Nolitha didn’t reprimand Cebo. What he was saying was too true to be denied. Everyone knew that Mrs Nyathi hardly taught anything. She sat behind her desk, checking her messages on her phone, scrolling through her Facebook page, sending students out when they made too much noise, when they queried her about anything. That was when she even bothered to come to class. And she wasn’t the only one. All the staff drew their salaries every month, but not many of them earned the money they took home. And Mr Mahlangu did nothing.

So, yes, the Grade 8 students could do with some books to read. Good books.

A slow smile spread on Nolitha’s face.

“Hey, hey, watch out, class – Miss is having an idea,” Dubula shouted out.

“A good one!” Nolitha called back.

And so an idea had been born. The class would collect for a bookcase, scrimping and saving and getting all their money together. And then, instead of just stocking it with books, they’d start a reading club. A Grade 11 student would partner with a Grade 8 student. They’d all meet once a week. If students wanted to take books home they could, but only if they signed a contract promising to look after them, and bring them back within a week.

“Reading for fun,” Nolitha had said. “We’ll discuss the books. Get everyone talking. And then we’ll buy more. Get the whole school fundraising!”

“Maybe we can get the Grade 9s involved too,” Cebo said quietly, “and the 10s. In fact, the whole school. But we shouldn’t have to, Miss. We shouldn’t have to be responsible for teaching students here to read.” His face was troubled, and again a ripple of discontent ran through the class.

“You’re so right, Cebo.” Once again Nolitha didn’t defend the school where she had been teaching for the last three years. “We shouldn’t have to.”

“But if we don’t, who will?” Dubula wasn’t joking now. “As long as we get good books, Miss. Stories we want to read.”

Nolitha sighed as she pushed open the door to Mr Mahlangu’s office. Cebo was right, of course.

Stepping into Mr Mahlangu’s office was like stepping into a world that was the complete opposite of the one she’d left behind her. A comfortable couch, perfectly situated under a ceiling fan turning languidly overhead. Thick carpet underfoot. To the left of his desk a small bar fridge and there, in the corner, a coffee machine, one of those fancy ones where you put in a plastic goodie and coffee came dripping out. Nolitha had seen one on TV, with George Clooney drinking the coffee. A real man cave. Nolathi remembered the first time she had seen Mrs Nyathi leaving the office, pulling at her tight skirt, doing up the buttons on her shirt.

“Hey, what you looking at, Missy? Hamba! Back to your classes.”

That was the first year she was teaching, and it had happened often since. When Nolitha had asked Miss Nene about it, her colleague had laughed.

“They’ve been at it for years.”

“But what about his wife?”

“He doesn’t care, and Nyathi’s never going to let go of him. Have you seen the clothes that woman wears? She’s onto a cushy number with Mahlangu.”

Nolitha thought of Mr Mahlangu’s skinny wrinkled fingers, his long yellow teeth, and shuddered. No way she’d want him anywhere near her.

Mr Mahlangu was sitting straight up behind his desk when Nolitha entered. “Ah, Miss Solani,” he said. “I like my staff to make an appointment if they wish to speak to me. I’m a busy man.” He didn’t ask her to sit, just watched her from the depths of his well-padded office chair. One with a lever that let you recline, or be pumped up or down. Good lumbar support. Nothing like the broken seats her Matrics had to sit on.

“I’m sorry, sir.” Nolitha kept her tone deferential. Mr Mahlangu liked his staff to know their place, especially the young women teachers. “I would have, but the class asked me to check on the Bookcase Fund, and you weren’t here yesterday. I have them in the second period. I’ve found two bookcases, really good ones, very cheap at a second-hand shop, and they say they’ll keep them for me. I think we have almost enough, and if I put down a deposit—”

“Ah, yes.” Mr Mahlangu interrupted her smoothly. “This, ah – what are you calling it? – Bookcase Fund. Hmmm. Well, now, Miss Solani, I think we may have a little problem.”

***

Tell us what you think: What do you think about Mr Mahlangu’s office?