The sun beat down on the ancient desert roads of Libya, the air shimmering with heat, as a group of South African teachers found themselves hopelessly lost, with no map, no GPS, and most importantly, no idea what they were doing. This was supposed to be an educational trip—a journey to immerse themselves in the history and culture of a country so rich in stories. However, as it so often does with teachers on holiday, it quickly spiraled into something else entirely.
In the front, with a determined, almost heroic stride, was Mr. Hannes, a middle-aged teacher with the ego of the moon. He had declared himself the unofficial leader of the group, even though he was clearly the worst at reading maps and had yet to successfully navigate his way out of a parking lot. He wore sunglasses even though there was no need, mostly because he could.
“I’m telling you, we should’ve turned left back there,” he insisted for the tenth time, waving his hand toward a vast stretch of endless sand. "No one listens to me. Just follow my lead."
Beside him was Ms May, a petite, cheerful woman who had resigned herself to the role of peacemaker. She was all smiles, despite the frustration of being lost, and would occasionally ask in her sing-song voice, “But who should we follow, Mr. Hannes? You or your map?”
Over to the side of the group, Ms. Clarke, who was walking quietly with arms crossed, was starting to get a little tired of hearing the usual drama unfold. She wasn’t interested in getting into the middle of it all, but then again, she wasn’t one to miss out on the opportunity for some fun without actually joining the chaos.
That was when she finally turned to Ms. Pillay and Ms. Daniels, who had been walking a few paces ahead, snickering to themselves. It was a rare moment for Ms. Clarke to actually speak up, but it was always in the presence of her best friends.
“Honestly,” Ms. Clarke said, her voice quiet but laced with amusement, “I’m starting to think Ms. Braun’s feet are the least of our problems.”
Ms. Daniels shot a knowing glance at Ms. Pillay, who was trying very hard not to laugh out loud. They’d both been dealing with Ms. Braun’s complaints for hours—no—days. The woman was a one-woman wrecking ball of negativity.
“Oh, don’t get me started,” Ms. Daniels said, her voice dripping with sarcasm and irritation. “I think I’m about to walk up to her, slip a tranquilizer in her coffee, and watch her sleep for the rest of the trip.”
Ms. Pillay stifled a laugh but couldn’t hold back her teasing. “I don’t think you’d need the tranquilizer. I think she’s already half asleep. Maybe she just needs a good nap. Or maybe—” She lowered her voice dramatically, leaning toward Ms. Clarke, “—we pretend we’ve lost her. Just leave her out here for a few hours. She’ll come back on her own, I’m sure.”
“Actually,” Ms. Clarke said with a slight smirk, “I think I’d like to be the one to sneak up behind her, whisper that we’ve been rescued, and then watch her break into a sprint... just for the sheer drama of it.”
The trio snickered quietly together as the rest of the group moved further ahead, oblivious to their conspiracy. They had been dealing with Ms. Braun’s complaints for far too long to be able to take her seriously anymore. It was becoming a running joke among them—the woman could barely walk three feet without feeling the need to collapse, dramatically gasping for air, and pretending she was on the verge of a fainting spell.
Behind them, the real drama was unfolding.
“I swear, this is ridiculous,” Ms. Braun, the self-appointed expert in complaining, muttered from her spot in the back. “I’m not walking another step. My feet are killing me. This is supposed to be a trip, not a death march!”
Next to her, Ms. Stevens, a woman so mild-mannered she could have been mistaken for a human doormat, nodded sympathetically. “I don’t mind walking,” she said, looking at Ms. Braun with such calmness that it was almost eerie. “It's not so bad. The air is... quite warm, but it’s all right.”
“Warm?! It's scorching! I’m not built for this heat!” Ms. Braun dramatically collapsed onto a rock, her arms flung out as though she were the heroine of a Victorian novel. “I need a spa, not a desert!”
At this point, Ms. Daniels, who had been quietly simmering with irritation for the last hour, snapped. “You know, I’m about to crumble some tranquilizers into your coffee, Ms. Braun. Just for a moment’s peace. If you complain one more time about your poor feet—I swear to every deity—I’ll make sure you’re quiet for the next week.”
Ms. Braun blinked, momentarily stunned into silence. Ms. Daniels wasn’t known for holding back, and everyone knew when she was fed up, it was a sight to behold. But the group quickly regained composure, their momentary silence broken by Mr. Jackson, who had been arguing fiercely with Mr. Hannes for the better part of the afternoon.
“You’re wrong, Hannes!” Mr. Jackson snapped, shaking his head in disbelief. “We should’ve gone straight back there. You’re wasting time, and I don’t have the energy for your nonsense!”
“Wasting time?!” Hannes flared up. “I’m leading us. You’re the one who can’t read a map, Jackson! I told you we should’ve taken that road hours ago, but no! You thought you knew better!”
“Oh, please,” Mr. Jackson muttered under his breath, shaking his head. “You don’t even know how to read a map upside down, never mind right-side-up.”
Meanwhile, Ms. Thompson, who had been smiling like the sunniest of sunflowers for the last few hours, piped up cheerfully. “Oh, come on, guys! Let’s just make the best of it! Maybe we’ll stumble upon some ancient ruins! That’ll be fun, right?”
Ms. Thompson was the embodiment of happiness and optimism, a person whose idea of "a problem" was whether or not she’d have time to finish a second ice cream cone. With her infectious grin, she turned toward Ms. Anderson, who had been quietly hanging around the edges of the conversation, occasionally nodding and pretending to be the group’s best friend—while secretly stirring the pot behind everyone's back.
“Ms. Anderson, you okay?” Ms. Thompson asked with genuine concern. “You’ve been awfully quiet.”
“Oh, I’m fine,” Ms. Anderson said with a saccharine smile, but her eyes told a different story. She was always fine—right up until the moment she wasn't. “I just think it’s so charming that we’re all bonding over this little adventure. Who could have guessed we’d get so... close.”
Later that evening, after the group had camped out under the stars and everyone was winding down, Ms. Anderson found her chance to gossip. She sidled up to Ms. Stevens and, with a conspiratorial whisper, said, “You know, Ms. Braun? She’s been complaining so much, I’m starting to think her feet aren’t even the problem. It’s all in her head, honestly. If I were as lazy as her, I’d be looking for an escape too.”
The thing about Ms. Anderson was, she wanted to be everyone's friend, but she also had a knack for throwing in little venomous jabs when no one was looking. She’d sweetly complain about people’s “quirks” while acting like she was their number-one fan. Behind smiles and sweet words, she was always looking for cracks to exploit.
“I think we should all just ignore her,” Ms. Stevens said quietly, not entirely comfortable with the turn of conversation. “It’ll be easier if we just keep walking and don’t engage.”
“Exactly,” Ms. Anderson purred, her voice sweet as honey. “Don’t you think Ms. Braun needs a little push to get herself together? Oh, and Mr. Hannes—he's always acting like he knows it all. But if you ask me, he’s just too proud to admit he’s lost.”
The next day, as the group trudged onward through the vast desert, Ms. Anderson took a moment to dramatically swoon in front of Mr. Hannes, fluttering her eyelashes like a love-struck teenager. "Mr. Hannes, I just know you’ll lead us to safety. You have the best sense of direction, don't you?”
Meanwhile, back behind her, she whispered to Ms. Daniels with a sly grin, “If only he knew how hopeless he is at this.”
It was clear to anyone paying attention: Ms. Anderson was a backstabber, a schemer, a social climber—wrapped in an innocent-looking shell of sweetness. And if anyone caught on to her games, she’d feign hurt and act as though she’d been wronged.
And so, as the desert stretched on, so did their miserable, yet oddly comedic adventure. They were lost, misdirected, and surrounded by egos, complaints, and good intentions. But despite everything, they were stuck together—and as much as they might’ve complained or plotted against one another, they somehow still needed each other to get out of this mess.
After all, what were teachers without their drama?