At the outset of this school year, I had eight working hours a week. I worked every other day. Because of this free time, I was kindly requested to teach in another school. I accepted the offer on condition that I would work on two days in my original school and on a day in the new school. The other reason why I accepted the offer is that my original school is remote from where I am living, and to have a working day moved to Zagora center, the current place where I am living, is akin to having a burden taken off my shoulder.
A few days later after receiving the call from the delegation, I went to impose my own conditions on the official in charge of appointments. At first, he rejected my conditions. But with time, he saw that he had no choice but to see to them, for the new school is in dire need of a teacher of English. It was two months late when I joined the new school. The comportment that drew my attention about the official was that he talked to me unusually tactfully, the thing I am not used to in Moroccan offices. He got even closer to me by talking about his original town, his ancestors and his school days.
He and I spent two hours talking about any topic he raised. We soon made each other’s acquaintance and I frankly enjoyed the conversation. Towards the end of our meeting, he even invited me to a cup of tea and suggested that I should have access to the Internet in his office for company while he is out for a moment. I must admit that I did him a favour when I accepted the offer. Anyway, I did that too for my sake. I went home that late afternoon and the question that remained on my mind was how come I had been treated so kindly for the first time in my academic life.
It is three months and a half now since the meeting. I must admit that I enjoy work at the new school. I also feel that my current state is now much better than before. However, from time to time, I wonder whether or not the official still remembers the favour I did him. No doubt he must do. I have passed by him many times, but I have never dared to talk to him, nor does he. Sometimes, it is because there are always colleagues with me when I pass by him. The same thing is true of him.
Notwithstanding, as the first semester was nearly over, I once came from work at school. On the spur of the moment, I met him at the entrance of a lane, and I took the initiative to talk to him. I called him three times before he stopped for me. I could infer from this comportment that he no longer remembered him. The first question that he posed to me whilst I began to talk to him about my work at the new school was whether I could remind him of myself. I did all my utmost to remind him, but in vain.
Instead of reminding him of myself, he recommended that I should make his acquaintance once again. When I failed to remind him then, I had no choice but to bid him goodbye. As I was leaving him, he called me. I came back to him, and he said that he at last remembered me. I no longer gave his insincere talk any importance. I only feigned interest for a moment and when we parted, I began to reflect about the favour I did him. Instantly, a saying came to my mind which goes thus: One good turn deserves another. By the way, does it really deserve another?
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