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“How many are Your works, Lord! In wisdom you have made them all; the earth is full of Your creatures.”
Psalm 104:24
Mr White was flushed and sweating at a time of day which was yet cool, and moreover, his office was air conditioned. I was no longer looking at him with the eyes of a pupil. I had a good look at him and realised he did not look as old as any of my grandparents. He might have been as old as my mother, who was thirty-seven years old. He was well dressed and looked like a man who was pampered with the comforts of life. His office alone was bigger than our parlour, dining room and kitchen put together.
Soon the room quietened. As my eyes met with the principal’s, he spoke to me. ‘Hungozee,’ he said sheepishly with a nod to my mom, gesturing towards my family, ‘your mother and family have brought to my attention that there is a matter of grave importance they wish to discuss concerning your education in this school.’ He paused, wiping his brow. ‘Now that you and your mother are here, we can commence the meeting. You are free to return to your class and continue your lessons.’
‘She is a part of this meeting, as she is the reason why we are all here,’ Mr O’Neal, one of Grandma Lilee’s friends, pointed out. ‘Please let us give our attention to Mr George.’
I could see that Grandma Lilee had appointed him as spokesman for their four-man team.
‘Permit me to remain seated, Mr White, as I suffer mild pains in both legs when I stand,’ Grandfather George said.
‘That is fine. In fact, do give me a moment to call in my personal secretary to take down notes on this meeting.’ He buzzed her in. There were no more seats, and I automatically stood up to offer her my seat, but Grandma Lilee pulled me back down on my chair. Grandpa George cleared his throat, and we all shifted our attention towards him.
‘Mr White, we are not here to confront you. As you are aware yourself, public education in Detroit has seen many changes since 1960. I have been very active in supporting civil rights demonstrations to draw attention to discrimination, prejudice and racism, especially de facto segregation in the public schools and police brutality. I also closely worked with Rev C.L. Franklin and other ministers in organizing the march that climaxed with Rev Martin Luther King Junior giving the first public delivery of his “I Have a Dream” speech on June 24, 1963, a year before Ngozi entered your school.’
Listening to Grandpa speak filled me with great inspiration and pride. I felt ecstatic.
‘So, we are here today to see that the problem of racial injustice does not spread in your school.’ Grandpa looked round the room, smiling. ‘I will let Mr O’Neal address you from here.’
‘Good morning, Mr White,’ Mr O’Neal began. ‘As a member of the United Negro Improvement Association, we aim to plant a new spirit within Black students to be free in their choice of how they respond to poetry and any subject that they study, without the fear of their work being destroyed, cancelled or downplayed, thereby crushing their young minds, stamping out the desire to excel and inculcating in them the idea that they are inferior as a race. We know that discrimination exists subtly in employment, housing and in the area of de facto segregation in the public schools. We are here to talk about segregation because it is very injurious to black pupils. We know you are a civilized man.’ He paused and took a quick look around at us all, then his eyes rested on me, and he smiled as he continued. ‘My sister here, Mrs Majestice Coleman, Ngozi’s mother, believes that you have made a mistake concerning some of your pupils in their high school programme choice. Ngozi Coleman, her daughter, is one of such examples.’
‘Oh, that is awfully terrible. What a blundering error! Miss Washburn, do kindly bring to me Ngozi Coleman’s record file, please. In fact, the records of the entire form. Thank you.’ As the secretary went out, he turned his attention back to us all, but he spoke to me. ‘Hungozee, I am aware that you are an excelling pupil and that you have consistently topped your class since the beginning of your junior high. For formality’s sake, I will go through your academic records this afternoon, as well as those of other pupils who have excelled in your form. If it seems we have made a mistake and placed some of you in the special education programme, when in fact you should be in the college programme...’ he looked at my mother before adding, ‘...or perhaps even the honours programme, I promise to make it up to you and those affected at once. I will be phoning the principal of Momford College this afternoon to tell him to expect you at their college tomorrow, if it is your wish to transfer now, or at the end of junior high.’ He paused, folding his arms. ‘At the end of the school day, come by my office and Miss Washburn will have all the details needed for you to have a smooth transition for whenever your choice of entry is.’ He stood up. ‘Congratulations, Hungozee.’
‘Thank you, sir.’
My family did not care that they were in the principal’s office. I was squashed in their bosoms amidst firm hugs and handshakes. They were all smiling and talking at the same time about how God was wonderful. As we trooped out of the principal’s office, Miss Washburn was waiting with a huge folder containing my form’s academic files.
Glancing at the wall clock in the secretary’s office, I calculated that I had missed my maths and art lessons. In the next five minutes, it would be break time. My grandparents and Aunt Ruth gave me a farewell kiss when we all got outside, and I saw that Mom was emotional and crying. I too was stunned at what had just happened to me. I felt like Cinderella as her rags were transformed into a ballgown by the fairy godmother, or better still, Alice finding herself in another world. I had to be dreaming.
What had just happened in Mr White’s office? I knew all about Momford College. Who did not? I saw things clearly in my mind, my mental image shifting from my all-Black classroom to a nearly all-white classroom. Within a day, I could be a student of this famous college whose students were automatically admitted to Bernard College. Hillary students were trained not to hope or dream of such a school. History and the American system of education had planted in our minds that due to our skin colour, we did not belong to such a school system.
Mom broke away from chatting with Mr O’Neal to come over to me. She whispered, ‘Congrats, President Marsha. I was not going to leave the principal’s office until he removed you from the special education programme – even if it meant getting arrested. After school, I’ll come and pick you up. We will be meeting in my parents’ house for a celebration. Cheer up! You don’t even know how God has this day handpicked you. See yourself as lucky as Mother Mary, handpicked by God to bring our Lord Jesus to the world...’
I was still too dazed to process what she was saying. I wasn’t even sure if I was consciously listening.
‘See you later!’ she said, kissing my cheek.
‘Bye, Mom.’ I waved at her and the rest of the family and smiled to myself, thinking they were behaving like a gathering of excited geese.
I walked towards my classroom block, churning with mixed emotions. The excitement of a new bicycle had been replaced with the impending fear of separation and starting life over in a new school. This was no piano. I was being segregated and divided!
I was going to start breathing the Momford College Air.