Changes?

On 5th Oct 20206th Oct 2020 By telmajoanadiasIn My ExperiencesLeave a comment

When my friend’s mum discovered the extent of his only son’s treatment at the hand of our teacher, she became enraged and demanded an explanation.

She complained to the nuns, the headteacher and even to my mum since her and my mum were the only black parents from the whole class. She vowed to remove her son from the school once the academic year is finished.

My mum and my friend’s mum spoke at great length about how her son was treated. My mum was gob smacked since she was still clueless of the extent of my own abuse at the hand of my teacher. Once confronted, my mum was in complete disbelief and didn’t know what to say to me. Her look was of disappointment. I didn’t make a big deal out of it since I couldn’t fully understand it. I somehow wanted to make excuses for my teacher’s appalling behaviour towards me. I know it sounds crazy, but all I wanted from her was her approval. I didn’t hate her like I should have. If that makes sense, I was waiting for her to praise me, treat me like the other classmates. I was willing to wait and suffer in silence when that day would eventually come. Sadly it never came. I felt like the way I was treated was my fault because of my own struggles with understanding French as well as my behaviour. I was becoming more and more notorious and terrible each day. I wasn’t easy to handle, even for my poor mum who would receive complaints on a daily basis about my behaviour in class and with others. As time went by, my teacher still gave me the cold shoulder, but she no longer shouted nor pulled my hair anymore. She didn’t humiliate me either. It was strange as I was so used to this treatment daily. My grades didn’t improve however. She acknowledged me with a rare neutral expression. By that I mean she wasn’t frowning nor disappointed but for me it meant a lot. I know it sounds weird. I felt like that was the closest to finally get her approval I have been waiting for what seemed like a lifetime. For my soon departing friend, it was the same. She no longer treated him poorly. Finally some changes in the classroom.

The end of the year, looming ever closer and to my horror, I found out my American friend not only was leaving the school, but he was also leaving Geneva to return home to America. I was so distraught yet knowing there was nothing I could do. He would return home. Somehow, I started to feel at home in Geneva despite my rocky beginning. My parents worked timelessly to make me feel this way. They also ensured to teach me French so I can understand the language more. I did better with hearing French and eventually orally too. My struggle was writing French. Everyone can agree that the French grammar and vocabulary is very hard. Still is. I accepted Geneva was my home. The beautiful city, which enchanted my eyes full of its lovely landscape and mountains, was never enough as I was selfish enough to want more. My mum would take us to hike mountains, visit other cities and regions of Switzerland. My dad seemed to enjoy it too. That was crucial for us to familiarise ourselves with the whole country and take in the culture.

We didn’t forget our own origins and cultures of course. As we had access to a big garden, my parents hosted many parties and barbecues. We invited relatives and friends of my parents especially from Guinea-Bissau. I enjoyed the countless parties as I was able to feel accepted and around people sharing my culture and heritage. My dad, despite being white, fitted so well among the guests for he knew the culture of Guinea-Bissau so well. He enjoyed travelling so much and he met my mum in Guinea-Bissau. He spoke the language, enjoyed the music from there too. It was so odd in a way that I tried to fit in my class dominated with white classmates but somehow I could never be accepted no matter what I did. My dad, effortlessly didn’t have to try at all. Each times my mum organised parties, my dad was always the only white person there. Sometimes I used to envy my dad. The parties we were having regularly enabled me to forget the hell I was going through at school.

Sadly, we would be moving to our new place soon and our frequent get together would be less and less frequent to my own chagrin.

L’Escalade, or Fête de l’Escalade

On 2nd Oct 2020 By telmajoanadiasIn Interesting Facts About SwitzerlandLeave a comment

L’Escalade, or Fête de l’Escalade (from escalade, the act of scaling defensive walls), is an annual festival in Geneva, Switzerland, held each December in celebration of the defeat of an attempt to conquer the Protestant city by the Catholic Duchy of Savoy. Troops sent by Charles Emmanuel I, Duke of Savoy, attempted a surprise attack during the night of 11–12 December 1602, but according to legend, were repulsed by a cook who dumped boiling vegetable soup on the invaders before raising an alarm. The celebrations and other commemorative activities are usually held on 12 December or the closest weekend.

L’Escalade is what Genevans call the failed surprise attack of 12 December 1602 by troops sent by Charles Emmanuel I, Duke of Savoy, to take Geneva. This imaginative image was drawn by Matthias Quad, or the workshop of Franz Hogenberg, around 1603. Invaders are pictured crossing the moat in the center left while reinforcements are entering Plainpalais at the bottom. A column of defenders is in the center, headed toward the Savoyards. Lake Léman is at center top.

My American friend

On 27th Sep 202028th Sep 2020 By telmajoanadiasIn My ExperiencesLeave a comment

When I first saw him, he was so shy. Confused and lost, I immediately knew how he felt for I was in the same position just last year. Same as him, I couldn’t understand nor speak a word of French. Sadly for my new friend, he would suffer the same fate as I was facing at the time. Our bond was close sadly to the fact we were both forced to face our teacher’s wrath.

He was the person I have been waiting for, a friendship like no other. We were so similar which strengthened our bond further ; he was African American, I was African European, we were both coloured and quite simply foreigners in Switzerland. Our only difference was our personality: I was quite tough, he was shy, I was a tomboy, he was sweet and lovely. We were such polar opposite which is why our friendship was strong as we completed each other. I learned that his parents moved from America to work for the UN in Geneva. I also found out Geneva was the home of many international organisations.

As mentioned previously, I got on with boys better so I was the perfect friend for my new American friend. He was so different to the other boys for he wasn’t rough, wasn’t interested in rough games. Instead, he was so polite in other words the perfect gentleman. The funny thing is he was the way I should be really considering I was a girl, I am sure the way my teacher and nuns wanted me to be instead of being troublesome. I just enjoyed his company so much as he was an angel.

My French was getting better and stronger but I still struggled in class. I still faced bad treatment from the teacher. I started to get used to it somehow. However my friend didn’t. He equally was struggling in class too. The language was such a barrier for him. In a sad way, I was glad to share my misfortune with someone. I wasn’t alone anymore. The great thing in our friendship, I used to stand up for him, I was there for him. Sadly not in class. I was powerless against the teacher. In class, we were simply on the same level than in the playground. I never liked to see him cry when the teacher started to mistreat him too which happened often. He was an easy prey for the teacher to draw her claws on. What an awful sight for all to see. Sadly for him, and me the worst was still to come.

During the Escalade party, an annual celebration in Geneva in December, as we were all dressed up in costumes and about to celebrate, we had to all sit down in a circle as the teacher gave us our report cards. I wasn’t expecting much since I was the weakest in the whole class each time my report card was coldly given to me. Her way to hand it to us was to call out the strongest in the class to the weakest. She used to give so much praise to the fortunate pupils who always exceed expectations. Oddly, she would give words of encouragements for those to do better. To me, only disappointment in her eyes which spoke volumes. To pupils like me, we represented embarrassment simply because we were not performing well academically. I was not even given an eye contact at times. The worst also was being ignored in class. In a way I preferred when she shouted at me rather than being brushed aside like a rotten fruit. So, as per usual, she gave the report cards from the strongest to weakest with either words of praise or encouragement. Once everyone received their report card with either comments , it was left with me and my American friend. We anxiously looked at each other gulping so loud I was sure everyone could hear. My heart was beating so fast it could burst at any given moment. Then the demon looked at us, her eyes fixated to us like bullets ready to shoot us. She called out our names sharply and ferociously. Hesitantly, we got up slowly as if it took us hours to do so. As we were nervously walking towards her, it felt like we were walking the plank. I could feel everyone’s eyes on us, staring at us. The silence in the room was so deafening. At one point, I forgot about my report card and seemed we were getting punished after being caught doing something very bad. What happened next was something that up to now never happened to me before, the most degrading treatment I could ever receive. It was not to be the last.

The teacher without a word, threw our report cards on the floor. She didn’t even bother giving us eye contact for comfort. The rest of the class still seated like an audience were whispering. I could hear some of them mocking us. Swiftly, I quickly grabbed my report card from the floor and went back to my spot. The pupils slowly removed themselves next to me as if I was contaminated. My report card seemed to be the contamination as everyone looked at it, with the result clearly displayed at the front. At that moment, I looked up and felt all eyes on me again. I wish for a moment I was someone else. Someone who was praised or encouraged and not treated like dirt. I returned my eyes on the floor as the humiliation gripped my whole body. I heard sobbing and my attention turned to my American friend. He was kneeling in front of his report card, unable to control his despair. The teacher stood up and left him there and asked us all to go and resume the celebration of the Escalade where the eldest and youngest in the class break a chocolate pot. As the eldest in the class, I was never able to do so because of my poor achievement in class. I knew what happened last time when I tried to point that fact out and was immediately not considered again. As everyone gathered in front of the table, I looked back at my friend, still kneeling and crying in front of his report card. I really wanted to be there for him, like I do when we are in the playground when others try to tease him but don’t dare because I always had his back. The difference in class, I was used to this type of humiliation that seems to always be lurking in class. He clearly wasn’t and it was clear for all to see. He was murmuring and calling out for his mum. My heart broke and yet I was so powerless to do anything as I knew my teacher so well. She would use any excuse to humiliate me or shout at me. I hated that I was frozen and not in control of my movement. Fear blocked my feet to even consider walking towards my distraught friend. I wish I consoled him at least. Yet again, fear blocked my voice. I wish our friendship was telepathic where I could communicate with my mind so I could have been there for him. Other pupils were now pointing at him and laughing to the amusement of my teacher. She made no effort in hiding it. Her amused smile was clearly displayed like a poster. I wasn’t laughing nor pointing, I was sad and soon my sadness turned to anger. My hand turned into a ball of fist. He was facing his back to us and he was still calling for his mum while covering his face with his hands. His tears marking the floor. Then, he was rocking back and forth non stop. No one had the guts to console him. I was the biggest coward of all. Tough outside in the playground yet chicken in class. Everyone knew that.Today I deeply regret my actions as I should or could have done more for him.

When it was time to go home, the cold air rampaged through the classroom and making us shiver reminding me of the horrible day I ever had so far in Geneva. Winters in Geneva were always so cold anyway. I was always the last to leave as my mum worked in the school. I sat quietly waiting for her staring at my report card. I knew she would be disappointed too. My friend was still upset and his eyes were so red and swollen it was a painful sight. We were both staring at each other when everyone left the classroom. Our stare spoke a thousand words. I saw disappointment in his eyes too. I wasn’t sure if it was towards me or himself. Suddenly, his mum came rushing. She was so elegant. Immediately, when he saw his mum, my friend rushed to his mum and cried his eyes out again. His mum got down on her knees to console him, something I wish I did. Questions and worries appeared on her confused face. Looking for answers, the teacher simply looked unimpressed without saying a word and returned to her desk. As my friend and his mum left, my mum came to pick me up. The teacher dismissed me with a smile like nothing happened. I took her rare smile like a comfort and words of encouragement while reminding myself I should to better. My mum saw my report card and obviously was disappointed but encouraged me as always. I wish I could do better. I wanted to forget that day badly, sadly what happened that day would be the talk of the school as the very next day, all hell will break loose.