Black Face, White Space (7)

The atmosphere in the school hallway was vibrant as the students walked between classes. The odd student would stare at Zan and Q as they walked by. Zan felt like a zoo animal, watched and discussed from afar, but never engaged with. She could hear Q saying something next to her, but she was more focused on getting to their English class as quickly as possible.

As they walked into class, the English teacher’s face livened and she stood up from her desk.

“Molweni, you two!” She said in her terrible Xhosa accent.

Her thin, bleach blonde hair fell from behind her ear and onto her shoulder. As she walked towards the door, her vintage, floral dress flowed around her ankles and the clapping sound of her sandals on the heels of her feet echoed through the classroom. Zan feigned a smile and pretended not to hear her unnecessary greeting. Neither Q nor herself were isiXhosa speakers, but the Caucasian teachers often tried to relate to them by throwing vernacular phrases into their conversations to seem more relatable.

“Morning, Ms. Wells,-“ Q said, casually.

Q had learned to pick his battles and had convinced himself that there were good intentions behind some of the racially-charged comments he received. He knew that there was no point in trying to explain why greeting the only two black children in the class in a native tongue they didn’t speak was problematic. Zan chose to ignore the comment and went to sit in the front row. As much as she disliked her teacher, she enjoyed English class. It was the only subject she felt good at. As the rest of the class started to stream in, Ms. Wells tiptoed towards her in a cartoon-like fashion, smiling widely. Ms. Wells had gorgeous blue eyes and freckled skin, but something about the way her smile seemed forced was off-putting.

“Hi, Hosanna,-” Ms. Wells began, leaning in too close for comfort. “I love the little movement you’ve got going on here with your hair - very amandla of you!” Ms. Wells lifted her first in the air slowly and put on a toothless grin “But of course you know that these afros are against school policy and even though you know I completely disagree, I’m going to need you to sort it out, okay?” Ms. Wells batted her eyelids and her smile began to fall. “And I’m going to need you to move to the back of the class so the other students don’t struggle to see past your hair too.”

Every part of Zan wanted to stand up and ask, ‘So Becky can tie her bun at the very top of her head and, even though no-one can see past it either, it’s okay because her hair is straight, right?’. Instead, she nodded and said, “I’ll braid it on the weekend.” She hated this version of herself. This version that conformed and was quiet to keep the peace, but she knew that it was a privilege to be at this school, and couldn’t jeopardise the opportunity over these micro-racist remarks. She started to recall a quote from a poem she had read. ‘The reward for conformity is that everyone likes you except yourself.’

Once the last student walked into the classroom, Ms. Wells closed the door behind her and clapped loudly “Okay, my lovelies!” She screeched. “I’m about to hand out the marks for your short stories now. Please go through it and if you find anything wrong, just come and speak to me!”

When Zan received her paper, she saw that she had been marked down from 80% to 69%. She got up and walked towards Ms. Wells’ desk.

“Sorry, ma’am - is there a reason I’ve been marked down?” Zan tried to be as humble as possible.

Ms. Wells nodded. “Well,-” she whispered, “I just didn’t think you were…” She hesitated. “ I just didn't think you were capable of such a high mark, you know? So I reviewed it again to make sure I wasn’t overlooking any mistakes. It wasn’t just you though, I…”

As Ms. Wells continued to explain herself, Zan knew exactly what Ms. Wells meant. She meant that there’s no way that the only black girl in the class could get an A. Zan swallowed the lump in her throat and returned to her seat.