i’m called to a school in the bronx that’s almost a hundred percent dominican. i don’t know that at first- in fact, i think it’s a fairly mixed school because i see far more light hair & eyes than i usually see this deep in nyc, & no africans at all, which has been unusual in my experience. i learn that the children are dominican because one of the teachers tells me. most of the regular staff don’t speak much to substitutes, & this is especially true in multilingual schools. but this woman sidles up to me with frowzy brown hair, a shy smile, a lunchroom cup of apple juice & warm quesadilla & says- i have an aunt that looks like you- & i say- dominican? & we laugh. i got called to this school last minute & i’m happy about the meal too, because it becomes my only nourishment throughout the day.
i have worked with many spanish-speaking students- especially in california- but dominicans have consistently been the folks who let me know that we share branches of the same tree. as a black american, i can’t speak to the energies of island folks- growing up in nyc you always hear about tropical beef- puerto ricans don’t like dominicans, dominicans don’t like haitians, haitians don’t like jamaicans- i can’t testify to any of it because i’m outside of the cultural loop & i just enjoy all of those folks (& the food.) i once taught an adult class of dominican students so rowdy that the administration had to stop in & ask us to calm down (repeatedly) but we had a ball, & i think of them often & wish them well.
sometimes i feel like all of these manmade borders & designations have a way of settling in the psyche & creating separation & animosity in a way that may not be natural to us as human beings. i often wonder, for example, if there was no border between haiti and the dominican republic, how would that relationship be? i’m not a historian, a scholar or someone who has enough information or experience to answer that question. of course race & class politics will be present, because to paraphrase octvaia butler loosely, humans love hierarchies & will always create them. so my wondering is more about if there is a way to acknowledge the hierarchies as different but not lesser. but that’s a thesis question & that’s not what this is. i’m often so busy working with people that i don’t have time to be existential, although i might make a good philosopher 🙂 so the dominican teacher with the african aunt gives me the rundown of how the school works & what i need to know & she’s pretty much the only adult i have significant interaction with the whole day, & i’m grateful for her way of saying, welcome.
i bounce around to a lot of different classes where students & teachers are confused &- it has to be said- depressed over social distancing & convoluted technology. at one point, we can’t connect to any websites & i have to let the kids work in small groups, masks on, & draw, which they enjoy immensely. the children are thoughtful souls who try to make the best of a complex situation & they don’t take advantage of the fact that i’m a substitute at all. they continually guide me through the day saying- we sign on like this. now we do this- but sometimes it doesn’t work. can i help? their kindness is astounding.
once, i walk into a class of around eight & nine year olds. as far as i can see, i’m the only black person in the school in my headwrap & long clothes. sometimes i expect the children to stare, particularly in a school or area where they may not see a lot of folks who look like me. but as i come into the room, the children, boys & girls, say one after the other- oh, you’re beautiful, are you our teacher? so pretty. i like you!
i haven’t felt a wave of appreciation like that in a long time, & it’s definitely unexpected. as a black woman who has been plus-size most of my life, i’m used to my appearance being reacted to negatively. i’m used to being ignored. but these light-eyed, light-haired children brighten up when they see me, & i stand still in the class for a full minute & acknowledge that. it feels like love. i wish every brown round girl could walk into a room & know what it is to feel immediate & genuine appreciation for showing up in the world just as she is- wonderfully & fearfully made.
a little girl attaches herself to me during that class- she looks like someone from one of the ancient tribes of central or south america with her deep brown skin, oval eyes & jet black hair. i don’t see any other child that looks like her. she studies me, touches my tattoos & says, i think i’m gonna get a nose ring & these marks when i grow up because they look good on brown skin. so i reply, i think you’ll look beautiful however you decide to adorn yourself. (i use the word adorn on purpose, because i want to introduce her to that concept. we look it up together on the ipad & she loves it.)
the day is full of class after class & i don’t get a break. i rush into my last class late, tired & salty. i feel overwhelmed. i help the children set up for their online lessons, which is complicated & time-consuming as usual. an adult is on the screen blathering away & half the kids can’t even get an internet connection. but it’s the end of the day & if things fall to pieces, they’ll right themselves again tomorrow. the children have been fed, had some outdoor time, & they are all smiles. there are bigger problems in the world than bad internet- there are no worries here. a teacher passes by & shares some educational game sites with me, & i keep the kids occupied as best i can. when i come around to a boy in the back he says casually, as if we were in conversation & had been interrupted- black lives really do matter you know. he has deep black eyes & the softest hair. i respond, yes, they do. as teachers just passing by, we’re often advised as subs not to get into personal or political matters with students- it can be an emotional weight that’s too heavy to bear. but i can’t help myself. these children are also around eight or nine, & i ask him, what made you say that to me? & he says, i wanted you to know. then right afterwards he says, i have nightmares you know. the world scares me. my mom prays for me & sometimes they stop. i say, of course they do- mama’s prayers stop anything. we smile, & i put him on a website, but the fear in his eyes sits with me. i circulate around the room but keep looking at him, & sometimes i catch him looking at me.
when the class is almost over, i go back to him & say, do you like to read? he says, yes! & the boy next to him pipes up- he’s the bestest reader & the bestest student in this class! i say, look, when it’s time to go to bed, pick a book that you love. you can read it to yourself or maybe someone in your house can read to you. that will give you good dreams. then, i put my hands on top of his head. his hair is even softer than it looks. & i say- you’re gonna rest easy tonight, & every other night. you’ll have sweet dreams and wake up smiling. the world is a safe place for you & you’re here to have a lot of fun. i take my hands off his head and look into his face. some of the fear in his eyes is gone, & he says, i’m gonna ask my mom to pick a book tonight, & i say, good!
& then my day is over. & because i have been walking ridiculous amounts of miles- from harlem to the bronx & back again- i do that again, walk along the winding roads of huge ancient rocks & trees that lead me back into harlem where the streets are named after jazz kings. i buy my favorite treat- a coconut ice from a man with a cart- & listen to the sirens & the traffic, the rap & the meringue blaring from cars & house windows too, & i think of children & islands, & of all these people here in this city together & of all people in all cities together, & i wonder.
