Hoards of people rush through our lives. Some leave an earmarked effect; others are ignored. A selected few remain engraved in our hearts for time to come, unaffected by the next influx.
She was but a teacher – not royalty. She taught us English in the young years of grades four and five. It was my first time studying English and it was this remarkable woman who encouraged my passion (though premature) of the language.
Her name was Mrs Sanjeera Hussain from Sri Lanka. Her always-awry scarf, her curly short hair and her daily attire of long blouses and trousers under the symbolic teachers’ coat – this is my pictorial memory of her. The memory of those understanding, twinkling black eyes, awe-inspiring lectures and the respectful silence that descended upon our class with her presence accompanies this image.
We were just a bunch of kids, but never did she speak a harsh word with us. When irritated she would say with a (rather forced) smile, “DEARIE!” Our class contained a wild assortment of characters and we were every teacher’s nightmare. Handling us was not a bed of roses, but Mrs Sanjeera expertly moulded our minds towards being humans.
Then one day, she came in as usual, tugging at her scarf but wearing an abaya instead of the familiar sticker-filled coat, a sign of the many students who loved her. When we rudely asked for an explanation, she simply said, “I’m going out of station.”
Little did we know that she was leaving. We never saw her after the bell rang that day. It was a one-way trip, leaving us pining in the midst of weird new people trying to take her place. But no, nobody could ever refill the gaping hole she left behind.
Whenever our conversation now in grade eight turns to teachers, we always remember, ‘’But the best teacher we ever had was Mrs Sanjeera’’.
Classmates say I was her favourite. I hope against hope that I was. Words cannot express what she means to me. May Allah Almighty protect her, wherever she may be and give me a chance to contact her again because I just want to say, “Thank you.”
Alina Abdul Salam, age 14
