Memoirs of an Outstanding* Teen

Chapter 38: Again With The Guilt!

At the end of the first term, despite barely making the A average, I managed to finally, after three tries, get an A in Afrikaans. And my Afrikaans, teacher, as she always did with every freaking thing I did, made sure to point this out to the entire class with her classic, "Can everybody that got an A raise their hands." I raised my hand along with my other A-grade classmates, but only to me did she say, "Very well done, Nelu. See, you got an A in Afrikaans First Language. Anybody can do it if they're smart, see." I wished I could go up to her, hold her by the shoulders, and shake the guilt out of her and say, "Get over it woman!"

Later, before beginning one of her lessons, she announced that there was going to be a writing competition run by the Afrikaans Language and Culture Center and again, "Nelu, you write very well. I think you should enter. You'll be fantastic!" To which I simply nodded, smiled, and tried to look as shy as possible, one of my vain effort to look as harmless as possible so she could read, "I'm not judging you. You're a great teacher and I respect you!"

I decided to enter the competition. There was a piece I had written, in English, for the TeenInk website, and I decided I would just translate that and give it to her to edit and submit. I handed her the piece, and she didn't say much about its quality only, "It's good. Just edit this and that, give it back, and I'll send it in."

A few days later, again before starting her lesson, with a rather sad smile, she announced that me and another classmate of mine had been invited to the award-giving ceremony, a guarantee that we would be awarded something.

I got to the school where the awards were being handed out, and cue out of place feeling number 4537. The school was called WAP, Windhoek Afrikaanse Privaatskool (Windhoek Afrikaans Private School), so a purely Afrikaans school. Do you get the hint? Should I be more blunt? Well, the only people with melanin in their skin were the cleaners. And there I showed up, with my dad next to me, a brown piece of bark in the snow.

As you might expect, we did turn some heads. People who had, for years, seen only Afrikaners in that school hall, now looked at our faces and wondered what on earth we could be doing there. I tried to look as inconspicuous as possible when I sat down. I crossed my arms, and hoped the light was dim enough to hide me. But the WAP students kept coming up to me, trying to start conversations with me in Afrikaans. What did I submit? Was Afrikaans my first language? What award did I think I would get?

But, the thing with me is that, even though I can understand, read, and write, Afrikaans, I find it quite difficult to speak it. It's a rough, and guttural language that requires a very specific accent to be spoken well. So, I couldn't give them anything more than one or two-word answers, and I couldn't ask them back what stories they had submitted for their entries. They must have gotten bored. Eventually, they turned their heads back to the front and didn't bother to start any more awkward conversations.

The ceremony began, and after a confusing scripture reading and prayer session (in which the pastor, for reasons apparently known to only him and God, decided to read the most awkward passage from Songs of Songs) the MC started announcing the awards. Now, I'm not trying to scramble at unnecessary modesty, but I was not (am not) good at Afrikaans. Even after all the reading, and the radio programs, and the soap operas, Afrikaans was still not my first language. I still struggled with it. I didn't expect more than an "honorable mentions" award in that competition. But when it came to the senior secondary awards, the Grade 11 & 12, prose awards, I wasn't in the honorable mentions. I wasn't third. I wasn't second.

"And in first place, for senior secondary prose, we have... Nelusigwe Mbingu!"

"Yo, are you sure?" Was my first reaction. I took an awkward second or two longer to stand and walk up to the stage. Was I getting Steve Harveyed? Did she read that right?

Apparently yes, she did read the award right. My name was on that first place certificate. When we stood to pose for the pictures, I wasn't sure whether to be happy or confused. I kind of felt guilty.

Somewhere at the back of my mind, I couldn't help but think there was an Afrikaans girl out there, who would have done anything to be able to take such a certificate back home to her parents. They would have been so proud of their ware Afrikaner, their slim kind. They would have been able to brag about it at their friends' braais. Their little upcoming Afrikaner Shakespeare would have been the topic of conversation at all the gatherings. They would have taken down the framed certificate and showed it to their family and friends at all the Christmas parties. But there I was, posing with the award, which in someone else's hands, would have meant the world. I felt like a thief.

I was still dumbstruck by it all when my Afrikaans teacher, a little late for the ceremony, slid up on the seat next to me. She looked beautiful that day, I remember. Even though well into her sixties, she looked young and cheerful, lively and tasteful. She had clearly put an extra minute or two into getting ready, and it showed. She greeted me and my dad, then asked what price I had gotten. I handed her the certificate, and immediately the lines of age returned on her face, and the cheerfulness made way for a depressed face. It was as if my certificate was a blackhole sucking out all happiness. I saw this, and this time, I felt her guilt. I was just as guilty.

"Nelu, this is wonderful! Oh my..." Her voice had started out at an audible volume and slowly died down to silence. There were tears in her eyes now.

"Thank you, ma'am. I couldn't have done it without your help. You taught me all I know. You're the one that helped me learn to write like that. So, thank you." That was my feeble attempt to save her.

"No, no! This is..." again she trailed away, gasped and stayed silent for a few seconds. "You did really well, Nelu!" she went silent again and just stared at the laminated sheet.

"I'm going to see Nathan quickly," she said eventually, referring to my other classmate who had gotten third place. "Totsiens!" (Good-bye). Then, as silently as she had slid up to me, she stood up and left.