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Authors: Paula Leyden
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“I suppose she knows everything about nuns as well, does she, Bul-Boo? I think if you ask her you’ll find she has an archaeologist in the family so she’s biased.”
In fact, my uncle, Mum’s brother, is an archaeologist, but I didn’t feel like admitting that to Sister.
“She might have one,” I said. “Or she might not. Anyway, did Mr Carter die when he came out of the tomb? Straight away?”
“I wasn’t there, thank God in the wild heavens above,” Sister Leonisa replied. (I’ll have to remember that she mentioned God today and write it down. It’s very rare.) “But one of the archaeologists died, and at the exact moment that he collapsed in writhing agony, his dog howled to the heavens and it died too. They tried to say that this man died from a mosquito bite. Can you believe that, girls and boys, a silly little mosquito bite?”
“He probably got malaria,” I couldn’t resist saying. I don’t know why but sometimes I seem unable to stop an argument with Sister even though I know it’s pointless. Sister will never, ever admit that the other person is right. Mum said the other day that Sister is so disagreeable she wonders if she ever even manages to agree with herself.
Sister’s face took on a smug look – the one I dread, that tells me she actually knows something I don’t.
“You see, too-clever-for-anything Bul-Boo, this was an
Egyptian
mosquito, not a Zambian one. And the Egyptian mosquitoes don’t give you malaria. Go and ask Doctor Lula about that. I know all about this, because I come from Caernarfon in Wales and it so happens that this man, cursed to his death, was called Lord Carnarvon.”
That was the first time any of us had heard she was from Wales. I’d always thought she was from Zambia, and Madillo and Fred say she’s not from anywhere real. Madillo says she was made in a nun factory but that something went just a little bit wrong with the batch, which would explain why she is like she is. And then the school got her for a special discount. Fred says he’s pleased it wasn’t a Buy One, Get One Free offer, otherwise there’d be two of them and he’d be the favourite of both.
“Anyway,” Sister continued, “these same archaeologists, the ones that didn’t die, came to Zambia. Not satisfied with digging up Egypt, they came to make a mess of this country. The first place they headed for was Ng’ombe Ilede. The home of poor little Bukoko the Tick. And there they found two graveyards – one for all the rich people and one for all the poor people. It was easy to see why all the rich people had died. They were so weighed down by all their jewellery that they couldn’t stand up any longer. So they fell to the ground in a heap of jewels and died. Which they deserved because they were so greedy. Death by jewellery – be careful of that, boys and girls, it’s a nasty one.
“Then there was the other graveyard, for poor people. They had no jewellery at all. They died because they were so exhausted from having to bury all the heavy rich people. Those people I feel sorry for. They didn’t deserve it.”
She looked around the classroom. “So, what have you learnt today? Fred?”
He stood up to answer, and counted on his fingers. “Don’t become an archaeologist, don’t wear jewellery, and if rich people die, don’t dig deep graves for them otherwise you’ll get exhausted and die yourself.”
Sister clapped her hands. “Very good, Fred. You’ll go a long way. One day your daddy is going to come to me and say, ‘Thank you, Sister, you saved my boy’s life.’”
Fred looked at her blankly. Rightly so, as he hadn’t known his life had ever been in danger.
“Now,” she said, “will the rest of you stand up to say goodbye.”
We chanted, “Goodbye, Sister Leonisa, we wish you the best things in life and in death.”
“And goodbye to you too, each and every one of you. I wish you all the best in life and in death.”
Sister says we have to say this just in
In fact, my uncle, Mum’s brother, is an archaeologist, but I didn’t feel like admitting that to Sister.
“She might have one,” I said. “Or she might not. Anyway, did Mr Carter die when he came out of the tomb? Straight away?”
“I wasn’t there, thank God in the wild heavens above,” Sister Leonisa replied. (I’ll have to remember that she mentioned God today and write it down. It’s very rare.) “But one of the archaeologists died, and at the exact moment that he collapsed in writhing agony, his dog howled to the heavens and it died too. They tried to say that this man died from a mosquito bite. Can you believe that, girls and boys, a silly little mosquito bite?”
“He probably got malaria,” I couldn’t resist saying. I don’t know why but sometimes I seem unable to stop an argument with Sister even though I know it’s pointless. Sister will never, ever admit that the other person is right. Mum said the other day that Sister is so disagreeable she wonders if she ever even manages to agree with herself.
Sister’s face took on a smug look – the one I dread, that tells me she actually knows something I don’t.
“You see, too-clever-for-anything Bul-Boo, this was an
Egyptian
mosquito, not a Zambian one. And the Egyptian mosquitoes don’t give you malaria. Go and ask Doctor Lula about that. I know all about this, because I come from Caernarfon in Wales and it so happens that this man, cursed to his death, was called Lord Carnarvon.”
That was the first time any of us had heard she was from Wales. I’d always thought she was from Zambia, and Madillo and Fred say she’s not from anywhere real. Madillo says she was made in a nun factory but that something went just a little bit wrong with the batch, which would explain why she is like she is. And then the school got her for a special discount. Fred says he’s pleased it wasn’t a Buy One, Get One Free offer, otherwise there’d be two of them and he’d be the favourite of both.
“Anyway,” Sister continued, “these same archaeologists, the ones that didn’t die, came to Zambia. Not satisfied with digging up Egypt, they came to make a mess of this country. The first place they headed for was Ng’ombe Ilede. The home of poor little Bukoko the Tick. And there they found two graveyards – one for all the rich people and one for all the poor people. It was easy to see why all the rich people had died. They were so weighed down by all their jewellery that they couldn’t stand up any longer. So they fell to the ground in a heap of jewels and died. Which they deserved because they were so greedy. Death by jewellery – be careful of that, boys and girls, it’s a nasty one.
“Then there was the other graveyard, for poor people. They had no jewellery at all. They died because they were so exhausted from having to bury all the heavy rich people. Those people I feel sorry for. They didn’t deserve it.”
She looked around the classroom. “So, what have you learnt today? Fred?”
He stood up to answer, and counted on his fingers. “Don’t become an archaeologist, don’t wear jewellery, and if rich people die, don’t dig deep graves for them otherwise you’ll get exhausted and die yourself.”
Sister clapped her hands. “Very good, Fred. You’ll go a long way. One day your daddy is going to come to me and say, ‘Thank you, Sister, you saved my boy’s life.’”
Fred looked at her blankly. Rightly so, as he hadn’t known his life had ever been in danger.
“Now,” she said, “will the rest of you stand up to say goodbye.”
We chanted, “Goodbye, Sister Leonisa, we wish you the best things in life and in death.”
“And goodbye to you too, each and every one of you. I wish you all the best in life and in death.”
Sister says we have to say this just in
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