Monday, February 3, 2014
To Do List:
- 1.Survive school
- 2.Supper
- 3.Help Sarfoa with homework if she has any (make sure she studies for an hour if she doesn’t)
- Study
The siren for assembly was blaring just as Dad got me to school.
I got my backpack and hurried out of the car.
“Have a blessed day,” he called out.
I waved and hurried through the gate. I walked straight to the assembly hall and sat on one of the front pews. A year ago I’d have joined my friends on one of the middle pews where we could whisper and giggle through morning assembly. The back pews were reserved entirely for the cool kids, which in this school was the same as the rich kids.
Kumasi International Christian School (KICS) was divided into two sections—the international section and the local section. The school ran two different curricula. The international section was based on the British school system so they sat for the ‘O’ and ‘A’ levels examination. The local section was based on the Ghanaian senior high school educational system. At the end of three years, we sat for the WASSCE.
School fees for the local section were three times what the average SHS student paid. Fees for the international section were quoted in dollars and were probably more than my Dad’s annual salary.
The only reason Sarfoa and I attended this school was because the church paid our fees. That was one of the reasons why Dad took the job to pastor the church. We got to go to a prestigious Christian school.
I went into school survival mode, which was simple. I tried to draw as little attention to myself as possible. If I could have a super-power I’d probably have chosen invisibility or something close to it.
I willed myself not to turn around, not to look at the middle pews where Afua Gyamfua now sat with Eno and Nhyiraa, girls she had become fast friends with. Afua had been one of the first friends I’d made when I came to KICS. We’d discovered we both loved Sudoku puzzles, and that had cemented our friendship. But like everyone else she shunned me. What hurt most was that I’d expected her to at least ask what had happened. But she hadn’t. She’d just chosen to believe what everyone was saying.
I usually tried to be one of the first out of the hall after assembly, but Pastor Josh had taken a particular interest in me since Mom left a month ago. He motioned to me to wait afterwards and so I did. Pastor Josh was fresh out of ministry school and was the school counsellor. He couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. I think the school administration hoped because he was young we’d find him easier to approach. He usually sat in the pews with us.
“Gyikua hi, how are you doing?”
“By God’s grace, I’m well.”
He smiled. That was the answer he expected, so that was the one I gave him.
“Good, good. God knows best. If you ever need to talk . . .” I nodded as a lump formed in my throat.
The truth was I wasn’t well. Sometimes I wished he’d just delve a little deeper. Instead of this public show of concern in front of the entire student body, I wished he or someone, anyone, would seek me out in private and give me a hug and tell me to hang in there or tell me I was a good person or something.
***
Tell us: Why do you think Gyikua hasn’t spoken to anyone about how she is feeling?