The HORRID story of tUtoring a somali kid
Posted: Sat Feb 21, 2009 1:53 pm
I recounted this TRUE story in another thread, and I thought I should post it here, considering how relevant it is.
Back in high school, as part of my school's program, we had to go into poor, ghetto neighborhoods and tutor students there. Although I seriously feared for my life I drove my new beetle (they were totally fashionable then) to the local inner city highchool after my calculus class. When I walked in to a deserted, and rather delapitated class room, I was surpised and DELIGHTED to see my tutee was a Somali boy around my age. YEY, I'd be giving back to my community!! As I walked closer my feelings of delight quickly evaporated: He was stretched out on his chair, his legs propped on the desk before him, fiddling with a silver pocket knife. My worry rose to higher levels as I examined his physical features: he had a huge frizzy afro, silver chains around his neck, wore very baggy jeans and a tupac shirt (I thought this to be particularly interesting since we were in the East coast and quickly concluded he was fresh off the boat) and he had a black stretchy cloth tied tightly around his head
We perfunctorily introduced each other -- his name was Jamac. I sat down beside him and took out the book he was reading for his english class: To kill a mockingbird.
me: "Okay, umm, which chapters have u read ?"
him: "I ain red no damn chapters!"
My mouth dropped open -- what a horrid way of speaking. Who taught him englsih ?
me: "but...I thought ....I mean, your english teacher said I had to help you analyze it."
him: "I'll analyze sh!t. I ain gon' read that damn nohvel"
me: "umm...why ?"
him: "shiiit, that stuff be fake. I ain gon read stuff that aint real. aint' no mockingbird in my hood. "
me: "but.."
him: "I mean...fickton...what da hell is that ? I ain't gon learn nothing."
me: "well, by reading fiction, you can develop your grammar skills and increase your vocabulary. This is important, particularly because you weren't born here"
him: "f*ck grammar, that be white people sh!t. and What da f*ck do ya mean I wasn't born here ?"
me: "....and fiction can really shed some insight on society in general..."
him: huh ?
me: "....and although the stories and characters themselves might not be real, authors of fiction have been known to really shed some light on human nature"
him: "damn b!tch, you be tryin' to be white. "
me: "what ?"
him: "you probably like white di.."
me: "Omg. stop!"
him:"ick"
I stood up angrily and marched backed to my beetle and left. two months later I found out he was shot dead in a gang fight, in the head. I never really had the opportunity to help him, but I can try to help all misguided Somali youths by telling this story
Back in high school, as part of my school's program, we had to go into poor, ghetto neighborhoods and tutor students there. Although I seriously feared for my life I drove my new beetle (they were totally fashionable then) to the local inner city highchool after my calculus class. When I walked in to a deserted, and rather delapitated class room, I was surpised and DELIGHTED to see my tutee was a Somali boy around my age. YEY, I'd be giving back to my community!! As I walked closer my feelings of delight quickly evaporated: He was stretched out on his chair, his legs propped on the desk before him, fiddling with a silver pocket knife. My worry rose to higher levels as I examined his physical features: he had a huge frizzy afro, silver chains around his neck, wore very baggy jeans and a tupac shirt (I thought this to be particularly interesting since we were in the East coast and quickly concluded he was fresh off the boat) and he had a black stretchy cloth tied tightly around his head
We perfunctorily introduced each other -- his name was Jamac. I sat down beside him and took out the book he was reading for his english class: To kill a mockingbird.
me: "Okay, umm, which chapters have u read ?"
him: "I ain red no damn chapters!"
My mouth dropped open -- what a horrid way of speaking. Who taught him englsih ?
me: "but...I thought ....I mean, your english teacher said I had to help you analyze it."
him: "I'll analyze sh!t. I ain gon' read that damn nohvel"
me: "umm...why ?"
him: "shiiit, that stuff be fake. I ain gon read stuff that aint real. aint' no mockingbird in my hood. "
me: "but.."
him: "I mean...fickton...what da hell is that ? I ain't gon learn nothing."
me: "well, by reading fiction, you can develop your grammar skills and increase your vocabulary. This is important, particularly because you weren't born here"
him: "f*ck grammar, that be white people sh!t. and What da f*ck do ya mean I wasn't born here ?"
me: "....and fiction can really shed some insight on society in general..."
him: huh ?
me: "....and although the stories and characters themselves might not be real, authors of fiction have been known to really shed some light on human nature"
him: "damn b!tch, you be tryin' to be white. "
me: "what ?"
him: "you probably like white di.."
me: "Omg. stop!"
him:"ick"
I stood up angrily and marched backed to my beetle and left. two months later I found out he was shot dead in a gang fight, in the head. I never really had the opportunity to help him, but I can try to help all misguided Somali youths by telling this story
