a few days ago, Miss Eze, their hard to please games mistress caught her and her friends in town frolicking with their boyfriends, maybe, she told on them, she thought, trying to figure it out. But she couldn’t put her fingers to the pulse.
When she got to the principal’s office, she paused momentarily as she instinctively did the sign of the cross. Then, picking up courage, she tapped lightly on the door and waited.
From somewhere inside the office, she heard the principal call out, “Come in, please.”
She opened the door cautiously and peered in, the cold air conditioned air from the office hit her face and hair, soothing her frayed nerves. She swallowed hard. She could see Mrs. Torture, sitting behind her desk like a powerful high court judge about to hand down judgment. There were a couple of other girls with her in the office. They were the Senior Prefect, the Social Prefect and the Library Prefect.
“May I come in, please?” she asked in a shaky voice.
“Yes, do come in, Miss Nnamani,” the principal replied. “I’m expecting you.”
That seems to be the only thing she knows how best to do, she thought. Expect people and punish them. She stepped into the office and closed the door quietly behind her. “Good Morning, Ma,” she greeted the principal.
“Good Morning, Miss Nnamani. Give me a minute; I will be with you shortly,” she said and turning to the students, she continued. “As I was saying, I am really very ashamed and disappointed to say the least at your outrageous behavior. I vowed not to let you attend any social function outside the school premises again. You have been really reckless and careless to say the least. What do you mean? The reputation you are trying so hard to tear to pieces took the school over 50 years of sacrifice and hard work to build and I’m not going to let you do that. I passed through this great school, likewise thousands of other prominent women. They didn’t start this way. So I expect you to conduct yourselves seemingly next time, do you understand?”
“Yes, Ma. We are sorry, Ma,” the girls echoed in unison.
“You’d better be. You can now go.”
As soon as the girls were out of the door, Mrs. Torture spurn round in her chair and faced her. Her eyes burned with suppressed fury. “Who told you to sit down, Idiot?”
She jumped to her feet. “I’m sorry, Ma.”
“You’d better be,” she snapped.
She could see she was really mad at her and she wondered why.
“I am terribly disappointed with you, Nnamani. I mean, how could you have let this happen? Eh! How could you? You are one of our best and brightest hopes and now just look at the mess you have made of yourself,” she berated her. “I still can’t find the right words to express my profound disappointment. How could you after all the condoms, pills, education and other forms of family planning methods available to you? How could you have been this careless? How could you allow yourself get pregnant?”
Jessica started and her heart did a summersault as soon as she mentioned the word, ‘pregnant.’ She has always been protected, so how come? She wondered. “Me, pregnant, how? But…but…I’ve always been protected. I…I use condom always,” she cried. “It…it can’t be true…I mean, it’s not possible.”
“Will you shut up your dirty, stinking, big mouth?” The principal snarled. “You’ve been terribly careless. You even tested positive to AIDS too.”
“Oh my God! No Ma, It can’t really be. How come? It’s not possible. I always insist that they wear condom. I swear, it was safe sex, believe me, it was,” she cried, covering her face with her hand.
“Do you mean it was safe sex?” Mrs. Obodo asked, disbelief in her eyes. The shock and surprise she saw in Jessica’s eyes were unmistakable and she knew she was saying the truth.
“Yes, Ma. It was safe sex. I swear, it was,” she cried. “Please Ma, I didn’t mean to let this happen. I was only obeying you. You said it is okay to have sex so long as it is consensual and protected and I wear condom always, I swear.”
She scratched her hair. “Always and consistently, you said?” Mrs. Obodo could hardly believe what she was hearing. She doesn’t know what or who to believe now. Does it mean that the safe sex campaign isn’t working, she wondered. Virtually all the girls that tested positive claimed it was safe sex, and she has no reason to doubt them.
“Yes, Ma,” she replied in-between sobs. “You said if we no fit hold bodi, make we use condom. I swear, I was only obeying you. I was always protected.”
“Phew!” the principal blew out her cheeks. Although she prides herself as having nerves of steel, but she suddenly found herself feeling for her. She was touched and almost moved to tears. She knew she was telling the truth. Her innocence couldn’t be doubted. Right there and then, she realized they have made a mistake and that the moment they changed their lessons, the heart changed its contents.
“I’m sorry, Ma,” Jessica cried. “But it was safe sex.”
“It’s okay, Nnamani, pull yourself together.”
Something in her voice made her to look up. And what she saw almost dumbfounded her. Gone were the rage, the fury and the hardness in her eyes, in its place was an unmistakable tenderness and compassion. Does it mean she believes her, she wondered. “Do you believe me?”
“Yes, I do. I believe you, alright, but we have to find a way to resolve this problem,” she said. “Go back to the classroom, I will send for you later.”