Pauseforamoment

I had a new student today. The nature of our job is that we can get new students at any time of the term or year – they come at all times, according to when they have arrived in the country and how quickly they progress in the beginner class. Our new boy, whom I’ll call Simon, came in today. He is a big African boy, and seems diligent and keen to learn. When he got up to go to recess, I saw It. His brand spanking new school bag, stiff in its newness. And pink. Very, very pink. My mind immediately started racing. How was I going to tell this sweet boy, fifteen years old, that his bag was a ticket to abject humiliation and popularity suicide? I knew he was most likely proud of his new bag, and it was likely the first one he had ever had. I had to be tactful, but I knew there was very little possibility of avoiding embarrassment completely.  I was saved from initiating the speech by one of the other boys. “That bag is for girl, Miss”, he said.

 ”Yes, Simon,” I said, “That is such a lovely bag and you are keeping it so nice and neat. Umm, in Australia usually pink is a colour that is for girls.” I thought quickly. “Do you have a sister?” (There are usually several children in an African family.)

“Yes,” he said.

“Uh, what colour is her bag?” He thought for a moment, and replied (to my utmost relief), “Black.”

“Ok, Simon. When you get home tonight, swap bags with your sister. Change bags.”

With hand gestures to illustrate what I meant, he went on his way. My class clown grabbed the pink bag, and carried it for Simon. He is known throughout the school and is completely confident in his popularity. A bit of laughter would roll right off his back. I found out later that a whole group of kids had already laughed at him at the bus stop that morning, but he seemed ok. I saw him sling his jumper across his bag this afternoon.

Such are the vagaries of school-yard life in a new country.