Passing Exams
A. G. Prummer
Today we would see what happened to those who failed.
As we gathered in the school courtyard, under the toasting sun, with chapped lips, scratchy throats, and dry coughs summoned by the dry season’s Harmattan winds, we all wished we could just disappear, that the winds would carry us away and drop us in the middle of a desert.
The discipline master stood on the stage with a permanent frown on his face, his hands behind his back. He was squinting at us as if we were mosquitoes at dusk. The principal stood beside him, clutching a large piece of paper that he scanned like a magazine.
Sweat snaked down my back, drenching my navy uniform dress. I looked at my watch. It was almost ten am. A lump had formed in my throat, and I couldn’t swallow. I couldn’t move. My stomach gurgled, reminding me of how I had skipped breakfast that morning after finding a dead weevil in my porridge. Last week, it had been a fuzzy cockroach leg. The canteen ladies didn’t seem to care.
“Why are you worried?” I heard Theo say from behind me. “You passed, of course.”
“We don’t know for sure. They can always increase the standard passing grade.”
He scoffed. “You always pass.”
“Well, I’m sure you passed too.”
“I first thought I failed, but Mr. Ngome made a mistake counting my total score on the economics exam.”
“Oh, that’s annoying. Did you get to talk to him?”
He said nothing. I looked at him and saw that his face was lined with streams of sweat. His bloodshot eyes darted back and forth, and he was panting as if he had just completed a football match. His left hand gripped a trembling piece of paper. “No . . . but I’ll show this to him when they call my name. He’ll understand.”
I looked away.
“Good morning, Form Five students. Is everyone here?” the principal said, never looking up from the sheet of paper in his hands.
“Yes, sir,” we all said in unison.
My heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my eyes. I considered pretending to faint. Maybe that would stop this whole process. But it would only delay the inevitable. I sent up a prayer that the hours, weight, and sleep I’d lost from studying were worth it. I took a deep breath and looked up at the stage.
“We congratulate you, Form Five students, as most of you have passed your mock national exams. You make us proud to be a part of Titus Boarding School,” said the principal. He paused to give us a brief smile that never reached his eyes. “Now you all know what happens to those who did not put in the work to pass all of their exams. It is important to us that you put your studies first.” He pulled out his cell phone, glanced at the screen, and popped it back into his pocket. “Now, let’s begin.”
I heard a whimper from one of my classmates. A nervous cough. Shuffling feet.
“Olewu, Maggie.”
A collective sigh of relief from the students who weren’t called. I looked over and saw Maggie. She was frozen in place, staring at the stage with her mouth gaping as if in a trance.
“Olewu! Come forward.” The discipline master’s booming voice snapped Maggie into action, and like a robot, she walked towards the stage, her body no longer her own.
A student retched. We moved out of the way to avoid being sprayed.
The principal looked over, rolled his eyes and said, “Please, let’s continue.”
He listed another three names, and the culprits lined up on the stage, facing us.
“This is the last name I will call today,” said the principal, smiling at us again.
We all exchanged glances, faces brimming with a mix of hope and relief.
“Dogmo, Theo. Come forward.”
My heart sank when I heard my friend’s name. We all turned to look at him.
With crazed eyes, he held up the paper in his hand and waved it as if it were a flag. As though he were surrendering in war. “Please, sir. I did not fail, sir!”
“Nonsense,” said the principal. “So, you’re calling me a liar? Come forward.”
Theo didn’t move. Instead, he yelled, veins bulging out of his neck. “I passed, sir! I passed! Mr. Ngome. You miscounted the score on my–”
“Silence!” The principal turned towards the teachers, who all stood to the left of the stage. “Mr. Ngome, did you make any mistakes in grading?”
Mr. Ngome smirked and shook his head.
“So, this boy is wasting our time.” said the discipline master.
“No, sir. I passed. I have proof. I have my paper here!”
The discipline master charged off the stage, towards Theo. When he reached Theo, he snatched the paper out of Theo’s hand.
Theo spoke as fast as he could. “See, sir, let me show you–”
The discipline master crumpled the paper and tossed it behind him.
The students gasped.
Theo stared at the ground in shock. “But, sir.”
“You failed,” said the discipline master, his voice calm. “And you are coming to the stage.”
Theo started backing away. “No, no. This is a mistake.”
The discipline master grabbed his arm.
“No, sir. Nooo!” Theo tried to pull his arm away and just as he was about to break free, another teacher ran up and grabbed the other arm. “Nooo!”
Theo thrashed about, but in vain. Together, the teacher and discipline master dragged him up to the stage, until he too was facing the rest of us below.
“These are the students who failed,” said the principal, gesturing towards them as if they were models in a fashion show. “The rest of you are dismissed but are free to stay if you wish.”
I heard a few footsteps behind me. Some retreated, and others approached. I stayed.
“Look,” said Ahone, the head girl of our class. She had uncrumpled Theo’s economics exam paper. “He was telling the truth.”
I grabbed it from her and counted the marks, my vision blurring from tears. He had a passing total score. This would have been enough to pass the exam.
“He passed,” I said and glanced at Ahone, who nodded.
“He passed,” she said. The remaining classmates all nodded and repeated the same words. But no one said them loud enough for the people on the stage to hear. None of us spoke up. None of us wanted to be heard.
We all just watched the stage in silence.
“Let’s handle Dogmo first,” said the principal. “Mr. Ngome, would you like to do the honors?”
“But I passed, sir! I passed!” Spittle flew out of Theo’s mouth, and he thrashed around again. I wished he wouldn’t do that. It just makes it so much worse.
Mr. Ngome walked up to Theo and lifted a fist, preparing to land a blow.
I looked down.
I heard a grunt. Then more. Then a whack! Slap! A whip hitting flesh. Crying. Wailing. Pleading. First from Theo, then from each of the students who had failed. I closed my eyes and waited.
Then I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Safi. They’re done,” said Ahone. She shook her head. “Imagine what they would have done to them if these hadn’t just been the mock exams.”
“I can’t.”
“Me neither.” Ahone nodded towards the stage. “Go get Dogmo. Math class is in ten minutes.”
I looked at the stage, and it was deserted except for Theo’s body, which was curled up in a fetal position. Panic sliced through my body. I ran towards him.
“Theo?” I hunched over him and assessed the damage. A river of blood ran from his nose to his mouth to the dusty ground. His eyes were open but glazed like a mannequin’s, open, but staring at nothing. He whimpered.
“Theo? Theo? I’m sorry. But you’re okay. Please, please get up. Math is in ten minutes.”
His mouth opened, and the river of blood caved in, revealing yellow teeth. He said something but it was so quiet I couldn’t hear it.
“What did you say Theo?”
“C-call my p-parents.”
“Okay, okay, I will,” I said, nodding, but we both knew I wasn’t going to call. No good would come from that.
A. G. Prummer
Today we would see what happened to those who failed.
As we gathered in the school courtyard, under the toasting sun, with chapped lips, scratchy throats, and dry coughs summoned by the dry season’s Harmattan winds, we all wished we could just disappear, that the winds would carry us away and drop us in the middle of a desert.
The discipline master stood on the stage with a permanent frown on his face, his hands behind his back. He was squinting at us as if we were mosquitoes at dusk. The principal stood beside him, clutching a large piece of paper that he scanned like a magazine.
Sweat snaked down my back, drenching my navy uniform dress. I looked at my watch. It was almost ten am. A lump had formed in my throat, and I couldn’t swallow. I couldn’t move. My stomach gurgled, reminding me of how I had skipped breakfast that morning after finding a dead weevil in my porridge. Last week, it had been a fuzzy cockroach leg. The canteen ladies didn’t seem to care.
“Why are you worried?” I heard Theo say from behind me. “You passed, of course.”
“We don’t know for sure. They can always increase the standard passing grade.”
He scoffed. “You always pass.”
“Well, I’m sure you passed too.”
“I first thought I failed, but Mr. Ngome made a mistake counting my total score on the economics exam.”
“Oh, that’s annoying. Did you get to talk to him?”
He said nothing. I looked at him and saw that his face was lined with streams of sweat. His bloodshot eyes darted back and forth, and he was panting as if he had just completed a football match. His left hand gripped a trembling piece of paper. “No . . . but I’ll show this to him when they call my name. He’ll understand.”
I looked away.
“Good morning, Form Five students. Is everyone here?” the principal said, never looking up from the sheet of paper in his hands.
“Yes, sir,” we all said in unison.
My heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my eyes. I considered pretending to faint. Maybe that would stop this whole process. But it would only delay the inevitable. I sent up a prayer that the hours, weight, and sleep I’d lost from studying were worth it. I took a deep breath and looked up at the stage.
“We congratulate you, Form Five students, as most of you have passed your mock national exams. You make us proud to be a part of Titus Boarding School,” said the principal. He paused to give us a brief smile that never reached his eyes. “Now you all know what happens to those who did not put in the work to pass all of their exams. It is important to us that you put your studies first.” He pulled out his cell phone, glanced at the screen, and popped it back into his pocket. “Now, let’s begin.”
I heard a whimper from one of my classmates. A nervous cough. Shuffling feet.
“Olewu, Maggie.”
A collective sigh of relief from the students who weren’t called. I looked over and saw Maggie. She was frozen in place, staring at the stage with her mouth gaping as if in a trance.
“Olewu! Come forward.” The discipline master’s booming voice snapped Maggie into action, and like a robot, she walked towards the stage, her body no longer her own.
A student retched. We moved out of the way to avoid being sprayed.
The principal looked over, rolled his eyes and said, “Please, let’s continue.”
He listed another three names, and the culprits lined up on the stage, facing us.
“This is the last name I will call today,” said the principal, smiling at us again.
We all exchanged glances, faces brimming with a mix of hope and relief.
“Dogmo, Theo. Come forward.”
My heart sank when I heard my friend’s name. We all turned to look at him.
With crazed eyes, he held up the paper in his hand and waved it as if it were a flag. As though he were surrendering in war. “Please, sir. I did not fail, sir!”
“Nonsense,” said the principal. “So, you’re calling me a liar? Come forward.”
Theo didn’t move. Instead, he yelled, veins bulging out of his neck. “I passed, sir! I passed! Mr. Ngome. You miscounted the score on my–”
“Silence!” The principal turned towards the teachers, who all stood to the left of the stage. “Mr. Ngome, did you make any mistakes in grading?”
Mr. Ngome smirked and shook his head.
“So, this boy is wasting our time.” said the discipline master.
“No, sir. I passed. I have proof. I have my paper here!”
The discipline master charged off the stage, towards Theo. When he reached Theo, he snatched the paper out of Theo’s hand.
Theo spoke as fast as he could. “See, sir, let me show you–”
The discipline master crumpled the paper and tossed it behind him.
The students gasped.
Theo stared at the ground in shock. “But, sir.”
“You failed,” said the discipline master, his voice calm. “And you are coming to the stage.”
Theo started backing away. “No, no. This is a mistake.”
The discipline master grabbed his arm.
“No, sir. Nooo!” Theo tried to pull his arm away and just as he was about to break free, another teacher ran up and grabbed the other arm. “Nooo!”
Theo thrashed about, but in vain. Together, the teacher and discipline master dragged him up to the stage, until he too was facing the rest of us below.
“These are the students who failed,” said the principal, gesturing towards them as if they were models in a fashion show. “The rest of you are dismissed but are free to stay if you wish.”
I heard a few footsteps behind me. Some retreated, and others approached. I stayed.
“Look,” said Ahone, the head girl of our class. She had uncrumpled Theo’s economics exam paper. “He was telling the truth.”
I grabbed it from her and counted the marks, my vision blurring from tears. He had a passing total score. This would have been enough to pass the exam.
“He passed,” I said and glanced at Ahone, who nodded.
“He passed,” she said. The remaining classmates all nodded and repeated the same words. But no one said them loud enough for the people on the stage to hear. None of us spoke up. None of us wanted to be heard.
We all just watched the stage in silence.
“Let’s handle Dogmo first,” said the principal. “Mr. Ngome, would you like to do the honors?”
“But I passed, sir! I passed!” Spittle flew out of Theo’s mouth, and he thrashed around again. I wished he wouldn’t do that. It just makes it so much worse.
Mr. Ngome walked up to Theo and lifted a fist, preparing to land a blow.
I looked down.
I heard a grunt. Then more. Then a whack! Slap! A whip hitting flesh. Crying. Wailing. Pleading. First from Theo, then from each of the students who had failed. I closed my eyes and waited.
Then I felt a tap on my shoulder.
“Safi. They’re done,” said Ahone. She shook her head. “Imagine what they would have done to them if these hadn’t just been the mock exams.”
“I can’t.”
“Me neither.” Ahone nodded towards the stage. “Go get Dogmo. Math class is in ten minutes.”
I looked at the stage, and it was deserted except for Theo’s body, which was curled up in a fetal position. Panic sliced through my body. I ran towards him.
“Theo?” I hunched over him and assessed the damage. A river of blood ran from his nose to his mouth to the dusty ground. His eyes were open but glazed like a mannequin’s, open, but staring at nothing. He whimpered.
“Theo? Theo? I’m sorry. But you’re okay. Please, please get up. Math is in ten minutes.”
His mouth opened, and the river of blood caved in, revealing yellow teeth. He said something but it was so quiet I couldn’t hear it.
“What did you say Theo?”
“C-call my p-parents.”
“Okay, okay, I will,” I said, nodding, but we both knew I wasn’t going to call. No good would come from that.