A Stranger in my own School

The year was 1974. I was a rather smallish 11 year old boy with the typical short Afro worn by most African-American children in the early 70's. My parents had recently transferred me from I.S. 59, a junior high school located in Springfield Gardens, Queens, NY to "Mfantsipim," a British-style boarding school located in the coastal town of Cape Coast, Ghana, West Africa.

"Mfantsipim" is an elite boys-only high school and the oldest in the country. In fact, it is the alma mater of the former United Nations Secretary-General, Kofi Annan. As an incoming student, I was subject to the rather strict rules and regulations that were part and parcel of the rigorous education offered to these future leaders of the country.

Amongst my peers, I immediately stood out with my sharp New York City accent and glaring, non-conformist attitude. Yes, this British-born Ghanaian New Yorker came to this renowned school, chock-full of 'tude. First-year students, termed "greenhorns," were expected to be subservient to all senior boys, with older students having higher levels of authority based on their grade. Greenhorns were expected to do whatever they were asked to do, which usually took the forms of running errands, washing plates and performing small, often menial tasks like washing or ironing a senior boy's attire.

From day one, with no background information or warnings, I rebelled, resisted, basically refused to obey to what I believed to be unreasonable requests. And, as a consequence, was punished, accordingly. Punishment usually took the forms of having to perform some awkward yet pain rendering physical routine like holding my ears, cross-armed while bending up and down a hundred times. Or, I could be asked to "stoop," which involved standing on on foot with the body in a horizontal position with one finger touching the the ground. This form or punishment could endure for any length of time, until the aggrieved senior boy felt enough pain had been experienced.

Those days, I would openly question the so-called unwritten yet widely accepted Rules of the School. One rule which I found exceptionally abhorrent was: "Obey before you complain." This rule encapsulated the absolute power and authority given senior boys over greenhorns. Whenever this was uttered in response to my refusal to perform an errand, I would respond by saying that by following such an outrageous dictum, I could easily be die or be injured, in the process. Seniors did not not take kindly to my various arguments and took great exception to my questions, which were usually prefaced with the continual reply of "Why?" to each and every request. The underlying rationale having been to simply keep quiet, kowtow, obey without response or question.

Whenever I endured actual physical harm from seniors who had clearly had enough of my disobedience, I would tell them in no uncertain words that although I may experience short term pain from their abuse, in turn, because of their actions, they would remain "forever ugly." As you can well imagine, this often only resulted in further abuse. Others, exhausted by my protestations, would simply ask me to quickly leave their sight, as they could no longer deal with me. I often think they figured it more prudent to stop the dialogue before they acted violently and gravely injure this greenhorn in the process.

Some of my teachers or "Masters," as they were called, could also not fully understand this new student, imported from New York City. One, who continually raised his left versus right hand to answer questions (which was verboten!), who read American comic strips whenever bored with class, and, in general, did not extend the respect and display the level of obedience demonstrated by his fellow classmates. Back then, the use of corporal punishment in schools was allowed, if not blatantly encouraged. Lashings with canes were common and I endured my fair share as a result of these transgressions.

Outside of the bullying, I recall having my clothes continually stolen. Most of what I wore in school was brought from the U.S. and considered to be of some high value, for whatever reason. Whenever I reached the weekly laundry baskets, I would usually find some item of mine missing. In order to have clothes to wear during the school week, I'd then resort to also absconding with the closest fitting shirt or shorts. It was the funniest site to see me with oversized shorts matched with undersized school shirts. If you look carefully at the cover photo of the school tennis team, you'll note that I was the only player not wearing the requisite pair of tennis shoes. Why? Well, some clever opportunist had stolen my tennis shoes earlier that very day. For reference, I'm the the shoeless character, placed second, kneeling, in the first row.

Somehow, despite all these initial challenges, I survived that first year and eventually went on to become a stellar student at Mfantsipim. These trials and travails of from the first year only made me a stronger individual in life, in general.

Years later, when old classmates from that period reminisce about our first year as "greenhorns, several admit that, in their minds, I was either a glutton for punishment or a bona fide hero, of sorts. They had never witnessed such vehement rebelliousness against the system from a first year student, how much more, one, who was so small in size. With the passage of time, I, too, now better understand why I had the temerity to fight so hard for my rights, at that particular point in time.

I am now convinced that it had much to do with the times we were living in, back then. I had moved to my homeland Ghana having been inspired and charged up in an America that was reeling from the civil rights era of the 1960's and 70's. My heroes at the time were activist-martyrs like Martin Luther King Jr, and Malcolm X. I was greatly influenced by popular fighters of the system, most prominently, Muhammed Ali. Buoyed also by the soulful anthems of race-consciousness from Soul Brother No. 1, James Brown, I was not in any way intimidated by the Mfantsipim rules, nor any restrictive system, for that matter. I knew my rights and fought for them, regardless of the consequences.

So, yes, I stood out and much of what I underwent confused me, greatly. I just could not reconcile a boarding school system where first-year students were virtually powerless and older students had the authority to abuse their younger counterparts. I was shocked into action and years later, realize that despite all, I also garnered massive respect from my peers and the very seniors who coiled at my great sense of irreverence, during my first year at Mfantsipim.