Boarding school blues

Well, it’s hard to believe, but tomorrow will mark a full two weeks since my “baby” went off to board at Achimota Senior Secondary School. I want to say that I miss him terribly – and I do, I really really do – but I have to admit I am enjoying some new found freedom (stick with me and I’ll explain).

Sean, my oldest at 15, is more Americanized than his siblings; after all, he was 8 years old when we moved here in January 2003. He doesn’t have a “true” Ghanaian accent (wholly unlike Alexandra who has now lived in Ghana most of her life) though it does intensify when he’s with his peers (and which he loses when he’s with me). He doesn’t really “appreciate” the local foods – kenkey and Keta school boys, grilled tilapia and banku, groundnut soup and fufu (light soup is fine, but not groundnuts due to a peanut allergy) – though he will eat them if he has no choice. He doesn’t know how to do the typical things that most Ghanaian children are taught to do from an early age – like hand washing his school uniform or using a cutlass (machete) for anything other than playing ninja (before I put a stop to it, that is). He doesn’t even know how to wear the traditional cloth or has spent more than an hour at any church service.

But none of that is his fault. It’s my fault… our fault. We’ve tried to shield our children from some of the “injustices” (that’s in quotes because I’m being facetious – before someone slams me) that this system tends to mete out on children.

So, two weeks ago Friday we brought Sean’s things to him at the school. The head of the dorm that he’s in (Guggisberg, for anyone curious) allowed us all to go on up into the dorm and see where he’d be sleeping. It was not at all what I expected – I guess I’m too Americanized, too, and used to seeing dorms portrayed in American television. It was very crowded, with easily 40 boys sharing the one room they were in, and there were several similar rooms in the building. Sean got a top bunk, right near a window – not sure if that’s good or bad seeing as how the screens were not intact, but he does have a mosquito net so hopefully he’ll remain malaria-free (though he does tend to get it a lot).

Fortunately, the head boy was very nice and seemed more than willing to show Sean the ropes – though I have to pray that that wasn’t just for my benefit and that he really is a nice boy. Then, without a hug or a kiss or a tear we left him and headed home. That was how Sean wanted it. I respect that. But stoicism is not my strong suit.

So, he’s at boarding school for nearly two weeks now.

In that time, I’ve seen him once for about 45 minutes during the first monthly visitation, and I’ve spoken to him on the phone for, oh, about 4 minutes. He told me that he wakes every day at 4:00 am so that he and the other Form 1 students can have their shower before the upperclassmen come down. He told me that he eats a lot of white rice and stew, and has learned to like Hausa cocoa. He told me that they must have a siesta every day, whether they’re tired or not. He told me that he had one mid-term exam and he thought he did well in it (but that’s what I expect – he is a brilliant kid, after all).

But, yeah, I miss him. Most of the time.

When I don’t miss him is when I see Alex and Mike playing nicely, with each other, with no one to instigate an argument that escalates into a fight. Teasing I can do without. It’s also really nice to have my laptop to myself, without anyone rushing me off so that he can play his pc games without lag (no clue what that really means, but that's what he always said). My argument that I’m “working” often fell on deaf ears. Now, I don’t have to worry about that. I also don’t have to worry about cooking for my American son; Alexandra and Michael are more than happy to be invited to dad’s dinner, whatever Ghanaian fare it may be. Sean always hated that I “didn’t eat,” as he put it – “Dad, she only eats like once a day!” So without someone nagging me to cook “real food” I can make myself a plate of French fries, or a tuna sandwich, or just drink Crystal Light all day long, and no one complains. That’s freedom.

Would I give it all up? You bet… in a heart beat. But I won’t because the sacrifice I am making now is for Sean’s benefit. Will he understand my sacrifice when he sits down to yet another bowl of white rice and stew wishing it were my meatloaf and baked macaroni instead? Will he acknowledge my heartache when I picture him with blisters on his hands from swinging a cutlass across too high grass? Will he admire the brave face I put on when people ask me how I think he’s doing (“Oh, I’m sure he’s doing great – loving every minute of it!”), even though I know he’s physically exhausted and emotionally drained. Will he even believe that I pray every single night that he finds inside himself the strength, resolve and determination to succeed? Probably not.

A good friend offered me this quote, "Being a mother means spending your life with your heart outside your body." *sigh* Yeah, so I’m learning. But as Sean is now discovering, some lessons are just more painful than others. I know he will get through this, and I know I will get through this. But that doesn’t make it any easier.