I don't know what came over me.
When I was at high school in South Africa, our Afrikaans teacher was an ex-athlete who'd been there pretty much forever and was clearly filling his days 'til retirement. His nickname was "Akkedis", Afrikaans for "lizard", for his odd tic of randomly sticking out his tongue and his preternatural ability to sit entirely inert for a whole school day.

His standard lesson plan was to set an exercise from the textbook, and then sit and read a newspaper for the rest of the period. He never checked our work—the answers were in the back of the book—but told us that if we failed it was our own fault. On Friday's he'd disappear before the bell rang and we'd hear his diesel Mercedes flatulating past the window as he raced off to play golf.

Fortunately, Afrikaans is an easy language and if you grew up in the country you were generally able to speak it regardless of your first language. This laissez-faire attitude was a blessing to lazy, invisible pupil such as myself, as Afrikaans periods were an excellent time to copy someone else's homework, read a book or doodle pictures of a sexual or violent nature.

I genuinely liked the guy as he fulfilled all the requirements of a second language Afrikaans teacher in South Africa (i.e. none), wasn't interested in punishment except for the most wilful troublemakers, reliably freed up 35 minutes of my school day—70 on Friday—and was amiable enough despite his permanently bemused expression. I never caused trouble at all, since being an entirely cerebral person I generally got to do what I want without canings anyway.

The rest of the class, however, did everything they could do to needle this soap bubble of scholastic detente without actually bursting it, and for five years, despite actual food fights breaking out when he was out of the room leaving trails on the walls, the membrane held.

For no particular reason, one September Friday afternoon in our final year, it occurred to me it would be funny to pat the board duster under his desk to get chalk on his knees. This was out of character for me. I can't explain it. I had no animosity for the fellow, and was a cowering goody-two-shoes at the best of times. I snickered a bit when I saw him leaving the class furious patting clouds of white calcium carbonate from his trousers, and promptly forgot about it.

On Monday, he entered the room and closed the door very deliberately, and launched a tirade against us and our lack of respect, a rant so extreme that the class was left slack-jawed. He threatened bloody murder against the perpetrator of the stunt, and proceeded to make accusations against the usual suspects.

I was off the hook, I thought, as he didn't even know my name after 5 years teaching me. When he couldn't get a confession out of anyone, and then started drawing up plans to work our fingers to the bone, I thought I was rumbled as someone would find out and rat me out for sure. I wasn't especially popular and the amount of work being heaped on us was terrific.

He stormed out of the room. The harder side of the class started looking around in wide-eyed confusion, and sure enough, the class's most ghastly little bastard pointed me out to them.

I expected death.

"No way! You? He'll never suspect you! Classic!"

I was the class hero for the only time in my entire life.

He finally retired at the end of that year. People who saw him outside of school said he was all smiles. He never knew who gave him the kick in the pants to leave teaching. I like to think I was his anonymous career counsellor.
(Ladyfingers is in your wardrobe,, Fri 15 Jan 2010, 4:28, 2 replies)

Haha
Even though Afrikaans (that bastard tongue) is my first language, I so don't expect to see it written in my daily internet discourses: I read akkedis as Adidas. Twice.
( Tiffany Aching 's bowl of oatmeal tried to stare her down and won, Fri 15 Jan 2010, 7:51, closed)

Great post
Reminds me of my brief time in school in the Cape, aged 14. As I was exempted from learning Afrikaans, lessons were an hour long doss for me. Today I can only recite A to C in the Afrikaans alphabet and gave up trying to master the rolling 'Rrrr' phonetic. Thanks for bring back the memories!
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Fri 15 Jan 2010, 10:52, closed)