Bless Me Teacher, for I have Sinned!

EURO 2012 is almost here! I still haven’t gone over the groups in depth, checked the schedule, the fixtures and the players etc… But I am planning to do that in the next 48 hours. Today, I am posting about something else, still related to soccer. It is a confession, accompanied by a hope that it will be too late for a teacher at LAU to change my grade on an Arabic Course I had to sit through in the Spring of 1998.

The world cup finals were starting in June. I was finishing my sophomore year. I was 17.5 years old (still a child by United Nations definitions). And I was a crazy soccer maniac, just like my 13-year-old brother is now. I had the full listings of everything world cup memorized in my head: the groups, the mechanism of who plays who if they win first or second in their group, etc… Up to the final match.

The Arabic class (Appreciation of Arabic Literature) started to get boring gradually as the semester progressed. The teacher being a very old lady certainly didn’t help. So every session, at 9 a.m. when we started, I used to listen to everything the teacher said and write. But I was not taking notes.

In reality, I was jotting down the whole scheme of the world cup on my copybook, examining every probability of who might play who in the final rounds. I went about it feverishly. At the same time, I was good in Arabic Literature and I loved it. So I multi tasked between the world cup on my notebook and the philosophical things the teacher used to say about Scheherazade and Rasheed Al Da’eef. Basically, among the 40 sleepy students, I was the only one taking part in the discussion and writing “notes”. But I didn’t realize that until the teacher got pissed at my classmates.

She walked to the front row and stood at my desk. And she started lecturing the class.

“I am very disappointed with you all. Nobody discusses anything. Nobody reads. And nobody takes notes. Look at your friend here. What’s your name?”

Huh? Niam.

“Look at Niam, here. She is always taking notes without me even asking her to. I wish you’d all be like her.”

I protected my copybook with my hands and feet. Her thick eyeglasses suddenly became my utmost hope in the world. Please, O’God, Please, don’t have her ask me for the copybook to SHOW the classmates how brilliant I am. That’d be the end of me.

The teacher did not ask for Niamz copybook.

Niam got an A on the Appreciation of Arabic Literature course.

The 1998 World Cup Finals were the last finals she feverishly analyzed.

France won the 1998 World Cup.

The name of the teacher of that class remains unknown.


Author: Niam

Storyteller, Award Winning Filmmaker, Digital Nomad

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