Chapter 13 – The Board

The reconvened board meeting happened exactly one week after Chidi’s confession.

No parents this time. No police. Just the governing board in the same wood panelled conference room, windows shut against the afternoon heat, ceiling fan turning slow circles above their heads.

Mr. Okafor sat at the head sixty something, retired permanent secretary, face like carved stone. To his right: the lawyer board member with a fresh stack of papers, then two other members (one a businessman, one silent). Principal Ibrahim was there as observer, eyes mostly down. Mrs. Okeke sat with arms folded. The guidance counsellor had her notepad ready.

Adeyemi sat alone at the far end. Black suit, white blouse, hair in a low bun. No jewellery except small studs. No folder this time. Nothing left to prove.

Mr. Okafor cleared his throat.

“We are here because serious allegations were made against Ms. Adeyemi. Allegations of inappropriate conduct with four SS3 boys. The police have closed their criminal file no evidence of non consensual acts, coercion, or grooming. All parties were adults at the time. The matter is now ours to decide internally.”

He paused, letting the words settle.

“The board has reviewed the police summary, the boys’ statements, DSP Bello’s closure recommendation, and the media clippings. We accept that the encounters were consensual among consenting adults. However”

He looked straight at Adeyemi.

“this still represents a serious breach of professional ethics, the school’s code of conduct, TRCN guidelines, and basic safeguarding principles. A teacher engaging in sexual relationships with students even consenting ones, even adults while holding authority over them creates an unacceptable power imbalance. It erodes trust in the school. It leaves us open to ongoing reputational damage, legal risk, and parental withdrawal.”

The lawyer board member slid a single sheet across the table toward her.

“Recommendation: immediate and permanent termination of employment. No severance beyond statutory minimum. No reference letter. No internal appeal. We will notify TRCN and recommend revocation of your teaching licence.”

Adeyemi read the one paragraph decision. Cold. Clinical.

She looked up.

“Is there any discussion? Any alternative?”

Mr. Okafor shook his head once.

“The vote was unanimous. Seven to zero. We cannot keep you on staff. The media storm alone protests outside the gate yesterday, parents threatening to pull children, sponsors asking questions makes it impossible. Even if we wanted to, the optics are unsustainable.”

Principal Ibrahim spoke quietly for the first time.

“Adeyemi… I pushed for suspension, or reassignment to non-teaching work. I lost.”

She nodded slowly.

“I understand.”

Mr. Okafor continued.

“You will be escorted from the premises today. Your personal effects will be boxed and couriered to your address tomorrow. Access to school email and systems ends within the hour.”

He stood. The others followed.

“That concludes the matter.”

No handshake. No “thank you for your years of service.” Just chairs scraping and the soft click of the door as the board left.

Principal Ibrahim stayed behind.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “You were one of our best.”

Adeyemi stood, smoothed her jacket.

“I know.”

She walked out alone.

In the corridor a security officer waited polite, awkward to escort her to her former classroom so she could collect the few things still in her desk.

The halls were mostly empty mid-afternoon classes in session but eyes followed her anyway. Teachers paused in doorways. Students whispered behind hands. A junior girl in SS1 actually waved, then blushed and looked away fast.

At her desk she found one small thing the packers had missed: the red pen with her initials engraved on the barrel. Khalid’s end-of-term gift. She slipped it into her pocket.

Outside the gate, no media today maybe they’d moved on but a small group of parents stood near the entrance, watching. One of them Chidi’s mother met her eyes across the compound.

No words. Just a long, unreadable look.

Adeyemi got into her car, started the engine, and drove away without looking back.

That evening the school sent out the official statement to parents and staff:

Following a thorough internal review and in light of recent events, the Governing Board has terminated the employment of Ms. Adeyemi effective immediately. The school reaffirms its commitment to safeguarding, professional standards, and the well being of all students. We thank Ms. Adeyemi for her past contributions and wish her well in her future endeavours.

No mention of consent. No mention of the boys’ statements. Just closure.

At 9:14 p.m. her phone lit up four messages, almost at the same time, from the group chat she thought had gone quiet forever.

Khalid:

We heard. I’m so fucking sorry.

Chidi:

This is on me. I confessed to save you and it still ended like this.

Tobi:

We tried. We all told them the truth. They didn’t care.

Yusuf:

What now?

Adeyemi stared at the screen until the words blurred.

Then she typed one reply the last she would ever send there.

You told the truth. That’s enough.

Live your lives. Study hard. Pass WAEC.

Don’t look back.

Don’t contact me again.

Goodbye.

She hit send.

Then deleted the group. Blocked the numbers. Turned off her phone.

She poured a glass of wine, sat on her balcony overlooking the quiet street, and listened to Lagos breathe around her.

The classroom was gone.

The boys were gone.

The scandal was fading into yesterday’s news.

And somewhere deep inside the ache, there was a small, stubborn relief.

She had been wanted.

She had been adored.

She had been consumed.

And now she was free.

Even if freedom tasted like ash.