School Report II: Dont Be Lazy, Do It Well

School here feels like a game. Not because I don't take it seriously, but because even when I and the other students take it very seriously, it is fun. Maybe because they put so much focus and energy into getting to university...who knows. But last night in the forty minute-long Russian history class I had, where the teacher discussed what the class was going to cover, how much the course packet would cost, and whether the time was going to change to acomodate fifteen students who had another class at the same time, he managed to sneak in a lecture to us about seriousness in school, especially in level 400. The professor told us that level 400 was hard, and that just because everyone got As and Bs in level 300, didnt mean they would here. By the end of his admonishment the whole class was laughing.

[side note: university here works in a similar way to our school in many ways, but with one exception. Freshmen come in at level 100, and can only take 100 classes. They move up in level as they move up in years, so level 400 is equivalent to college seniors. They have been here for a while, should know how to do the school thing, and have gotten good at cutting corners. Also, they all know each other because they have been taking classes together for four years. I tell people I am level 400 here, though technically I have finished my level 400]

And in addition to Russian/US comparative history, which actually looks really good, I am also taking Arabic. This might be considered insane by some, because I am also taking Twi, but I LOVE MY ARABIC CLASS. The lecturer is very good at balancing strict teaching methods with encouragement. When she walks around inspecting our handwriting (which ranges anywhere from artistic/poetic to chicken scratch/scribble, mine being somewhere in the middle) she says things like "Your dots...they are missing on this letter" and "Dont be lazy! Do it well" in a gently mocking yet supportive voice. Her comments to one student are broadcast to everyone via bad acoustic design of classrooms, and we all laugh and take another look at our work ("Am I doing it well? Any dots missing?"). The room is very small, and the class is very large, so we are squished in very close, practically on each other's laps. I was in between a guy and a girl who already have a little arabic, so their handwriting is very nice. I was trying to do as well as them, and the girl noticed and said to the guy in Ga that I was a very quick learner, that I must not have slept last night to have studied so well. The guy translated for me, we talked about languages that we each knew, etc. Then he started showing me Arabic numbers when we had a mini quiz to test the twenty letters we had already learned. He corrected mine and wrote "Good Job" in arabic, taught me how to say it, and showed me which letters it was. Really cool. The lecturer put all letters on the board, and the class said the sounds out loud as a group. When she asked for individual volunteers, gregarious me raised her hand a little, and my new friend grabbed it and said, "Obruni, obruni, obruni." The teacher laughed, chose me, and I did it almost perfectly for a silent class. When I was done they exploded like I had just scored a goal for Ghana, chanting "O-bru-ni" and clapping. The next guy who stood up got a cheer of "A BLACK MAN!" and did not nearly as well as me.

So I am an obruni, a white girl in a Ghanaian world, and I love it. I dont have the problem some of us are having, feeling guilty and embarassed to be white. I just am the way I am. I can no more change my skin color or the associations made with it than I can go back in time and stop the slave trade or colonial oppression. So my skin color and what it makes people think of me, they go in the box of things I can't change. How I treat people, what I tell them about myself and my country and how I feel about their country, those things all go in the box of things I can change. I have no white man's guilt because I am just Maureen, with all the attendant joys and sorrows and curiosity and fear that come with her. No more, and no less. I am here representing myself, my family, my school, my state, and my country (which sounds a lot like the 4-H pledge, now that I put it that way), and I can only do that by being myself. I won't be lazy. I will do it well, and maybe they will chant "Obruni" in their hearts when I leave, and look forward to seeing me again.