Memoirs of an Outstanding* Teen

Chapter 20: Can't Wait to Go Home and Cry

Now even while I was dedicated to honoring the scale every day, my school work was still on the forefront in my mind. Those were practically the two masters that ruled my life at that moment: If I wasn't thinking of how to make sure I stick to my calorie allowances with the next meal, I was thinking of school, what we were going to learn, how I would study for everything.

At the end of Grade 9, I had done particularly well in Afrikaans Second Language, and an English teacher, who just so happened to take personal interest in me said, "Nelu, you're doing very well in Afrikaans Second Language already. You should switch over to Afrikaans First Language. It would be more of a challenge. Worth your time." I took her up on her challenge and agreed to make the switch. What this meant was that I had to change from the "D/E" classes and move to the "A" class in Grade 10. But I soon found out that my new Afrikaans First Language teacher didn't quite agree with my English teacher.

I was standing, along with my new classmates, in a line in front of the Afrikaans First Language class. She didn't take very long to dismiss her previous class and come outside to see all the new faces. She signaled for us to start going in. Everybody started walking in. My turn came to go through the door, but just before I could go in she tapped me and motioned for me to go stand and wait outside next to her. The was another new girl joining the Afrikaans First Language class, an Afrikaner from South Africa. The girl stopped before going in and asked the teacher if she should wait outside too. "Nee, gaan maar in." (No just go in).

And after the last person made it through the door, my new teacher turned to me and asked, "Wat doen jy hier?" (What are you doing here?)

"Ma'am I just decided to switch over from Afrikaans Second..."

"Antwoord my in Afrikaans!" (Answer me in Afrikaans!)

My heart started pounding. "Juffrou, ek wil... ek wil net... pro... probeer..." (Ma'am, I want... I just want... to tr... try...")

"Jy kan nie eens Afrikaans praat nie! Wat doen jy in my class?! Is Afrikaans jou eerste taal?!" (You can't even speak Afrikaans! What are you doing in my class?! Is Afrikaans your first language?!)

"Nee, Juffrou maar... maar... ek kan... lees en... skryf...en... Juffrou Bennett het gesȇ (No, ma'am, but... but... I can... read and... write and Ms. Bennett said...)

"So sy het gedink sy kan jou net in my klas gooi? So dat jy my klas sleg maak? Ons gaan daaroor sien! Kannie eens die taal praat nie en wil in my klas kom?!" (So, she thought she could just dump you in my class? So, you make my class look bad? We're going to see about that! Can't even speak Afrikaans and wants to come to my class?!)

I never could deal with confrontation well. This kind of confrontation in the beginning of a class I was already nervous about? I was practically on the verge of tears.

I should probably explain what might have motivated my Afrikaans teacher to single me out as one who shouldn't be in her class. You see, Afrikaans, despite the name is not really and originally African language. Back in the day, long before any of you reading this were born, the Dutch came over to Namibia and South Africa. They settled here, and after a while, I guess they started changing their Dutch a little. Pronouncing and spelling words differently, adding new words, mixing in some local language words. Eventually, the Dutch that they spoke was drastically different from the original Dutch. What they spoke had become like a third cousin of actual Dutch, so really, it couldn't even be called Dutch anymore. It was a new language, and they chose to call it, Afrikaans (it was made in Africa why not?)

So, to this day, you'll find that the people who speak Afrikaans best, and the ones who have Afrikaans as a first language, are mostly the ones with Dutch origin (to be even more frank, it's my white brothers and sisters in Namibia and South Africa who are more likely to have Afrikaans as their first language).

I just happened to be the only black person in my class. So maybe I wasn't supposed to be standing in front of that Afrikaans First Language class. Afrikaans wasn't my first language. Did she single me out because of my skin color? Probably. Was she wrong? Debatable. Did she make me feel completely unwelcome and disillusioned? Yes. Did I, as soon as I entered her class, start counting the hours till I could go home and cry? Very much yes.

This, to say the least, was not one of the best starts to a school year. On the way home, all I could think about was, "I'm going to go to my English teacher tomorrow and just tell her I don't want to do this anymore. I don't want to take Afrikaans First Language anymore. She doesn't want me in her class. I don't want to be there!" I was sure that this was exactly what I was going to do. But somehow, the next day, I showed up to the Afrikaans First Language class again, and I sat through it. At the end of my second day in that class, I was determined to prove that I deserved my spot there.

That afternoon, I got myself several Afrikaans books and an English-Afrikaans dictionary. I started reading and looking up every single word I didn't understand. I tuned in to the Afrikaans radio station, making sure to catch the words that I didn't understand so I could look them up later. I recorded all the episodes of Binnelanders, the Afrikaans soap opera, so I could watch and read the English subtitles. I was ready to put more effort into Afrikaans than any other subject I had.