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.

So far, life in Geneva was hell. I hated it. What a contrast from ironically wanting to escape Africa to come and live in the promised land of Switzerland. I was struggling mainly with the language, although acceptance too. I was terrible and everyone knew it. Also, I started to realise I was being treated different only because of the colour of my skin. What I struggled the most was the language. What was clear also, my mum and sister adapted well in Geneva so far compared to my dad and myself. At least he spoke French, which wasn’t the case for me yet. You see, there is a massive difference when you’re learning a language, where it is all broken down and translated, than when you are thrown in the mix and expected to pick up quickly. In class, all the tasks, reading and even the teacher only spoke in French. You’d think, well I would pick up. It wasn’t as easy as that. When nothing is broken down, no visuals and the teacher who already couldn’t stand me, it was very hard for me to pick up. I couldn’t associate my Portuguese to French. Sensing my frustration, my mum and dad took over and taught us French. I learned much more outside the classroom than in class. The book that helped me so much, is the first thousand words in French. At last, visuals and pronunciations.Just like that, I learnt French from scratch and was picking up. At playtime, I would play often with boys because of my aggressive behaviour and overall tough personality. Also, in terms of languages, boys don’t talk as much as girls. Additionally, the boys would use gestures for me to understand what they are saying. In other words, boys were much easier to understand than girls. Even for picture day, I was sat and surrounded by the boys as all the girls were standing together. I wasn’t bothered to be honest. Unsurprisingly, I didn’t get on well with girls. I wasn’t on the top set in class nor was I popular. It was strange but this is how it worked, some cliques were forming and you need to be a certain way to be accepted. In my class, I was the only girl then of colour, that was immediately a red flag. I was terrible, aggressive and couldn’t speak the language yet. No wonder why the girls didn’t want to play with me. There was a boy, darker than me whom I despised so much. Surprisingly, even though he was terrible too, he used to get away with it all the time. He would do things when teachers wouldn’t be looking. He was as sneaky as a fox. We clashed often and he used my language barrier against me by saying lies knowing full well I couldn’t defend myself. Of course, to his delight, I would get in trouble frequently thanks to him. We’d fight as well all the time. Once again, I’d be the one who would be in trouble. I was trapped, the boys were the ones I used to hang around with and he was always there, sometimes turning them against me when I didn’t comply. I also wondered how come the teacher who was so horrible to me, would be always nice to him? Curious, I asked my mum why he would get a different treatment. I found out he was adopted by a Swiss couple, both white and both wealthy. It shocked me how we were so similar yet so different: We were both coloured and obviously foreigners in Switzerland. However he was rich and I was poor. His parents always used to spoil him rotten. Now I understood why the teacher treated him so nicely. Jealousy invaded my whole body. I was fuming when he’d make remarks in class to me and many joined. I realised he always used my language barrier against me. I could defend myself with my hands but not with my words resulting in always getting in trouble. He knew that. He just knew how to use my weakness against me. I wish more than anything to have a friend who was like me; coloured and struggling with the language. I knew it wasn’t going to happen. But then, my prayers were answered.

What a bad feeling to stay behind one year. I felt like I let myself down.From teasing my sister’s friends and classmates, now they are my classmates. I must admit I wasn’t always nice to them during break time nor during lunchtime. In fact I was never nice to many pupils. No wonder why I didn’t have many friends. I was often reported to the nuns, teachers and just like that I became notorious. My name was synonymous with troublemaker. My teacher in particular was losing the little patience she had left with me.

I always craved attention when I was little, I just loved the spotlight. This type of attention however wasn’t good for me. I was always getting in trouble. The reality was I was struggling in school, academically as well as socially. I must take some responsibility for my poor behaviour. I was still young, about 5 or 6.

• 

When I was home, I was always told off by my mum. I also sensed my father’s unhappiness in Switzerland. It was a stark contrast, my mum and sister adapting very well in Geneva, whilst me and my dad weren’t. I just wanted to return home. A feeling equally shared by my father. We knew it wasn’t possible. That’s why me and my dad had a very strong bond: We both didn’t like being told what to do, were stubborn and were trouble. My poor mum had the patience of a saint.

School was becoming a challenge for me each day, but I was trying. One day, to my horror, the unthinkable happened. So I was struggling with completing my tasks as per usual. I could sense the teacher approaching as her heels were getting louder and louder towards my direction. She checked my progress and each time she came by, I obviously didn’t progress because I just couldn’t understand French still. I could understand it orally but not yet read it. Each time she came by, she was shouting louder and louder at me. The once beautiful rose, became a poisonous oak instantly. Shocked and panicking, I simply froze which earned me staring and mocks from my classmates. I wanted to disappear and hide from my humiliation. Little did I know the worst was yet to come shortly. When everyone handed their tasks, I remained on my chair alone while everyone were lining up to go outside for either break time or lunch time.I’d remain behind yet again. My teacher stood up and approached me once again. I felt like a trapped rabbit in a cage with no way out. She saw red. Standing next to me, I could hear my heart beating and took a deep breath and looked her in her eyes. As she screamed at the lack of my work completion, she reached my hair. My mum that day made 2 ponytails at each side of my head. I felt my head shaking on one side up and down as she pulled my hair harder and harder. Once her deed done, she left me alone. I touched my hair immediately at first worried about how my hair must look after being pulled so hard repeatedly.

I looked around wanting my mum or dad knowing full well I was alone. I wanted to cry but opted to sob quietly instead. The last thing I wanted was having the whole class pointing at me and laughing. The pain I felt that day stuck with me for the whole day, perhaps for the whole week.I still remember that day today as if it happened yesterday. I became withdrawn in class and at school too. I quickly became aware that groups were forming in the class; those who were well ahead academically usually stuck together, those who were the teacher’s pet also stuck together. Girls who had a certain popularity picked their friends to play with that day. Now people like me, who not only struggle academically and also troublemakers, were often disregarded by the teacher and classmates. I became used to being the outsider. All I knew back then, this type of treatment from the teacher would get worse. It seemed I even became accustomed to it and didn’t talk to no one about it, not even my parents. I didn’t know what I found worse, my teacher’s physical/emotional abuse or my parent’s reaction to what was happening? Lost, angry and hurt my troubles, including my poor behaviour, would simply increase from then on.