Where the Real Teachers Hide

By Thelma Chinonyerem, Methodist High School Ikenegbu Owerri Imo State

Age: 15

I was told the classroom is a temple,

that wisdom lives in chalk dust

and neat handwriting on whiteboards.

But life pulled me outside

and laughed at my innocence.

The rain taught me first —

that umbrellas are not always enough,

sometimes you must dance

through the storm you cannot escape.

The graveyard taught me next —

that silence can speak louder than lectures,

that names carved in stone

remind us to measure time

not in grades but in love.

Failure was a cruel tutor,

scribbling lessons in red ink

on the walls of my pride.

It taught me that falling

is just another word for beginning.

A stranger once shared bread with me,

and from that kindness I learned

that generosity is not an equation,

it is a heartbeat choosing to divide itself.

Now I know —

classrooms give certificates,

but life gives character.

And beyond the blackboard’s edge,

the world is a restless teacher

with no timetable, no erasers,

only lessons carved

directly into the skin of our days.