| Lessons
Sometimes, though, faith was not enough. No one taught us that lesson quite like our classmates at Longfellow Elementary School. They had never seen anything like us, with our thick, perfectly combed afros, our perfectly mismatched clothing, and our spanking-new XJ-900s, bought from Payless Shoe Source for under $7 a pair. My brother Tewolde and I patrolled the same playground for the hour-long lunch recess. Kindergarten met for just a half-day, so my sister Mehret went home before recess. Most of our classmates treated us nicely, others ignored us, and the rest--well, we could only wish that they would ignore us. We may not have understood their words, but we always understood the meaning behind their laughter. "African Boodie Scratcher! Scratch that Boodie!" "Black Donkey! You're so ugly!" "Why don't you go back to Africa where you came from?" We were just two, and they were often many. But they had grown up in a wealthy American suburb, and we had grown up in a Sudanese refugee camp. We were accustomed to fighting almost daily, using sticks, stones, wood chips, and whatever else we could get our hands on. So it was usually no contest, especially when the two of us double-teamed them, as we had done so many times in Sudan. Sometimes, though, our classmates found us alone. One time, a brown-haired, overweight third grader named Sam cornered me along the north fence of the playground. All about the school, kids played soccer, kickball, and foursquare. We had but one supervisor to monitor the hundreds. I don't remember what I had done to infuriate Sam; maybe it was something that Tewolde had done, and I was going to pay for it. Whatever the answer, Sam wanted to teach me a lesson. He bellowed at me, getting louder with every word, until his face blossomed red. He bumped me against the fence and gripped the railing with his thick, chunky hands, sandwiching me in between. I pushed against him desperately and tried to wiggle out, but he kept squeezing harder and harder, until the metal fence began to tear into my back, leaving me unable to breathe. I searched for the supervisor but could not spot her. Nor could I see my brother. Fearing that Sam meant to squeeze all the life out of me, I started to cry for help. He squeezed even harder. I think one of my brother's friends must have told him that Sam was suffocating me, because through the tears, I saw Tewolde exploding toward us. He came charging from the other side of the playground with all the fury of an angry bull. Tewolde was half of Sam's size but he showed no hesitation. Without slowing, Tewolde leaped up, cocked his hand back and smashed it against the side of Sam's thick head. Sam slumped to the asphalt and started to cry. But my brother had only started. He clenched his teeth and pounced on Sam's outstretched body, battering his face with punch after punch until Sam started to bleed. I saw the supervisor coming toward our side of the playground, so I grabbed Tewolde and pulled him off. Come on! Nahanigh, Tewolde! We have to go! Come on, before the supervisor sees us!
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