There Are Only Two Black People in My School. I’m One of Them.
What to do when you just don’t fit in? This is not about black solidarity.
After my failure in French med school, I decided to become a dispensing optician. Even if all the confusion and self-doubt didn’t disappear right away, finding something to do, a purpose, was a balm on my heart. So it’s full of hope that I went to school that first day. But as I discovered as the amphitheater of my new school gets full of freshmen, another challenge was awaiting ahead.
The students took seats, one after another, leaving the ones next to me empty.
I tried to not mind that.
I looked around, to pass time. Some started to talk with each other, trying to create bonds, others were on their phone, alone but not quite. Then, the director of the school arrived and closed the door.
I sighed. I was the only black woman there.
I realized that if I didn’t do something real quick, my years there would be no less than lonely. The usual “first-day stress” turns into something more disquieting.
First friend
A real friend is one who walks in when the rest of the world walks out. Walter Winchell.
Normally, it would be “simple”, don’t you think? You sit next to someone, you talk a bit, share information about your background then, as the class keeps going, you talk about how much you love (or hate) maths and how far from school you live. You compare your schedules and if you’re lucky enough, the one you were talking to, take the same bus as you to go home. Simple right?
But as you come in the classroom every morning and the seat next to yours remains the only one empty, things get complicated.
The first days were nerve-racking. No one would sit next to me in class, and almost no one talked to me. I somehow impose my presence to three girls who didn’t even have to try to make me understand my companionship wasn’t appreciated nor welcomed.
It‘s depressing, this “alone in the crowd” feeling.
But my time in med school wasn’t the most social time of my life either. I had two friends and, in those amphitheaters of 450 people, I was happy I found them to begin with. The true difference was that in a classroom of 28 persons, I was the only one without someone to bound with.
Ouch.
But then, in October, I “met” her. She sat next to me one day, stayed for all the week, and the month. We laughed a lot, teased each other, talked about serious topics. It was as if suddenly I realized that for all this time I had so many things to say, if only someone would have listened. She did.
Finding someone to talk to is important. It’s a relief that, in a group of people, there is someone with whom you have at least two things in common. And that’s enough.
Enough to have lunch with this person rather than sit next to a group to feel like you are not (truly) alone. Someone to talk to between the classes and to ask to take your homework when you are not in class. This person is important.
There’s nothing wrong with me
A few studies have been made on interracial friendship and the composition of someone social network in America. There is none equivalence in France because racial and ethnical statistics and studies are forbidden.
There is a lot of info to extract from this PRRI study but I’ll focus on the most obvious. The average white American has only one Black friend.
Is it your case?
Worst, 75% of White Americans have an “entirely white social network without any minority presence.”
Is it your case?
Responding to the study in the HuffingtonPost, Hillary Crosley (from Jezebel) said “What I think is clear is as Americans, or as people in general, you look to people who are similar to you, have similar interests [and] live in the same area”
As total strangers are due to spend most of their days together, in the same room, why would they bother approaching someone looking different, when there are so many people, in comparison, looking the same and probably from the same area and continent?
This was the origin of my first-days concern. I knew no one would spontaneously come and try to know me. Not because I had a problem or else. But only because I looked different.
There was nothing wrong with me.
Most of my fellow students are from the countryside. They have an apartment next to the school and go home to their parents every weekend. As most of the Black people in France live in the cities, it’s easy to figure out how their social networks are. White.
Surely there were some Black kids in their high school but did they approach them or had they stick with what they knew? Yes, you know the answer.
What about my Black fellow student?
I won’t talk to you about Black solidarity or else. It didn’t happen. I took almost three months for us to start talking. We were in different classes with different schedules. We hardly see each other during the day. But every time our eyes would cross, we would acknowledge each other.
His situation was worse than mine had ever been. His classmates marginalized him and he spent most of his days alone. Learning that, I tried to give him as much as comfort and “you’re not alone” vibes as possible. What I admire him for is how much he endures his situation. With such dignity. He is walking in the school, unapologetic, looking like a fashion model.
I don’t think I could have been as strong in his shoes. Not that mine are this comfortable either but at least, I have someone in my class. I hope he feels like he can say he has me as support.
Hang in there
I have to say, I don’t feel supported in this school. I don’t feel encouraged. Maybe it’s because sometimes it’s like I am not even there.
In the first month, one of my teachers avoided me. His eyes would never cross mine. When I raise my hand to ask a question, he would ignore it for another one, even when there wasn’t any. He is not racist, he did not despise me. But it was frustrating to feel that the support I needed, would never come from him, the one who was supposed to provide it.
As another teacher has the habit to walk between the tables and look at what we are doing, to see if we have questions, she would not stop at my table.
I can’t say I don’t feel like they failed me.
But will I let them ruin my year? Will I fail? Of course not, which is why I validate the half-year and intend to do the same for the next ones.
In the beginning, I tried to act perfect, so the teachers and students cannot reproach me anything. No delays, perfect outfits. Smiling, silent. But one day I just stopped. I stopped molding myself in order to mix in. I threw all my “nice girl” clothes back in the closet and let my inner self, the cool-and-looking-like-a-15-years-old-kid wore her Vans and hoodies. I stopped making my huge afro puff looks smaller.
So what to do when you just don’t fit in?
It required such a mental strength to stay in an environment where you don’t feel welcomed or valued. Even when you know you have to be there. My parents are paying for my school and I want this degree. But there are days I can’t find the strength to go there.
But in the end, I’m still going, I’m still working hard. I learned a lot since the beginning of the year. Mostly on patience and perseverance.
At the end of the day, you must do what you gotta do. Don’t quit because it’s hard and painful. Remember all the people, somewhere on the planet, loving you. Think of them, call them and just know that sometimes, any time, a chance would occur. I don’t know in which form: a smile, a chair in which someone finally sits, something. So, until the time comes, just hang in there.
If you’re going through hell, keep going. Winston Churchill
Thanks for reading! Feel free to clap, comment or follow me if you’ve enjoyed it!
Ed.
