When was the last time you truly felt embarrassed, even for something as trivial as having to tell a lie for something you actually did? AQUILA NG’ONGA recounts his encounter with a female teacher he loathed and the day ants invaded his body to his anguish, but much to the derisive pleasure of his schoolmates.

I believe most of my awkward moments occurred when I was a little boy way back in primary school. I think it was partly because of the insecurities I harboured and that I could also think I was unlucky.
For example, I hated being a first born because most of my fellow pupils were last children. I hated that I didn’t have an older brother; I wouldn’t mind an older sister, but an older brother then was your weapon.
It just felt awkward to me that I could have siblings while some of my friends had none. I really wished I was a last child.
When I look back, I just laugh because I know it was probably because I was only young. Despite having myriads of responsibilities as a first child, being born a leader is such an honour, really.
These responsibilities, however, begin even when you are least prepared for them. I went to the same primary school as my younger brother. His teacher was Mrs Smith (real name withheld).
Mrs Smith was in her early 50s and she always gave me the scares.
Her face was always ready to fix me in an embarrassing position. I guess I never really liked her.
Whenever my brother did something silly, Mrs Smith would always come rushing to my class to inform me.
I always felt ashamed because she had to do it whenever I was in the middle of a lesson with my classmates who were not part of her problem with me, but were always ready to absorb her mischievous news.
“Couldn’t this woman just get a life please,” I would cry in my heart. It always killed me, I felt unlucky. I never got used to this, no matter the multiple times she did it.
Mrs Smith used to teach remedial lessons or maybe they were just tuitions. I happened to be in her class that afternoon, not for her lessons, though. I was just having a chat with some of my friends whom she taught.
I realised that she had left a dozen pens she could use for marking.
Well, not only was my brother silly, but I was, too, on that day because I stole those pens and took off for my mother’s work place.
The problem was that my mother’s office was just next to my school and no sooner had I settled to cast a joyful look at my acquired treasure than two girls sent by Mrs Smith to let me know she sought to see me, knocked on the door.
As we started heading back to my school with the girls, I did something really stupid. I mean I was so nervous, I wasn’t used to stealing and, in fact, when I got those pens I told myself to believe that they never belonged to Mrs Smith, that someone else had accidentally left them.
I also could picture Mrs Smith’s face and what she would say to me; you could bet I was so uneasy, so tense!. As we drew closer to her class, I began to shake with all sorts of emotions running through me.
I just couldn’t take it anymore and, suddenly, I found myself blurting out to the girls, “I haven’t stolen any pens.”
What? I had just sold myself out. Those girls simply came to call me back to school and had mentioned nothing about the pens. I having a panic attack just let out my defence at the wrong time. My guilt was just too enormous to bear at that moment.
The dreaded moment to face Mrs Smith had now arrived. She grilled me as if she knew I’d taken her pens.
Struggling with my conscience, would I lie I hadn’t? The two girls had, after all, witnessed me sell myself out and any form of denial to Mrs Smith’s question in their presence would not make any sense and could easily be repelled. I regard this as the most awkward moment in my whole life, given that I was coy and hated confrontations; worse still with Mrs Smith. Enough about Mrs Smith.
One fine morning, I was with some older boys in the school garden.
Everyone was having fun telling stories especially me who was the youngest. It felt cool to hang out with them. Something unexpected, however, happened.
Little did I know that as we spoke some terrible ants had embarked on a mission to tour my body. They really were stealthy soldiers because it wasn’t until they were all in my clothes that I felt a sting on my belly, the next on my thigh and so on and so forth until it was my whole body all at once. The older boys asked me to strip to my underwear so they could help stop the ants’ torture of me. It wasn’t a fine morning anymore.
No one hates to be seen in their undies more than a primary school kid especially if there are girls around. Maybe this could have been better at the swimming pool, but this was the school garden.
Many pupils had to see this. Even if the method worked to prevent the ants from biting, it still came with an extreme level of humiliation.
Everyone was having fun laughing at the boy who had to strip because ants had invaded his clothing.
Today, I just look back, laugh, sigh and say “well, it happened to me.”
NB: Contributions to this column, the column you write, should be sent to The Editor, “It happened to me” P O Box 30394, Lusaka, email: tozletters@gmail.com or drop them at any of our Times Printpak offices. Please note that it may take some time before articles are published; this is because they are published on a first-come-first-served basis. Don’t lose hope. Keep sending in your valuable contributions.

Editor.