I still remember my least favourite teacher. She is the undisputed lone ranger in this deplorable category. It has been over 25 years and fortunately the bruises and disdain she left has been erased by some phenomenal teachers - but I still remember her. She was a skinny, taupe coloured woman whose patience tank was running on empty even before school started at 7.30am. As our parents dropped us off, they had no idea the hell we were going to endure. All 20 pupils trembled behind their desks as she attempted to teach. If you made a mistake, she would shriek out your name and toss your exercise book through the window. If your nimble limbs did not collapse as you scurried down the stairs to save the book, you can be sure that the rapid descent from the storey building will not be so kind to your book. You will find it lying in tatters on the ground. Your nimble limbs will carry you up to the class so you can face round 2 of her castigation. She did not encourage creativity or self expression. And the slightest digression from military obedience meant she would lift you by the ear with her long red nails and drag you to the front of the class to be reprimanded. Her wickedness knew no bounds, but it met it’s match when my friend Kay had to explain her bloodied ear to her mother. Auntie A. locked her shop and marched to the small school in her high heels. Now you know you are in trouble when a Makola market woman closes her shop to ask you why you are bullying her daughter. I was forever grateful to Kay for the vengeance that was unleashed on Mrs. Fpg. Today, whenever Mrs. Fpg’s name comes up, no one has a positive thing to say about her. We wonder where in the world she is and we pray that where ever she is , it is not in front of children.