Mr X: Guy, how far na? Long time.
Mr Y: I dey jare, I travel.
Mr X: Ah ah, where you go?
Mr Y: I bin go for Europe tour.
Mr X: Which area for Europe.
My Y: Guy, I go like seven different countries O; Milan, Paris, Rome, Holland, Spain, Amsterdam, and Malta.
Mr X: Omo, you dey chop life O.
Mr Y: *Laughs* For where? The waka no reach me sef.
Mr X: Guy if to say na me enter Europe, I no go come back O. This naija plenty palaver dey for my head.
Mr Y: As in.
Mr X: I go just find one EU babe toast am well, then marry am. I go settle there na.
Mr Y: Guy I don waka well, but there's no place like home.
Mr X: No place like kini? Abeg leave that one. Wey, dem get light, good road, and fresh water, wetin go make me sidon for here make sun com turn me to burnt offering? If say I get chance leave naija this night, bros I no go look back.
***
06:15 AM
Two beeps... Another two... Then another. I thrust my hand out from under the duvet reaching for my iPhone, desperately wishing to hit the snooze button... I can't risk being late to work. I quickly pull my arm back under the duvet attempting to bask in the warmth of my body heat.
I sit up in the dark then head to the shower wincing due to the brightness of the lamp on the landing.
The house is chilly.
I get dressed in a hurry and descend down two flights of stairs. No time for breakfast but I grab my lunch from the fridge which I put together the night before.
6:43 am I glance outside the kitchen window, it's still dark. Keys check, oyster check, diary check, staff card check. No time for makeup just a pair of studs and watch, my hair is pulled back neatly into a bun. I need to catch the 6:57 train so I power walk to the station. I catch the DLR then change for another train at Stratford, followed by a bus for the final part of my journey.
7:58 am I pass through the school gates heading towards the staff room. I ditch my running shoes for smart pumps, wash my hands, a quick glance in the mirror shows the cold has left me with a pinkish tinge in the nose and cheeks. I check my pigeonhole for mail then log into a computer to check emails from colleagues.
It's 8:25 am, the bell goes for period one. I log off and walk briskly to my class.
Twenty-eight small people burst into the room. 'mam, you know the homework... 'mam I have to leave at ten past for my piano lesson', 'mam I've got a belly ache can I go medical room'...'mam I forgot my book.' Not to mention the cluster of good mornings in between....Meanwhile, I'm trying to log onto my PC and upload the register - My brain is trying to process about fifty thoughts per minute.
I spend form time following up pastoral issues and hand out notices before I realise it's break time. That's gone in a blink too, I gulp down half a measly cereal bar just as the bell goes. I upload the powerpoint for the lesson, distribute the necessary resources and take my last bite of raisin and apple gooey stuff disposing of the wrapper in the bin.
3:00 pm the final bell of the day goes... Home time... I want to actually have a weekend where I can unwind, completely indulging in total relaxation. I leave school at 19:10 pm that evening and 18:20 the following day.
On weekdays, I spend roughly nine or ten hours at work plus an additional two and half hours commuting. As a contractor, I don't get paid during half term holidays (when schools are closed) neither do I qualify for sick pay. I will not disclose how much I earn but I will disclose that just under 300 GBP is deducted from my salary every week. First my agency takes a small commission fee, then there's tax, national insurance, my pension contribution, ooh and finally how could I forget the wonderful student loan?
Now if I divide my weekly earnings by the numbers of hours worked- not including additional time spent planning lessons, marking exercise books, and preparing resources on weekends talk less of all the other irrelevant admin duties modern day teachers are burdened with, I earn £7.56 per hour which is sixpence more than what I earned working as a retail assistant whilst studying for my degree.
My mind just flashed back to 2013... The education consultant who assisted me with securing my first teaching job. His spiel was something along the lines of 'teachers in inner London, you guys have the best graduate salary, it's better than a 9-5 cos you guys finish at three AND you get loads of annual leave.' I actually believed it, twenty-seven thousand... He coerced me into buying into this fallacy lol. Na lie O after all those deductions my salary is nowhere near twenty-seven thousand...
Up next...
Not all that - Part 2
