| |
“The Lord is the strength of my life; of whom shall I be afraid?”
Psalm 27:1b
In the days following the meeting with Mr Robinson, my friends and I discussed the pros and the cons of the news, and how our families felt about it. We soon realised that there was no way most of us who got offers for the college or honours programme could accept. The college fees were exorbitant, and most of the pupils in my neighbourhood had poor parents with menial jobs or who were practically jobless.
Everyone knew I had family who could help out, though. I felt like I was back to square one. My home was like a war zone. If white students were coming to Hillary, that would surely raise the academic standards of the college? I talked to my mother about the changes that would be taking place over the next weeks. ‘Mom, there are new subjects being introduced to the school curriculum!’
My mother made no comment.
‘There are going to be subjects like economics, government, triple science, further mathematics—’
‘Marsha Lynne, STOP!’ Mom shouted. ‘Now, listen. Do you not realise that if Mr White had not been spoken to by some brave Black people, students with potential like yourself would remain half educated? If you go to a better school where you get properly educated, then you can make a difference for Black people in this country. It is a sacrifice, but at the end of it all you and everyone else will be happy.’
Mom was naturally soft spoken. Hearing her speaking to me in such tone and volume made me realise I was causing her pain and putting her in a very difficult situation. ‘I will go, Mom. It is alright.’
‘Thanks for being sensible.’
***
The following day was the deadline. I handed over my letter to Mr White before I went to my class. I was bold enough to look him in the face, but as expected, there was little indication of what he thought. It occurred to me why. I was leaving his school, and our paths might never cross again! He merely said, ‘Thank you,’ and I left, somewhat disappointed. There was no enthusiasm or even curiosity about why I had delayed my submission or what option I had taken. It made me wonder what qualities were required when appointing people to oversee the education of young people. This man would have failed if I had my say. Which of my teachers would I miss?
Ah yes! My German teacher. She had never cancelled or condemned my work. She was the only teacher who had not ripped my pages out of my book. Moreover, when she read my work, she showed approval and imparted inspiration. She also made a conscious effort to pronounce my name properly. I realised I wouldn’t see her again; I would not be in her class for the German lesson on Monday. On impulse, I decided to go to the staffroom where she was with some of the other teachers.
I had never done this before – going to see a teacher of my own volition. I knocked the door and waited, gazing around at the corridor and out of the windows. I had a new spring in my step; a feeling of hope, vision and life, as if already in a new school. How come I was more alert to my surroundings today? I’d felt the same when I came into school earlier; I was taking a keener interest in everything around me.
I tapped the door a bit harder. I was going to see my favourite teacher.
‘Come in!’ It was Mr Walter’s voice. He taught history to first year students. I couldn’t count how many times he had ripped my book – eventually I’d completely lost interest in his subject.
As soon as I stepped into the room, it was as if Mr White himself had walked through the door. The difference was that the students’ eyes were usually fixed on him, and here, the staff’s eyes were not fixed on whatever they had on their desks, but on me!!.
I realised that I was undaunted. No one had sent for me. I came here of my own choice. However, I was conscious of something. A whole week had transpired since I was told I had the choice to go to Momford College. Here were my teachers. I was sure they all knew of my offer. I had passed through them all, either in my first and second years of junior high or my current year. Still there were no congratulations, greetings, or any form of recognition for my merit or future intentions.
‘Good morning. Please can I see Miss Ward?’ I wasn’t worried. Their coldness didn’t matter to me now. I was leaving.
I was beginning to take in the truth of what Mom and the rest of the family had said and the reality of what they wanted for me. Hillary was a hostile environment for a seed to sprout and become a tree. Too many weeds and thorns to hamper, choke, and prevent the natural growth of the seedling. I saw and understood all at once the sacrifices Mom had made to get me to this point in my life, and I realised I had been ungrateful – even made her feel guilty. I had taken her courage and bravery in facing giants for granted. Mom had said she was afraid until we had prayed and she trusted God. Tears flooded my eyes. I was here to thank Miss Ward, but how about Mom? She had lost two days’ wages to muster family support. How about my grandparents, who had ignored the discomforts of their health to give their support? And Aunt Ruth, she too had sacrificed whatever it took to be there for Mom and me.
I knew now what I would do when I got home.
I could not stop the tears flowing, but I was too embarrassed to give attention to them as I walked all the way to Miss Ward’s table. Before I could gather my voice and mention what I came to say, she said, ‘Good morning, Ngozi. Are those tears of joy I detect?’
I nodded my head and saw the genuine smile in her eyes as she spoke very quietly to me. ‘Congratulations are in order. I wish you all the best. I know you will become somebody tomorrow if you keep up the excellent work, effort, and perseverance.’
I spoke to her in German. ‘Thank you, Miss Ward. I came to thank you for being special. For being a great teacher, for making me love your subject, for not puncturing my confidence and pride in myself as a person or as a Black student. Thank you so much.’
I had taken so much pride in speaking fluent German that I had forgotten my emotions, which suddenly became under control. But then I saw the unbelievable. Miss Ward’s eyes held a sheen; tears were beginning to pool. I could not afford to embarrass myself or her any further and, with tears beginning to steal down my cheeks again, I left her table. As I left the room, I said ‘thank you’ in English to the rest of the staff for their allowing me to invade their office, disrupt their privacy, and impose three minutes of my personality over theirs.
Miss Ward replied, ‘Danke Schön,’ which was not just a mere thank you but a very cordial ‘thank you very much.’
Miss Ward, judging from her looks, was in her early forties. She had chosen to be different; her vocabulary never contained the word Negro. She had made that sacrifice to ensure that I did not lose my faith completely in white people. Her behaviour had assured me that not every white person was racist in attitude or prejudiced in their thinking. She was an epitome of justice and a model of a true teacher. Maybe I too would one day be a teacher.
I had wonderful news to share with my friends at break time. I was no longer afraid to go to Momford College and breathe its air freely!
***
That weekend my family organised a send-off party. I felt a bit sobered, though, because Bella and the rest of the other students were unable to accept their prestigious offer due to financial constraints.
However, like me, they understood that if one of their kind was privileged enough to attain the golden fleece, it rubbed off on them all, and there was hope that there would be more teachers like Miss Ward. It reminded me of a Nigerian proverb I had learnt from Mama; “If oil touched one finger, it soon spread to the others”.
I enjoyed the party, but the highlight of the evening was my little speech. I used the opportunity to thank everyone in my family for their love, their support, their sacrifices, and their confidence in me.