#murderhewrote

I looked at him in masked annoyance. He was the teacher, I was the pupil, and I was very much aware that there was nothing much I could do. But this man had played around with my name for a long, long time and it so irritated me that he found it amusing. Something had to give.
I hated the way he opened his mouth and guffawed loudly after he had said “Linda Bom Bom”, I detested seeing him laugh at his own “joke”. I loathed how his big nostrils flared as he roared away, and how his little eyes turned into slits as his body shook with mirth at my expense.
Thank God he was not my class teacher, and I only met him once a week. At House meetings. Mr. M was the master of Blue House. We assembled on Wednesdays, though the meetings were more frequent when swimming and sports galas were part of the term’s programmes.
Mr. M did not start murdering my name until I got to Standard Three. I think there were others to make fun of before me. I was only eight years old, but this teasing made me really mad.
One Wednesday morning, in tears, I told Mummy about how the teacher was mangling my name. I told her she had to come to school to ask the Headmaster to change me to Red House- the Nelions. There was also Lenana and Tereri. Our Houses were named for the peaks of Mount Kenya.
Mummy was concerned but said not to worry and that he would stop. But it only became worse. Actually, the worst part was that Mr. M insisted on doing it in front of the other kids who all tittered away.
Three name-mangling assemblies later, I decided it was time to find a solution to this bullying. Yes, bullying- that was how I saw it.
Mummy had said it would stop but this didn't look like it was going to happen soon, and so would take the bull (bully) by the horns. I had to act.
It happened on a sunny Wednesday morning, after we had squinted ourselves through Mr. M’s assembly, standing in the lines and fidgeting from foot to foot. He murdered my name as usual, guffawed away, the kids snickered along, and then after the announcements, the assembly was dismissed.
I had my plan of action worked out.
As the other kids ran off to class, I followed Mr. M. In my blue shirt and big white shorts. I was scared, but I couldn’t take it any more.
“Excuse me, Mr. M.” Very humbly. I was shaking.
He stopped and turned back.
“Yes. Oh! Linda Bom Bom!” he boomed.
And in the bravest voice I could muster, I announced, “Mr. M. that is not my name. I am called Linda Kibombo. I have reported you to my mother, and if you do not stop, I will go to the Headmaster and ask him to change my house.”
He looked at me, surprised.
His face transformed- eyebrows raised, forehead furrowed, mouth set in a hard line.
“You must stop it Mr. M. I do not like it. That is not my name. And the other children laugh at me!”
Silence.
I felt the tears prick my eyes and quickly shifted my gaze to the books and ruler he held in his hands.
“Ok. Go to class now!”
And that was how Mr. M stopped the deliberate murder of my name.