Rather than belt out some clichés on the do’s and don’ts of the teaching profession, I’d like to share an episode that comes to mind from my over forty years in a vocation that is nothing short of a divine calling.
One morning as I walked out of my lecture in the F. Y. BCom class, Susan (name changed) followed hard at my heels. Even before I turned, she grabbed my hand and demanded, “Madam I need to talk to you. When can I come?” Running through my packed schedule for the day, I tried to put it off for the morrow. “No”, she insisted, “it’s got to be today”. Sensing the urgency of the matter I shelved other commitments and asked her to meet me in my cabin during my free period. “Yes Susan”, I said holding her hand in mine. She burst into tears. I let her sob for some time. Then she began “My mother married this lecherous drunkard. My father died leaving us homeless and in utter poverty. Taking advantage of the situation, this man befriended my mother, assuring her that he would take care of both of us. Once married he showed his true colours. I shudder when I think of the physical and mental trauma my mother has gone through. But the worst was yet to come. In my growing up years to my horror, I realized that he was a paedophile. Day or night I am not safe when alone with him in the house. How can I tell this to my mother – already so battered and tormented? There’s no one I can turn to. So I decided to speak to you, before I do something drastic.”
